Adapt

An orange-yellow light raced across the ceiling like a cheap imitation of a shooting star. It skimmed the top of a wall covered in peeling wallpaper, turning brown and musty and the edges with age. The light came through the blinds, torn and half-useless, hanging over the windows that had probably been broken a hundred or so times by the people who wandered the streets late at night, drunk and in search of any form of entertainment. Across the room was stretched a carpet that had holes in it and was out of proportion to the actual room, too short on one side… too long on another. Clothes were scattered across it.

In one corner there was a bed. Out of the tangle of sheets a pale leg stuck out. A horn outside honked, and the limb moved. Underneath the sheets, there was some activity as someone raised their head with a disgruntled moan and finally pulled the sheets back a little to reveal a young girl. Groggy and disorientated, she finally managed to force her body into some state of wakefulness. Her mind followed, though much more slowly, until she was finally able to sit up in bed and take in her unfamiliar surroundings.

The room was about as unremarkable and ordinary as it could have been, she guessed. She didn’t recognise it, and her head hurt when she tried to remember exactly how she’d got here. All she did know is that it was hardly a top of the range place, and she didn’t particularly wish to linger there. Swinging her legs round over the edge of the bed, every part of her complaining against the movement, she put her head in her hands, trying to think… and failing. The more she tried to remember, the more panicky she felt, because everything was a complete blank.

With a rush of horror, she realised she couldn’t even remember her name.

Funny, really, she thought. She could remember things… just never anything specific. She knew she was in a room… a run down motel room, from the look of it. But she didn’t quite remember her location… the name of the street outside, or the city she was in. No details came to mind at all… When she looked at the clock on the wall she knew the numbers, and that they indicated the time to be about 4:45. In the morning, she assumed. Squinting out between the blinds… it did look very dark, except for the street lights and occasional taxis driving back and forth.

What was she doing here, anyway?

The headache came rushing back, and she quickly abandoned that thought.

Surprisingly, the pain vanished almost immediately. Weird.

Standing up, she realised with a sudden rush of embarrassment that she was naked from head to toe. Her mind pieced something together, and she looked around hastily for her clothes, locating trousers, panties, bra and shirt. Dressing quickly, she prayed that this didn’t mean what it seemed to. Was she a slut? How was she supposed to know if she didn’t even remember her name?

Another look at her surroundings revealed a bag hung over a chair. Taking it and sitting back down on the bed, she began to rummage through. A phone and a purse were laid out on the bed, and she decided the purse was her best bet, opening it and finding little cards lined up in the slots. Strangely enough, she felt familiar with each one… this one was a library card. The name on it said Miss S Lockley. That last name sounded familiar… it must be hers, but what did the ‘S’ stand for? She pulled out another, but all the cards only had the initial on them. One, her driving licence, told her she was eighteen… but that was all the extra info she could find. Finally she pulled out a piece of paper from deep in one of the slots at the back and read it.

As of the 17th of September, William, Lauren, Skye and Tobias Lockley will be living at the following address:
24, Jenison Drive,
Northwood,
London.

Well… there was only one name with an ‘S’ in it. Skye… so that was her name? And her address too. At least now she would be able to get home, because this certainly wasn’t home. The address on the paper sounded a little too nice to refer to this dingy place. But how was she going to get there? One of the cards had been a pink subway pass. She checked the date on it, and it was valid until the 30th. Hopefully that wasn’t yesterday’s date. Where could she find out… maybe the watch on her wrist? It said ‘Sun 29’. Good… at least now she could get home.

With a quick look around the room, the girl called Skye gathered up the things she presumed to be hers and, pulling on the pair of high-heeled shoes one by one as she headed for the door. Obviously she had been on a night out and supposedly been picked up and brought here. There was a key with the number ‘4’ on the tag, which had clearly been pushed under the door to allow her out. So someone else had been here too? Oh god, then maybe she had slept with someone. Or worse, been raped. But, as she left, locking the door behind her, she began to doubt this. It certainly didn’t feel as though she’d been raped. Surely she’d know, wouldn’t she?

She dropped the key off at the front desk, and was about to walk out the door when she caught sight of a figure in a mirror that had been attached to the wall just inside the entrance. A young girl with black hair, pale skin and a tired look about her generally, stared back. That was her? Tilting her head, Skye eyed her reflection, unsure of what to think of herself now that she remembered what she looked like. God, she looked almost as bad as she felt. She tugged at the skin under her eyes, which were darkened, partly by tiredness, but also by smeared makeup. Self-consciously, she rubbed at it to try and tidy herself a bit. It was strange how she could only now remember what she looked like in detail. Clear skin… hazel eyes… that black hair did look a little out of place though. Maybe she’d dyed it recently and didn’t remember.

