Author: seeking stardom PM
As if being beautiful is all there is to it. I broke all the rules by sleeping with him - a biker. Worst of all I had a boyfriend. That was classified as cheating. But what if you're an Amnesiac? Does that still classify as cheating? This can't be good.Rated: Fiction T - English - Chapters: 5 - Words: 2,249 - Reviews: 11 - Favs: 6 - Follows: 10 - Updated: 08-18-11 - Published: 10-29-08 - id: 2589690
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
"So you can't remember a thing?" I shook my head, stirring my now cold coffee. I thought I saw something like disappointment in his eyes.
"Oh. So I could just make anything about myself up and you won't remember?"
I nodded. "Exactly."
He smiled slightly.
"But," I said, "You do realise that if my memory comes back, I'll have to go home, right?"
"And you don't care?"
He laughed, touching my lips with his fingers. "I'm ready to take the risk."
They all think that being popular is easy. If you're born with the looks and the attitude, then you're in. what they don't realise is all the work you have to put in, as well.
As if being beautiful is all there is to it. There are rules you must follow. Break 'em, and you're out.
I broke those rules by sleeping with one of the "Outsiders" - namely, the bikers of our school. Worst of all, I had a boyfriend (Who was an asshole by any means) and sleeping with someone else was classified as cheating.
But tell me, is it classified as cheating if you have Amnesia?
When I woke up and realised there was hot, naked, very male body next to me, I panicked. Well, what do you expect me to do? Say Yippee and jump for joy? No way.
I lay back down, close my eyes and counted from ten backwards. When I opened my eyes, Hot Naked Male Body was still next to me… And very much awake.
"Hey," He said groggily. Whatever his name was, I couldn't remember. Hello? Amnesia calling!
"Um… Hi? Do I know you?" I blabbered. He stared at me as if I was some crazy chick who just asked him to autograph my boobs.
He rubbed the back of his neck and said, "Well, seeing as you've been sleeping with me for the past two months, then I say yeah, we do know each other."
OK, no need to panic. You've only been sleeping with him for the past two months, right? No harm done if you don't remember… did you TELL him about your Amnesia?!
I stared at him and pulled the white sheets tighter around myself. Didn't want him to see all my precious bits. Thought apparently he'd done more than looking at them for the past two months
Who was this guy?!
"OK… what's your name?" I asked.
His face coloured a bit at that. "Oh shit."
Oh shit? Sure, bikers are supposed to be creative with their nicknames but who the hell would call themselves Oh shit? That's just stupid.
"Your name is Oh Shit? That's stupid." He didn't answer me. He sat up, grabbed his ripped jeans from the floor and got dressed at top speed.
"Don't worry," He said to me, grabbing his jacket, "I'm going to get help, OK?"
NO not OK! "No. Wait! Don't call for help! I'm alright! I was joking." I said, grabbing my own clothes and getting dressed.
He stared at me for a long moment before holding up three fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Jeez, I'm not blind! Three!" He nodded as if I just revealed something great to him.
"What's your name?"
I had to think about that one… "… Roxy.. O'Mere? Roxy O'Mere." I repeated, my voice stronger.
"Great. What's my name?" That got me. What was his name? It was obvious that it wasn't Oh Shit. I mean, come on.
The seconds ticked by and I still didn't know his name.
Hot Male Naked Body ( Which wasn't so naked anymore) smiled and nodded. "Stay here, OK? I'm calling for a doctor." he started to head out again.
"No, please. Wait!" I rushed after him and grabbed his arm. He turned round and I could see how scared he really was.
"Just tell me your name. I might remember." I pleaded. The last thing I needed was to be sent to hospital.
"Ryan Keminski." Doesn't ring a bell. I sighed and held his arm tighter.
"OK, we need to do something." I saw him glance at the phone, "But not by doctors. I need… I don't know.
"Look, all I know is your name, your mobile number and who you are. We met in a pub two months ago and that's where we started." he said. I peeled my hand away from his arm and collapsed on the chair by the door. Why did guys always have chairs by doors?
"Do I have a boyfriend?" I asked.
"Yes… Though we'd been talking about us two getting together properly and you dumping your boyfriend. Except you can't do that because it's against the rules." Well, that explains everything. Not.
I glared at him. "What rules? Look, I'm an Amnesiac and I have no idea what the fuck is going on, so I'd appreciate it if you explain everything in much more detail." He winced at the bad word.
"Right. And how am I supposed to do that?!" He snapped.
