I don’t know what time it is. I step outside onto my endearingly decorated porch in the cold, brisk air, and that tells me that it’s morning. I reach into my back pocket to find it vacant, then tap the rest of my pockets, searching. Where the hell is my phone? Maybe it can give me a clue or tell me anything that’s happened this past year. Let me backtrack and give you a little explanation:

Today I woke up on the floor of my spacious, blue bedroom soaked in sweat. I can’t believe I painted my room blue. Why would I do that? I hate blue. The last thing I remember was the New Year’s Eve party at my boyfriends sisters house. According to the puppy themed calendar on my fridge, that was one year ago, exactly. Today is New Years.

I swung open my blue painted door (why the fuck is everything blue?!) and waltzed back inside. I veer left, taking a sharp turn down the hallway and towards my room. Thank God I still know where that is. I start to inspect my room for clues, anything I can find that will tell me what I’ve missed. I open the top drawer on my dresser where I keep all of my important documents to see if there’s anything in there. The first thing I see is the title to my car in my name, but it’s not my car, it’s a Supra. I have a Supra now?!

After searching for a while longer and finding no other hints or indications as to what I’ve been doing this past year, I give up and go to the kitchen to make some peppermint tea. This is making me anxious. As I put the kettle on I hear keys jingle from outside, and the doorknob starts to move. What the hell? I live alone. I grab a kitchen knife from a drawer. Maybe someone stole my keys so they could come in and kidnap me. The door swings open, and a handsome, six foot something man with dark hair sporting a baby blue shirt, the color of everything In my house, stands at the entrance holding a pack of white claws. I’ve never seen this man before.

“Baby, I’m home!” He proclaims. Baby?!

He then takes in my appearance, my aggressive stance and my holding of the sharpest kitchen knife in the house.

“Why the hell are you holding a kitchen knife?”

“Because I live alone. Who the hell are you? This morning I woke up with absolutely no recollection of the past year and I’m confused to no end. And baby? What happened to my boyfriend James…?” I question sadly. I loved James.

“Oh honey, memory loss is common when dealing with a new trauma. And James is your ex boyfriend. He had a wife and kids the whole time he was dating you, told me during our therapy session.” He said sweetly.

“I’m dating my fucking therapist?! Oh god. What have I done.” I groaned

The End