She wished she could remember, but the headache returned quickly as she fought to remember. So she left, keeping her head down and wrapping the coat she had found in the room around her. There was almost no one about at this time, except for a few huddled figures in sop doorways. Even the taxis that went past were few… but she didn’t bother to try and flag one down. She could see a sign for the subway, and headed for it as quickly as possible. The stairs were white tiled all around, and she clattered down them as fast as possible in the uncomfortable, high-heeled shoes. The card went through the machine… it was weird how naturally it all seemed to come back to her when she actually saw the machines and looked at the subway map. In all the multitude of names she found one and somehow knew it was the one she wanted. Working out the route, she jumped on the next train.

As she sat, with nothing else to think about, she once again began to wonder what exactly had happened to her. But still nothing came… only the headache. Resting her palm against her forehead, she stubbornly tried to force her mind to concentrate on other things, counting the lights that went past the window as she waited for her stop to come. It did, finally, then she changed trains and went through the process again.

When she finally made it to Northwood, once again she was seized by familiarity, and set off down the road. There was no one about, and she doubted she would run into anyone, but she kept an eye out anyway, wary of being attacked. And then, at long last, she came upon a street. The sign read “Jenison Drive”. Great… now all she needed was number 24 and, when she found it, she knew it was her house. She even found a key in her bag, and it slipped easily into the front door when she tried it.

Inside, the house was dark and, remembering that there must be other people in here, sleeping, Skye stepped very carefully along the hall and up the stairs. She could make out dark, square shapes of boxes. Yeah… they’d only moved here recently. They hadn’t finished unpacking properly yet. She picked her way around the boxes, treading lightly so boards wouldn’t creak too much, until she finally came to a room that, luckily, had her name written on it. She opened it and went in, not even bothering with the light before setting her things down on the floor and climbing on top of the bed. Oh yes, this felt good and safe… just what she needed after last night, even if she couldn’t remember what had happened to make her want to feel safe and secure.

She drifted off into sleep, but it was far from peaceful. There were no dreams, but her head didn’t seem to want to help her body out and just let it rest. She felt jumpy, and the few times she did sleep she would jolt awake suddenly. By the time light started to filter in between the curtains she had given up on sleep and simply lay back against the covers, not thinking about anything in particular, just blankly staring across the room. Soon she could hear people moving around, and then the sound of a woman’s voice.

“Skye?” There was a knock on her door. “Skye… time to get up.”

She didn’t answer. Instead she thought about that voice. Only now that she had heard it did she know it to be her mother’s and she doubted that, had she thought about it before, she would have been able to remember what her mother’s voice sounded like. Glancing around the room, she caught sight of a shelf stacked with books and decided to do a little experiment. She shut her eyes and tried to think of books she liked. And, just as before, nothing came to mind except for that same blinding headache. Yet, when she dragged herself out of bed and went to read the titles of some of the books, she suddenly remembered each one… what the story was… the main character’s name… but why hadn’t she been able to remember before?

Whatever was going on, it was more than a little creepy. Surely date-rape drugs didn’t work like this? They made you disorientated, maybe, but did they make you forget who you were? Or the sound of your mother’s voice? Damn it to hell… she couldn’t even remember what the woman looked like.

Well… she’d remember soon enough. Pulling on some more decent attire, Skye opened her door a crack and peered out into the hallway. A little shape crossed her field of vision, clad in what looked like Spiderman pyjamas with short, tousled brown hair. The figure rubbed its eyes, and opened the door to what must be the bathroom. Could that be Tobias? She wondered. Those pyjamas certainly looked familiar. They’d… they’d been a present last Christmas.

Shaking her head, she left the room and cautiously went down the stairs. There was greyish, early morning light filtering through the windows as she made her way to the kitchen, following the noises of breakfast being made, and the smell of frying bacon. The short, trim woman cooking it had her back to Skye, the strings of an apron tied tight around her back. Her hair was blonde, cut short and neatly styled… Skye was too nervous to alert the woman to her presence, just in case something might be wrong that she did not know about.

But eventually the woman did turn around, and instantly saw the young girl, nearly dropping the frying pan in surprise. This confused Skye because, as her memory began to return slowly on seeing her mother’s face, she had never been a jumpy kind of person.

“My god, Skye!” the woman cried in a mixture of anger and confusion. “What did you do to your hair?”

Skye’s eyebrows furrowed, and she reached up to take a wavy black strand in her fingers. “My hair?” she asked dumbly.

“I thought we’d got past the age of rebellion… honestly.” The woman shook her head in obvious disappointment and approached the girl, taking a lock of hair between her own fingers. “Your beautiful hair… look at it. What possessed you to do that?”

Skye wished she could remember the reason. Clearly this was something that had happened recently… part of the night that she couldn’t remember. Unfortunately, this left her a little speechless as to what to give as an excuse until finally all she could mumble was “I don’t know… sorry.”

“Just you wait till your father sees you,” her mother said, dishing out bacon onto a plate set in the large wooden table in the kitchen.

