Northern Ireland isn't a big country, and Belfast isn't a big capital. That being said.

The Four Winds is as close to a suburb as Belfast gets. It's not much of a city to begin with, so the step down into suburbia is a blurry line, if it even exists at all. Historically, it was easy to tell how close a place was to the city centre by looking at the number of terrorist attacks that had occurred there. The closer to city hall, the higher the chances a car bomb had gone off that street before.

In this respect, the Four Winds was lucky, only suffering one bombing over the years. Which is precisely why Matthew's grandparents moved there.

Matthew's grandparents moved out of the city and to the Four Winds to escape the troubles; ever since then, his family hadn't left. He knew the narrow streets that wound their way up the hill like the back of his hand, and he could have led Clare up to his house blindfolded if he wanted.

As they walked, he was preoccupied with her face. She seemed lost, like a girl walking dazed through a world she didn't belong to. Everything was shocking to her. More than once, he had to grab her arm so that she wouldn't recoil from simple things like cars and bicycles. Her every action was skittish and unpredictable, like a newborn calf.

'She must have hit her head pretty badly….' He was seriously worried about her, picking up the pace as they crossed the football pitch beside his house, cutting across the grass like he had done a million times before.

To the left of the pitch was his primary school, where he went until turning eleven and moving on to Methody. Every time he walked past, he was hit by a strange sense of nostalgia and an intense, suffocating feeling. When his friends left for university, would he still be here, like always?

"What's that?" Clare asked, pointing curiously at a colourful ball being kicked between two teenagers.

"A football. Have you never seen one before?" Matthew asked, ranking up Clare's brain damage in his mind.

"And what are they doing with it? Why are they just kicking it about like that?" She asked, seeming genuinely baffled.

Matthew frowned, trying to find the words to explain it, "I guess it's just a game, you know? It's fun to just kick the ball and try and score against each other,"

Clare nodded slowly, "I see…." Although Matthew had a sneaking suspicion that she did not, in fact, see.

His house wasn't far from the football pitch, just two streets further up the hill and around a sharp bend in the road. It wasn't a big house, but not small either. And ever since his older brother moved out, he had his own room, which he led Clare into.

"The bathroom is just next door," He pointed down the hall. Clare followed his gaze, her eyes wide.

"You have a bathroom… Inside?" She seemed shocked by the very idea of it.

Matthew sighed, once again upgrading her brain damage levels and nodding. "Yep, I'll throw you in some clothes and a towel, and you can shower. How does that sound?" he noticed that when he said the word Shower, Clare didn't seem to understand what he meant. "Shower, you know, it pours water on your head and washes off all that dirt," He pointed at her ruined clothes.

"Oh, okay. Can you show me how it works?"

'Is she alright? This has gone beyond the point of brain damage into cartoon amnesia levels,' Matthew contemplated calling an ambulance but decided he would contact Clare's parents first.

He led her into the bathroom and turned on the shower. The boiler creaked and groaned for a minute before spluttering into life, sending hot water out of the shower head. Clare jumped back like a spooked animal, but this time, Matthew had been expecting it. He patted her shoulder comfortingly. "Don't worry; it's not going to hurt you. Now wait a minute while I bring you a change of clothes,"

He ran into his room, grabbing the first thing he could find from his clothes pile. His new patented invention, which involved keeping all your clothes in a heap on a chair.

"Sorry, I don't have any girl's clothes for you," he said apologetically, bringing out an old red hoodie, the logo fading from being washed too many times. As well as a pair of washed-out jeans.

"Thank you," Clare mumbled.

"No problem," Matthew smiled and closed the bathroom door behind him on his way out. In the hallway, he began to pray she wouldn't slip in the shower and hit her head again. He had heard plenty of horror stories about second impact syndrome.

'What the fuck did they do last night?' He couldn't understand how she would have gotten hurt this badly and, more importantly, how she was left alone all this time. He grabbed his phone and texted Jason.

What the hell did you idiots do last night? Clare doesn't know what fucking year it is!

He got no response, which was expected, so he sent another text to Max.

Hey, when you go round to check on Jason, ask him what happened with Clare. She's hit her head really badly.

Max responded almost immediately.

How do you know what happened to Clare? Is she with you?

Just as Matthew was about to respond, he heard a loud crash from the bathroom. "Clare!" He shouted, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Came her shaky response, "This… shampoo is very slippery,"

'Why is it on the ground?' Matthew groaned, shaking his head, "Did you fall?"

"No, I'm fine,"

'Like I'd believe that. What else could possibly make that sound?' Matthew didn't want to run in and see if she was okay unless it was absolutely necessary, so he decided to just leave her be and go make her some food.

Hey dude, don't leave me hanging like that! Max messaged him again as he was making toast.

Oh shit, sorry. Yeah, she's with me atm; I found her on the side of the road covered in mud. I think she's got amnesia or some shit. She doesn't even remember her own name.

Matthew replied, nervously typing out the words so fast his fingers blurred.

That's not good. Have you called her parents yet?

Nah, I'm going to do that when she gets out of the shower. I don't know her phone passcode.

OwO, a girl in your shower.

… