Chapter two

Ethan lay on the couch, his eyes closed, the soft, plush cushions cradling him. He tossed the ball in the air, catching it effortlessly, the rhythmic motion a soothing counterpoint to the low hum of Charlotte's voice. Her words, though spoken with a gentle, measured tone, drifted in and out of his awareness like distant whispers on the wind. He wasn't really listening, not truly. His mind was a swirling vortex of thoughts and emotions, a chaotic symphony of pain, fear, and denial. The ball became his focus, a tangible anchor in the storm within. He could feel the smooth leather in his hand, the satisfying thud as it met his palm. It was a simple act, a childish game, but it provided a sense of control, a fleeting moment of peace in the midst of his turmoil. 

Charlotte's voice continued, a steady stream of questions and observations, her concern palpable. She spoke of coping mechanisms, of the importance of processing his trauma, of the need to confront his fears. He heard her words, but they seemed to echo in a distant chamber, their meaning lost in the labyrinth of his own mind. He was adrift, lost in the swirling currents of his own pain, the ball a solitary buoy in a vast, turbulent sea.

Ethan takes a deep breath, the ball momentarily still in his hand as he looks at Charlotte. "Can we skip the usual questions for a second?" he asks, his voice tinged with frustration. "I need to know something important. Are these flashes I'm getting... are they real memories? What happened that day? Who died in that car? Why won't anyone tell me?" 

Charlotte pauses, her expression shifting to one of understanding. "Ethan, I know this is hard for you. The memories can be fragmented and confusing, but we can work through them together. It's important to process what you're feeling, but I can see you need clarity too."

He nods, feeling the weight of his questions pressing down on him. "I just want to understand. I feel like there's something they're not telling me, and it's driving me crazy." 

Charlotte leans forward slightly, her voice steady and calm. "It's okay to feel that way. Sometimes, the truth can be overwhelming, but facing it is part of the healing process. Let's take it one step at a time." 

Ethan grips the ball tighter, the tension in his body evident. "I just... I need to know."

Ethan stares at Charlotte, his eyes searching hers. "Why won't you tell me? You know what happened. You know who died. Why are you keeping it from me?" His voice is tight, laced with a raw emotion that makes Charlotte flinch. 

She hesitates, her gaze dropping to her hands. "Ethan, it's not that simple. I know things, yes, but there are reasons why I can't share them with you right now. I need you to trust me. It's for your own good."

"My own good?" Ethan scoffs, the ball slipping from his grasp and rolling across the floor. "How can you say that? I'm drowning in these flashes, these memories, and you're telling me to trust you? I need answers. I need to know what happened!"

Charlotte reaches out, her hand hovering over his, but he pulls back, his eyes filled with pain and anger. "Ethan, please," she pleads, her voice softening. "I know this is difficult, but I'm trying to help you. We can work through this together. But I need you to understand that there are things I can't reveal until you're ready." 

He stares at her, his expression unreadable, the silence heavy with unspoken questions and frustration.

Ethan sits up on the couch, his body stiff and tense. He pushes himself away from the cushions, his eyes fixed on Charlotte. "I'm done with this," he says, his voice laced with anger. "This therapy isn't doing anything. It's just a bunch of questions and empty promises. I need answers, and you're not giving them to me."

He stands, his gaze burning with frustration. "I'm done with this," he repeats, his voice firm. "I'm going to find out what happened on my own. You can't stop me."

Charlotte rises to her feet, her face etched with concern. "Ethan, please, don't do this. You're not ready. You need to be careful."

Ethan shakes his head, his eyes burning with determination. "I'm not asking anymore. I'm done with your games. I'm going to find out the truth, even if it kills me." 

He turns and walks away, his footsteps echoing in the silence, leaving Charlotte standing alone, her heart heavy with worry.

Ethan pushes through the heavy glass doors of the therapy office, the sudden blast of city air hitting him like a wave. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm the storm brewing inside him. The streets are alive with the usual cacophony of honking horns, chattering voices, and the rhythmic thud of footsteps. The familiar sights and sounds of the city, usually a source of comfort, feel overwhelming tonight. 

