Page 39 of Even Vampires Bleed

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She nods but doesn’t add anything.

The minute rings, but I don’t kick her out.

“How come I remember how to function?” I ask instead, “I mean, if my memory is gone, how is it possible that I remember how to fly, how to walk, or how to speak?”

“Because this microchip wasn’t linked to your functional memory. It only erased who you are.” She pauses, before saying, “Who youwere, not what you can do.”

I’m silent for a while, processing her words.

“Do you need anything?” she asks cautiously again.

“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully.

And it’s exactly how I feel.

I don’t know.

I don’t know who I was.

I don’t know how I lived until now.

I’m a blank page.

And like any writer would be, I’m scared of that blank page.

“I need time alone,” I tell her, but the right answer is“I need time.” Period.

Because I’m missing time.

From what I’ve seen in the mirror in the bathroom earlier, I’ve lost at least two decades.

But that also means that whoever I was doesn’t matter anymore. I can be someone new.

And somehow, this is what I hang on to.

I can be whoever I want.

20

Cassiopé

It’s been a week already that Léandre’s memory has been erased, and I’ve barely gotten out of my room. I’ve barely gotten out of my bat form, either.

Even the hours I spent in my dad’s room to check on him were spent in bat form. I’ve been sleeping against his side in the hospital bed that’s been installed in his room.

It’s the only comfort I get these days.

Not even food or books comfort me.

I’m numb.

It’s like a light went out when Léandre’s memory was snuffed out.

It’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay.

If I repeat that often enough, maybe it’s going to start being true.

It’s wishful thinking, I know, but with everything going on now I’d take anything.

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