Forgotten but not Gone

You're not alone
I'll listen till your tears give out
You're safe and sound, I swear that I won't let you down
What's hurting you I, I feel it too
I mean it when I say
When you cry, I cry with you, with you

-Hunter Hayes

The Dark Side of the Amber Glass

Her hand danced around the rim of the glass, trailing down the sides, looking at the golden liquid inside with a distinct interest. Anyone on that bar observing the girl wouldn't be confused at the look she was giving the glass. It was a look of self-loathing, but also one of satisfaction, remorse, every strong emotion all rolled into one. You could tell by one look that the girl was too young to have so many problems. But if you looked a little closer, at the dark circles beneath her eyes, the crinkle of her forehead, her limp, slender, boney body, and those empty eyes you could tell there was more beneath the surface. It was obvious she had a rough life, the thin scars bordering her arms and legs were little proof of that. She wasn't just a broken hearted girl; she was broken, looking as though darkness had been poisoning her mind and she had given up trying to fight it.

Her fingers twirled the glass; it was the only thing she had looked at since receiving it. She didn't watch the door, she never looked around for a comforting face, nor did she ever pull out her phone. She spoke to no one but the bartender, and only to ask for another. It had become an addiction to her— the alcohol. Like so many others she had fallen under its whim, basking in the feeling of a weight being lifted it bought. She loved the taste and she loved what it did to her. Besides, there was no one to tell her not to.

She was so alone. There was nothing— nobody that would miss her if she died. She would be at a grave with nothing but a name— if even that. Her funeral would cease to exist, as no one would arrange one let alone show up. She was alone, as she had been for the better part of her young life.

And she was young, only twenty two when her addiction began. She believed her life had deteriorated to a point of nothing. She had wasted her life down the drain.

There was once a light at the end of the tunnel, a boy, as it always it. He had changed her from a scared and shy adolescent to a more confident, happy person. But she supposed he just couldn't quite change her because he had left claiming that she wasn't the person he thought she was. She had cried endlessly and it had broken her.

And just like that— the light at the end of the tunnel went out.

And now all she had was darkness. She may have once been a fighter, but it didn't matter anymore. What could you fight for if you had nothing? Her childhood was a blur, and she was certain it couldn't have been good if she didn't remember anything. Her life wasn't a mess; it was actually very straight forward. She wasn't lost— she had just stopped following the path and collapsed on the side. She was done with trying to make things better for herself. She was exhausted and the only thing that sparkled for her was the many drops of alcohol that refilled her glass.

"Can I buy you a drink?" A strong, deeply male voice said from beside her. She didn't look up, assuming he was talking to someone else. Who would try and hit on a girl who looked as though she had just been hit by an eighteen wheeler?

"Can I buy you a drink?" the voice asked again, this time a breath on her ear. The voice made her want turn around and kiss that guy senseless. It was deep and velvety making her body shiver but at the same time making her feel as though she was wrapped in a cozy blanket.

This time she turned her head, meeting eyes with a dark green pair so enchanting she wasn't sure what was going through her mind.

There was obviously recognition in his face, but Cammie couldn't remember him, not being able to place a name to the gorgeous face in front of her.

"Cameron?" he asked.

She was surprised, hearing her name come out of his mouth, a confirmation that he did in fact know who she was.

"Um, yes. Do I know you?" she asked, hoping she didn't seem rude. "Look if we ever hooked up I'm sorry but I don't remember—"

He laughed, deep and throating making her feel like she was floating. "No," he said. "It's not like that."

"I'm so sorry. I don't remember you; maybe you've got the wrong person."

He knew he didn't have the wrong person. He recognized the sad eyes.

"I don't think so," he took a seat next to her. "Cameron… Morgan?"

She almost laughed. "Alright, I'm getting a little creeped out now."

"I was your next door neighbor when we were little," he said. "Like six to twelve?"

She didn't remember, but then again, she didn't remember a lot of her childhood. She shook her head. "I have a bad memory."

He laughed. "And I have a good one."

She smiled. "I'm sure."

"So what brings you to Los Angeles?"

She looked up. "I live here."

