Chapter 3

[Justin’s POV]

"You're right, she's lost her memory," Enoch said, confirming what Grams had previously said.

"But how can you be so sure?" I argued.

"I'm not a doctor or anything. I just happen to know a few things about stitching stuff, administering pills and giving injections. From my little knowledge and with the few equipment I possess, I can boldly say to you that this girl's brain's disoriented," Enoch said.

Enoch had asked the girl to lay on the bed which used to be my bed before she came and he had examined her and even asked her some general questions. I couldn't believe he was agreeing with Grams that the girl had lost her memory. Anyways, he was going to fix it.

"Can't you fix it?" I asked.

"I cannot. Look, you should take this girl to a psychiatric home or something, where they could help her out and help her regain her memory," Enoch said.

The insane girl sat up on the bed immediately, looking really terrified. "I don't wanna go anywhere," She said.

I ignored her. "Of course, Enoch. I don't plan on keeping a stranger in my house," I said.

"Watch it, young man. This is my house and I'd decide who gets to live here," Grams said.

"I don't want any problem with people of her kind," I said.

"What do you mean?" Grams asked.

"Everything she had on the day we saw her was all designer stuff worth thousands, if not millions of dollars. You hung her undies outside, those freaking things were also designer stuff. I don't want any issue with people like them, I won't get into trouble for helping someone the same way my father did," I yelled.

Grams' shoulders drooped. I had just reminded her of something that hurt every member of our family and I wished honestly that I had controlled my damned emotions but I had been pushed to the wall.

"I think I should go," Enoch said, packing his stuff.

"Thanks for everything," I muttered.

He gave a small smile and walked out of the room.

"Grams, I'm sorry," I said, after he had left.

"I'll call the psychiatric center in the town," Grams said and walked away.

I ran my fingers through my blonde hair in deep thoughts then I felt a hand touch mine.

I looked down and my heart skipped a beat on seeing her stare at me with her blue eyes. I brushed aside the feelings and flung her hand away from my wrist and this sent her off balance as she collapsed on the bed.

I couldn't help but laugh at her mockingly.

Her face turned red with anger and she did something I never saw coming.

She sat up and started pulling my arms with both of her hands probably with the intention of making me fall too.

Of course, that was impossible because I had a great stamina. I mean, when you have muscles and six packs and you don't miss a heavy workout routine everyday, how exactly could a Barbie-like girl pull you down?

I slipped on something that had been left lying on the floor and I ended up collapsing on top of her.

Trust the dumb girl to think she was the cause of my downfall.

She started laughing like a chipmunk, apparently pleased with herself.

"Why aren't you laughing?" She asked.

"Cause I don't want to," I replied.

"You don't like me," She said.

"You're correct," I affirmed.

"But why don't you like me? Did I do something wrong?" She asked.

"You didn't do anything on purpose. It's just that you're rich," I said and stood up.

"How'd you know that?" She asked.

"It's obvious. Your manicure, pedicure, your skin, even your hair makes it obvious. Besides, that outfit you were putting on the day we saw you is another proof I have, not to mention the jewelries you had on as well," I replied.

"So what if I'm rich? Is anything wrong with that?" She asked.

"Yes. I hate rich people," I said to her.

"Why is that so?" She asked.

"I don't want to stress your brain, just forget about it," I said.

"Does that mean you can't even try to like me?" She asked.

I scoffed, "I can't try to. Liking someone is something that comes off naturally, you can't try to like someone. And it's not just about you being a rich kid, I just don't like you and I can't place the reason as to why I feel that way towards you, no offence."

"But I like you, and I like your house as well," She said.

"Thanks, but I still don't like you and I most definitely don't like your presence here," I said.

"Is it because you think I'm rich?" She asked.

"Rich people have problems and I don't want to be a part of it," I said.

"I won't be like other rich people you know, I promise," She said.

"I'm sending you to a psychiatric home. The doctors will try to make you better and will put up your picture everywhere, so your family can come get you," I said.

She shook her head, apparently not agreeing with my decision.

"I don't want to go anywhere, I want to stay with you and your grandmother," I said.

"You don't even know if we're bad people and you want to stay with us," I objected.

"Please, don't send me anywhere," She said.

I heard the sound of a horn blaring all over the place.

"Come," I told her.

"Come to where?" She asked.

I took her by the hand and led her all the way outside.

"Where are you taking me?" She whined.

I saw the local psychiatric center vehicle parked outside. The center had been built by the last councillor during his electoral campaign and so far, getting help there was free and the center had been of great help to many people with mental illness.

Two men dressed in white overalls alighted the vehicle.

"They're here for you," I told her.

"I don't wanna go," She said, struggling to break free from my grip.

The two men approached me and their name tags showed Doctor Sam and Doctor Timothy respectively.

"Is she the patient?" Doctor Timothy asked.

"Yes, as you can see," I told both of them.

They nodded their heads understandingly and took her from me.

"Calm down, you'll be fine," Doctor Sam said, trying to cradle her.

"Let me go!" She yelled.

"You'll meet friends there who are like you and...."

"Justin, don't let them take me along with them. They're talking to me like I'm a crazy person, I'm not crazy," She yelled.

Tears were flowing freely from her eyes as she was being hoisted onto the vehicle, staring at me once more with pleading red eyes.

I ignored the guilt tugging at my conscience and watched as they successfully put her in the vehicle and drove off.

I heaved a deep sigh and walked back inside with slow and calculated steps.

"You feel better now that she's no longer here, right?" Grams asked sarcastically as I walked into the living room.

"I do," I responded and went to the bedroom, where she had just been only a few minutes ago.

I stared out the window as the bus drove off. She was at the back of the bus hitting the windshield desperately as tears slid down her eyes.

I watched as the vehicle left and dropped the curtains.

She had called me by my first name.

And I didn't even get to know hers.