My memory comes back to me in pieces. It does that sometimes.

It's pretty fuzzy, but I can make out the hazy shape of a mobile, spinning lazily above me. Little safari animals—a lion, a zebra, a giraffe, and an elephant—drift around me. I can't seem to look away until a man's face appears over the edge of the crib. His eyes crinkle and I hear myself shriek happily.

He looks familiar. Deep, soulful, green eyes. An evenly trimmed, salt-and-pepper beard and wrinkles around his eyes from smiling so much. He reaches down and lifts me into his arms, swaying us gently around the room.

The memory is too weak to hear any clear words, but I can tell he is speaking to me, soft yet playfully as he spins us around and I giggle, wrapping my chubby arms around his neck as we head out of the bedroom.

I blink, and the memory changes. This time, I'm running around the backyard, being chased by a monster! I scream as I toddle around, trying to escape its wrath. Not looking where I'm going, I trip, landing hard on a rock.

The monster—or, rather, boy—freezes momentarily before he rushes over, immediately sweeping me into his arms as I begin sobbing, tears rolling down my flushed cheeks. This time, I can just hear him hushing me, "It's okay, monkey. You're okay."

I blink. This time, I'm sitting on the kitchen counter. God knows how I got there. Stuffing my face with cookies from the forbidden jar, I freeze when I hear someone clear their throat. I shuffle around, now facing a different man with his arms crossed over his chest, raising an accusatory eyebrow at me.

The cookie in my hand falls from my grip and I let the one hanging out of my mouth drop as well, gaze trapped on the man in the doorway. I let out a sudden burst of giggles, and I watch as the man's facade cracks and he pushes off of the door frame and walks towards me, wiggling his fingers menacingly. I shriek.

This time, it takes a moment before another memory appears. Something doesn't feel right. A woman is holding me in her grasp, and the only thing I can think about is that it hurts. She's holding me tightly, quickly piling clothes into a suitcase. I try to play with her hair, but she lightly smacks my hand away.

Then there's yelling. She's standing in the entryway, me still in her arms. The man from the first memory—who I presume to be my father—is standing in front of the door, arms crossed over his chest as the two yell at each other. I reach out to the man with my chubby hands, whimpering when the woman pulls me closer to her. The man looks crushed.

Now the woman is dragging me out the door. I scream and sob, trying to reach for the man, but it's no use. He can't even look at me. I turn my attention to the five boys behind him. The two youngest, both 12 at the time, cry silently into each other. The other three look devastated.

But they won't help me. Why won't they help me? The last thing I see as my mother wrenches my fingers off the doorframe is a single tear on my father's cheek.

꩜꩜꩜

Everything hurts. That's not abnormal. Pretty par for the course, frankly.

Something else isn't, though. Something is different. I take a minute, eyes still closed, to take in my surroundings.

Antiseptic. That's new. Sir's house is never clean, and God what on earth is that horrible beeping?

Eventually, I peel my eyes open. Oh. Right. The memories come crashing back. Ms. Wilkins. The cops. Sir. I shudder, eyes immediately scanning the room for his presence. Nothing.

I'm not supposed to be here. Sir always said hospitals were bad. That if I ever went to one, I would regret it 'til the day I died. I remember wishing that day would come soon.

I sit up, wincing as pain wracks my entire body. But no matter. There are more important things to deal with. Like getting out of here. I stand up, swaying as stars dance across my vision. Pretty.

I begin walking towards the door, albeit slowly, before something tugs on my arm, forcing me to a halt. I frown, noticing the tube connecting my arm to a bag of... water? I poke at the spot where the tube connects to my arm. Curious.

Not thinking twice, I give the tube a hard yank, and it flies out of my arm. Barely even a prick, despite the fairly large needle dangling from the end of the tube. I wipe off the dot of blood that sprouts on my arm and discard the tube on the floor, now making it to the door without error.

Opening it slowly, I peek out in both directions. Silence. That's odd. From the snippets of shows I saw on the TV when Sir was asleep, hospitals were supposed to be crowded and loud. Not this one, apparently.

I stepped out into the hallway, shivering as my feet pressed against the cold, linoleum tile. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to generate some heat through the flimsy gown draped over me. Wait... who changed me?

I brush the thought off. Not important. Stay focused. I shuffle down the hallway, ignoring the pain in all parts of my body, until I freeze, hearing voices. Muffled at first, they come into focus as I make my way further down the hallway.

"-health is poor. He is severely malnourished, underweight, and most likely very skittish." Poor guy. "His former guardian, Frank Brandt..." the woman's voice trails off as I freeze. Frank. I hadn't heard that name in a while.

The name sent shivers down my spine, and my heart decided to kick in. I spun around, nervously scanning the still-empty hallway for any signs of anything suspicious. I turned back around, gasping as two well-polished shoes stood in front of me.

I leaped backward, wrapping my arms tighter around my thin torso. I never liked how I could trace the bumps of my ribs, even through my shirt. My head shot up and I made eye contact with the man standing in front of me.

Whoa. Deja vu. It was as though I was staring back into my own eyes. The man—from the cookie-stealing memory—was standing in front of me. He looked different... older somehow? Taller. Bigger. More tattoos, that of which I could see. And scarier.

His eyes—though similar to mine, I realized, also darker—scanned my thin frame with a frown on his face. Through the deep green in his eyes, there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was as though he was empty.

A nurse suddenly rounded the corner, emerging from the room the man must have also just emerged from, face transforming to one of shock when she saw me, "What are you doing up? How did you get your IV out?" She gasped. Not accusatory, just shocked.

I just shrugged, avoiding her gaze. I flinched when she reached for my arm, but she ignored it. Instead, she analyzed the nonexistent needle in my arm, the area still slightly irritated and bloody.

"Oh, hun" She tsked "Did you take it out by yourself?" She shook her head "We can't do that, hun," I wasn't sure why. I just needed to leave. Leave. The reminder of my original mission hit me, and I quickly wrenched my arm from the nurse's grasp as she gasped and I turned to run.

The man, ever silent and stoic, was a mind reader. I think. The moment I turned, he placed a firm hand on my shoulder. I flinched again. "No" He murmured, voice so deep I didn't think it could possibly go any lower.

Shockingly, I found myself stopping. Something about the way he said it was so familiar. Dare I say... comforting? I froze, shifting nervously in place as the firm hand turned me around, and back to the nurse.

She looked upset. "Now listen here—" Before she could get another word out, I was moved so quickly my vision tilted. I was suddenly tucked behind the man, the hand still resting on my shoulder.

I tried to peek around his long legs, but his hand held me still. I heard harsh whispering but I couldn't quite make out what was being said. Before I knew what was happening, the nurse turned around and scurried off, looking like a kicked puppy.

I felt the man swivel around but I kept my eyes on the ground, analyzing his shoes and my bare feet. His shoes were nice. Perfectly shiny, not for grubby hands like mine. The man cleared his throat and I tensed, raising my gaze quickly.

He seemed to pause for a moment, before lightly shaking his head and taking a knee in front of me. I fiddled nervously. Everything was starting to hurt again. A lot. I didn't even realize my gaze was down again until the man took one finger and hooked it under his chin, gently raising my head.

"Hello, Luca" his rumbly voice spoke softly. He knew my name. Of course he did. I didn't move. I learned not to move or acknowledge others until given explicit permission.

The man was unphased, despite my flinch when he had reached for my chin. "My name is Massimo Accardi. I am your older brother."

꩜꩜꩜

EEK. All I can say tbh. I have to go to the bathroom.

Rosie :)