"I don't know. Don't you have a diary or something?" Even as the words left my mouth, I knew I was being stupid. A guy with a diary? Please.
He stared at me as if I was crazy. "No, but you have."
I immediately brightened at that. "I do?"
"Yeah, but you lost it at the last game." My good humour left like a light. Was he kidding? Who the hell would bring their diary to a game? Me, obviously.
"What game?" I asked.
"Basketball. You're a cheerleader in our school. That's why we wouldn't be aloud to see each other. I'm the trouble maker and you're the sexy, Go-Go girl of the school. You could lose your place their and consequently any scholarship you might get for Uni if you get caught by the Top Dog - Or Queen Bitch. Take your pick." He explained.
I nodded, tapping my bottom lip. "
"You do that when you're annoyed, thinking or concentrating." He supplied. I looked at him and slowly let my hand fall back to my leg.
"Great. How much do you know about me?" I asked. He - Ryan - shrugged.
"I know what I observed and what you told me. That's about it." He answered.
"Nice. Do you think that maybe, just maybe, you could tell me everything I have to know?"
Ryan nodded. "We could do that. But…"
I groaned out loud. He chuckled before continuing: "Only if you come for coffee with me." Well, that didn't sound so bad.
I nodded and he flung me a jacket. I stared at it. Who would wear an oversized football jacket?
Ryan rolled his eyes. "It's your boyfriend's. You lost yours."
It seemed like I lost a lot of things, and not only my memory either.
We sat in one of the Biker's pubs with me a coffee and him a hot chocolate. He was studying me as if I was a very important piece of gold he had to take back to his Boss.
"So you don't remember anything?" I shook my head, stirring my coffee. I guess everything was finally catching up with me. I thought I saw something like disappointment in his eyes but I couldn't be sure.
"Oh. So I could just make everything about myself up and you won't remember?"
I nodded. "Exactly." Though it would be appreciated if you didn't.
He smiled slightly.
"Maybe you should tell me what I need to know." I said, pushing my coffee away.
He shook his head. "Telling you all at once won't be any good. Maybe I should just write down a letter or something with the first few weeks?"
I didn't like the idea, but I let him anyway. As he grabbed pen and paper and wrote, I looked at him - I mean, really looked at him. He was unbelievably gorgeous with his blonde hair flopping into his eyes. I thought maybe he was going to be one of us. One of the populars. He had the make, right? But as I said before, it wasn't that easy. You had to give up everything you liked to become on of us, and like everything we liked. You never said the truth - your whole life was a lie. Either you're in or you're out. He was obviously out and I was obviously in.
I wondered if I was shallow like some girls who stared at themselves in the mirror for hours. Was I like the Queen Bitch as Ryan put it? Or was I different? When did we start sleeping together?
What was my boyfriend like? Was he so nasty I cheat on him?
Ryan put the pencil down and pushed the napkin towards me.
"Read it. I need to go to the bathroom a sec." I nodded and took the paper.
Your name is Roxy O'Mere and you are next to head (Whatever it's called) cheerleader of our school. You like rock music and punk music but you don't mind pop and country either - you're a big Lostprophets's fan.
Your boyfriend is called Tom Jackerman and he's a right asshole. In my opinion anyway. He's head basketball of our school and as popular as you can get. He has a scholar ship lined up for the best sport's university in the country. You said you didn't want to go to the University he wanted you to (Which was 24.5 miles away from him) and you had a massive fall out on September the 8th.
That's when we met at the pub. Don't you remember? You wore tight black jeans and a black and purple striped polo shirt which suited you like a Goddess. You were unbelievably gorgeous that night.
We talked and talked, and drank and drank, and talked some more. I knew all about you.
We used be best friends.
Then you had a car accident but the doctors said you were fine. I guess this is what they call Post- Amnesia (It comes back to you after a few months).
We slept together for the first time on September the 13th.
I asked you if you were sure and you said "Yes, I am. I hate my life and I need you right now."
So we did it. And you didn't regret it. Nor did I.
At school, we ignored each other which was fine because I knew you were mine every night. Tom treated you like shit and you always fought.
What hurt's the most is that you never talked to me about him.
That's where the letter ended. There was a big blotch of ink that made me think that maybe he had wanted to scratch that out.
He wrote a lot about me and "Tom" but he didn't write about himself except that we used to be best friends.
Ryan came back and smiled warmly at me. "Maybe I should show you round? It could jig your memory."
I stuffed the letter in my pocket and nodded, letting him lead me out.
A/N: Please R&R people! Go on and make my day! The little blue button….