Blackout is now published as a Wattpad Book! As a Wattpad reader, you can access the the Original Edition for free and the Books Edition upon purchase.
Allie doesn't believe the car crash that caused her amnesia was an accident. She knows the truth...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
TRUST.
I DON'T think I know what that word means anymore.
In the short time that I've been home from the hospital—the only recollection of life that I have at the moment—I've seen trust broken, and betrayed, and taken advantage of more times than I can count. I've seen trust become twisted between sisters, between lovers, between friends, between a mother and her daughters. And I'm the common denominator in all of those scenarios.
But Mason makes it seem as though trusting him is something different. A means of survival. A way of putting my life in his hands.
He didn't say much more at the restaurant, remaining vague and cryptic, staying true to his trademark style, but he reiterated that he would speak to me again later in the day, when there would be more time for him to explain everything in detail. We had driven back to the Pender Falls High parking lot veiled in a heavy silence, until he announced it would be best for me to attend my afternoon classes, to quell any growing suspicions. I agreed, making it clear that going to class wouldn't equate to speaking with my so-called friends. At least, not until he had explained everything.
So here I sit, in the middle of biology, unable to register a single word coming out of the teacher's mouth. Instead, my eyes shift in every direction nervously, as though Dylan, Zoe, or James will show up, even though I know we don't share this class. I notice several gazes linger on me, as they always do, and I wonder if any of the people they belong to are like Mason: strangers that know more about what happened to me than I do.
My knee bounces restlessly, eager for the end of the day, and the promise of much-needed information that it brings. Eventually, the bell rings, and I'm the first to stand up, breathing a sigh of relief as I collect my books, hugging them to my chest. I need to make it to my locker to exchange my books, then head to my last class without being spotted by the people I'm trying to avoid. Before, it didn't really matter if I glimpsed them in the hallway. It was awkward, which was to be expected, given my situation with Dylan, but it was bearable. Now, I can't shake the feeling that something horrible will happen if they so much as look my way. It's unnerving.
Attempting to blend in the crowd, I follow the flow of the other students, I lower my head, letting my hair hang around my face in the hopes that it will make me less conspicuous, my heart already hammering in my chest. Winding through the hallways, I head to my locker, changing out my books hurriedly and making it just in time for the second bell to ring. Calculus drags on painfully slowly, and I feel restless yet again. Luckily, this teacher is too busy sleeping at his desk to notice my inattention, and we're instructed to work on the problems from yesterday's lesson.
I find myself thinking of Dylan—both the real boy, and the ghost of him who haunted my dreams last night—and how they both seem like very different people, yet painfully the same. Conjuring up an image of him attacking me shouldn't have been so easy. He's my ex-boyfriend, for Christ's sake. How can you date someone for two years and have no idea that they're homicidal? I can't have been that naive. The person I know myself to be now is shrewd, good at thinking on her feet, and intelligent. She wouldn't turn a blind eye to something like this.