“Do you think he’ll be angry?” Skye asked, obviously not capable of knowing how her father would react in her current condition. She looked around the kitchen, waiting for an answer, but her mother was either too preoccupied to give it, or thought the question to ridiculous to waste time on. Instead she told the girl to take a seat and have her breakfast before it got cold, fetching some bread from the bread bin and buttering it for her with that quiet, sulky manner parents adopt when they want to make their children feel incredibly guilty.

It was only a little later, after wolfing down two bacon butties and a tall glass of orange juice, that Skye understood what had made her mother so upset. In the sitting room she discovered a photograph. The face was familiar… it was the same one she had seen in the mirror when leaving that dingy hotel. It was her face… except it was surrounded by gorgeous blonde hair, long and silky and natural. She began to understand her mother’s outrage, even share it a little. Why had she coloured her hair? It looked fine blonde… what had made her dye it black?

Shaking her head again, she set the picture back down just as some light footsteps were heard above and the small figure from before came down the stairs, drawn also by the scent of bacon. The little boy paused, however, when he saw Skye, who now felt very self-conscious of her ‘new’ hair, and even felt a blush when he gave her a scrutinising look.

“You look like a witch,” he said succinctly before wandering through to the kitchen. She watched after him, her forehead creasing slightly. Yep… that was Tobias… little brother. Ten going on about fifteen. She couldn’t recall any specifics about him other than these. He was okay, as brothers went, she guessed. After a moment of reflection she went back into the kitchen after him and sat down.

“Mum… can I have another sandwich?” she asked as she pulled up a chair.

“You’ve already had two,” was the reply. “You’ll lose that lovely figure if you’re not careful.”

“Gonna turn into a big, fat goth,” Tobias said, his voice slightly staunched by the half-chewed piece of sandwich in his mouth.

Glaring back at him, Skye shrugged. “I’m still hungry though.” It was true as well. Even after all that food she could feel her stomach gurgling its protests for more food. She might just as well have eaten nothing… that was how it felt. Looking down at herself, she didn’t imagine that she was the type of girl who could eat and eat and never gain an ounce, but surely it wouldn’t matter, as long as she was actually hungry. It was eating when you were full that would be a problem, right? So she had another two sandwiches to try and silence her sudden hunger.

Five minutes afterwards, there was a growl that could have woken the dead.

“Good grief, you’re not still hungry, are you?”

Looking up from the sofa at her mother, Skye moaned and wrapped her arms around her belly. It wasn’t her fault. Something was up with her stomach. She’d tried ignoring it, but no matter what she did, that hunger kept gnawing at her. She waited it out most of the day, shut up in her room reading or watching TV. When lunch and eventually supper came around, she ate ravenously, almost scaring her mother with her appetite.

“Have we been starving you?”

Skye looked up at the man she had remembered as being her father. He had light brown hair, and hazel eyes which matched her own. He was sweet and jovial, and a good father. His only response to her dark hair had been to joke about her turning into a goth, although his eyes showed a flicker of regret at the loss of her long blond waves. His gentle teasing, however, under the circumstances, fell short of making the young girl smile. Now, she gave him a helpless look before turning back to the shepherd’s pie in front of her.

“Did you get those forms filled in yet?”

Her fork paused halfway up to her mouth, and was lowered again. Nervous because she had no recollection of any forms, Skye took refuge in simply saying: “I haven’t had time.”

“Well, they’re not going to write themselves, you know,” the father went on. “We need to get them sent off soon so they can get your accommodation sorted.”

Accommodation? She didn’t dare ask what the man was talking about.

“And you’ll have to start look at elective courses too,” the mother pointed out before sighing wistfully. “I still can’t believe it. My little girl… off to university. You okay, sweetheart?”

Skye, on hearing the word ‘university’, had let out a sigh of relief as she finally remembered what all this fuss was about. Yes… she was off to university next month, some time in October. Good. She nodded and smiled at the woman who was her mother and began her vigorous eating once again. She shovelled the food in so quickly and desperately that the woman eventually had to ask her to slow down before she choked.

But she couldn’t help it. She was so hungry. And she ate and ate, but no difference was made. It was like trying to fill a black hole.

At sometime past midnight, long after everyone had gone to bed, there was no one up and about to hear the sound of someone heading down the stairs and rushing on light feet to the kitchen. No one heard the frantic sound of cupboards being opened, packets being torn apart, and crunching teeth in fruits, biscuits, just about every kind of food under the sun. After half an hour of simply stuffing anything into her mouth, Skye collapsed against the open fridge door, her mouth smeared with chocolate and biscuit crumbs. Dry, wracking sobs that accompanied the noises still coming from her belly.

What was wrong with her? She’d eaten almost everything in the house that was edible… why in hell was she still hungry? She was starving so badly now, she felt like she must be dying. Her feet shifted through empty packets and bags littering the floor around her, and she looked despairingly at the mess she had created. Languidly, she began to pick things up between her fingers and slip them into the bin. She gathered up the crumbs with her fingers and stuffed them in her mouth like a beggar, hygiene be damned. When she crawled into bed again at last, she curled up into the foetal position and wrapped her arms around herself. Sleep did not come easily.