Before I Break by Portia Moore Page B

myself. I’m leaning against a building, one hand in my pocket. Another doing something on a phone. I’m dressed in a black t-shirt and dark washed jeans. I have on a watch that looks too expensive to be wearing to the place I’m in. On my arm is a big duffle bag. Something catches my attention, and I push off the building and start to walk through the crowd. And that’s when I know it’s not me. It’s him.
    I can tell by the way he walks a slow, almost cocky, strut. He stuffs his phone in his pocket and quickens his pace. Then he stops and tiptoes behind a girl and grabs her by the waist, lifting her up in the air. When she turns around, I see its Lauren.  Her hair’s longer than it is now but those same wide hazel eyes sparkle for him.
    “You scared the crap out of me!” she squeals playfully and pushes him in the chest. He tugs her towards him and pulls her into a slow passionate kiss—one that makes her stand on her toes.  Suddenly, I’ve gone from looking at her from afar, to being the one kissing her, feeling her soft lips before she pulls away. She wriggles against my chest and wraps her arms around me my waist.
    “How was the bathroom?” I ask her , but it’s not my voice. Well, it is, but it’s different. The tone of this voice is deeper than I normally sound.
    “Not as a disgusting as I thought it would be,” she teases. I take her hand, and we make our way through the crowd. We go through a ticket gate at the very front of what looks like a park. It’s a concert in the park. We find a spot, and I sit the duffle bag down. She pulls out a blanket, and I help her spread it out.
    “It’s so beautiful out tonight,” she says excitedly with a smile so bright I feel my heart speed up. The sky is black, but stars are out, shining bright. The band on the stage is already playing. There’re hundreds of people out but enough room where everyone isn’t piled on top of each other. After we smooth out the blanket, I sit down my legs apart, resting my elbows on my knees. Lauren’s rummaging through the bag looking for something.
    She finally pulls out another blanket , wraps herself in it, and rests her head on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around her, pull her between my legs, and kiss every inch of her neck. She looks back, giving me a playful warning glare but then kisses me softly. When she pulls away she shows me a smile that causes one to spread on my face.
    S he then crawls out of my embrace, and she’s back searching through the duffle bag. She pulls out a sketch pad and pencil. She draws through a couple of songs while I sing to the music. Songs I don’t even know, but I seem really excited about being here. When I look back at her sketch pad, I see she’s drawn me. It’s not completely finished yet, but done enough to where I can tell.
    “You weren’t supposed to look,” she teases, her cheeks flushing, her hair falling in her face.  I pull her over towards me, and she settles between my legs again and rests her back on my stomach. I cross my arms over her waist, and she starts to sing along to the song playing. I lean down to her ear and kiss her right below her lobe. My heart starts to beat faster. My stomach is doing flips, and I’m not sure why. A second later, I take her hands in mine.
    “I love you,” I whisper in her ear, and I feel her body stiffen. She looks back at me her eyes wide and a small smile on her face.
    “ I love you too, Cal,” she says before turning around and kissing me like no one else is around. Everything fades out around me and I’m back in my room this time.

 
    Chapter 7
    They don’t tell you about things like this on the websites. In the articles, they talk about symptoms, possible treatments. I’ve found a couple of online support groups, even a few that meet in person; although none are in my great state. But nothing I’ve read about so far in the limited time I’ve known about this tells you what to do when you start to remember. How to deal with