He walks aimlessly, his mind racing, trying to make sense of the jumbled memories that keep replaying in his head. The city lights blur around him, a kaleidoscope of colors that mirror the chaos within. He needs to clear his head, to escape the suffocating pressure of the questions that plague him. 

He spots a small coffee shop tucked away on a side street, the warm glow of its lights beckoning him in. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries fills the air, a comforting aroma that promises a temporary escape. He pushes open the door, the bell above chiming softly as he enters. The warm air inside feels like a balm to his soul, the gentle hum of conversation a soothing counterpoint to the city's roar. 

Ethan walks up to the counter, the scent of cinnamon and sugar drawing him in. He orders a double espresso and a croissant, hoping the caffeine and sugary treat will provide the temporary solace he desperately needs.

Ethan settles into a cozy corner seat by the window, the bustling cityscape stretching out before him. He takes a moment to savor the rich aroma of his espresso and the flaky goodness of his croissant. As he takes a bite, he feels a hint of relaxation wash over him, the sweetness of the pastry melting away some of his tension.

Just then, the door swings open, and a girl with striking red hair walks in. Her numerous piercings glint in the soft light, but Ethan is too absorbed in his thoughts to notice her entrance. He takes another sip of his drink, lost in the rhythm of the city outside, unaware of the intriguing presence that has just stepped into the café.

As Ethan continues to enjoy his treat, he catches a glimpse of the girl in the sundress. She moves with a certain grace, her ponytail swaying gently as she walks up to the counter. He notices she orders the same espresso and croissant, a curious coincidence that piques his interest just a little.

She finds a seat at the opposite end of the café, and to his surprise, she's looking directly at him. For a moment, their eyes meet, and Ethan feels a flutter of something unexpected. He shifts in his seat, suddenly self-conscious, but he quickly returns to his pastry, trying to shake off the feeling.

Ethan can feel her gaze on him, and it sends a ripple of unease through his chest. He tries to focus on his coffee, but the intensity of her stare pulls him back. She bites into her croissant, crumbs falling onto her sundress, yet her eyes remain fixed on him, not with a flirtatious glimmer but with something deeper, more probing.

He glances up again, caught in the web of her attention. There's a sense of curiosity in her expression, almost as if she's trying to read him, to decipher the thoughts swirling in his mind. Ethan feels exposed, like she can see through the walls he's built around himself. The atmosphere in the café shifts subtly, the bustling noise fading into the background as an unspoken tension fills the space between them.

Ethan is startled when she suddenly rises from her seat and walks towards him. He watches her approach, his heart thumping in his chest, a mix of anticipation and confusion swirling within him. He doesn't understand why she's walking towards him, why she's looking at him with such disbelief.

She stops in front of him, her piercing gaze unwavering. "You really don't remember?" she asks, her voice low and steady, a hint of accusation in its tone. Ethan feels a knot of anxiety tighten in his stomach. He shakes his head slowly, his mind racing, trying to piece together the puzzle of her words.

Ethan's brow furrows as he tries to make sense of her question. "Remember what?" he asks, his voice tinged with confusion. His eyes seem to recognize her, but his mind draws a blank. It's like a familiar melody playing in the background, but he can't quite place the song.

He searches his memory for any clue, any shared moment that could explain the intensity in her gaze, the accusation in her voice. But his mind remains stubbornly blank. It's as if a part of him knows her, but another part, the part that controls his conscious thoughts, remains oblivious.

Ethan's confusion deepens with each word she utters. "It was all for nothing?" he repeats, his voice echoing the emptiness in his mind. The name "Sam" rings a distant bell, but it's a faint echo, a whisper from a forgotten dream. He tries to grasp at the memory, but it slips through his fingers like sand.

"I can't believe you would forget me like that," she says, her voice laced with a mixture of hurt and anger. "I can't believe you're forgetting Sam like that." He feels a chill run down his spine, a sense of dread creeping into his heart. Who is this woman? Who is Sam? Why does she seem to hold him accountable for forgetting something so important?