"I realized," he said. "But why did you move here?"

"What are you talking about?" she asked. "I've always lived here."

Now he looked confused. "Cammie we grew up in Texas."

"No we didn't, I've never lived in Texas." She was sure of this.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "You look kind of pale."

"I'm fine."

"Cammie are you drunk?" he asked.

"I don't think you have any right to ask that."

"You don't remember where you lived."

She sighed. "There's a lot I don't remember. You're name for instance."

He looked at her strangely before realizing he hadn't even given her a name. "Zach Goode."

The name did come with memories, surprising her. She saw a little brunette boy swinging on a swing looking at her happily asking her to come and swing with him.

"Zach," she echoed.

He nodded. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I've never been okay."

"Not the way I remember it."

She looked at him. She could barely remember her childhood, maybe he was the key to it all.

"How do you remember it?"

He grinned. "You were the prettiest girl on the block."

She turned a bit red. "Things change I guess then."

"I don't think so."

She shook her head. "You don't get it."

"Of course I don't, you won't tell me."

"I don't even know you."

"You do, but even if you didn't. Wouldn't you rather spill your feelings to a stranger anyway?" His eyes were so enchanting. It was almost as if he was casting a spell on her. He had this look on his face, his gorgeous—

"No."

"Then who would you spill your secrets to?"

She shook her head. "No one— I wouldn't."

"So let's switch it up for a night."

"I don't have anything," she said, even though it was random he knew what she meant. "Nothing."

"You have that beer," he said, nodding to the glass.

She looked at it then swallowed the rest of it. "I know. That's all I ever have, beer, alcohol. My constant I guess you could call it."

He smirked at her. "Doesn't seem like a very good constant."

She shrugged. "It makes me feel good."

"I could make you feel good."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not in the mood to get hit on, perv."

He laughed. "I was kidding." He looked at her, his green eyes glinting. His hand crept towards his her glass, closing his hand around it and sliding it away from her.

"What are you doing?"

"I think you've had enough."

She scowled at him. "You don't even know me. Go bother someone else."

Zach rolled her eyes at her words. "I knew you for like seven years, I think that counts."

"It doesn't count if I don't remember it."

"Don't you want to?"

"No. Because it's probably as depressing as the rest of my life."

"What are you talking about? You were the happiest kid I knew."

She laughed. "I seriously doubt that."

"I'm not kidding. You were always smiling."

A question then creeped into her head. "What were my parents like?"

"You seriously don't remember?"

She shook her head.

"Cam, you lived with you Aunt and Uncle."

Her eyes went wide. "No I lived with my parents."

"Not in Texas. When you moved away when we were like thirteen you went to go back to your parents," he said. And when he said that she vaguely remembered her

Aunt's long dark hair and her Uncle's grassy bright green eyes.

"Oh," she muttered. "Yeah."

He coaxed the drink she had snatched back out of his hand.

"I could show you pictures if you want," he said seriously, the concern in his voice surprising her. "My mom went a little crazy back then."

"Pictures," she echoed.

Zach looked at the little scars on her arms, and then at the ones on her ankles.

"What happened to you?" he asked quietly, kindly.

She was looking at the half full glass in his hand. "Life."

"What kind of life?"

She sighed. "A bad one. Can you leave me alone now?" she asked.

"You don't want to see the pictures?" he wondered.

She shook her head, and even though she felt the urge to retrieve her glass she sat still. "I don't want to see the pictures."

"How are your parents?"

"Zach," she said, softly. "Will you please leave?"

She didn't look at him, instead turning around and resting her arms on the counter, letting her head sink down on the table.

"Sure."

She felt a light tap on her shoulder and then nothing and she knew that he had gone.

She sighed, reaching out and grabbing the glass he had set down on the table. She looked at the amber liquid and then looked back at the door, which was just about to fall closed. Then she glanced back at the glass, and raising it to her lips, she swallowed it all.

Disclaimer: I own no characters.

Ok so this is three shot. Cammie's a alcoholic and can't remember her child hood. Hmm... what's going on? Hahaha read next chapie to find out. ::))))
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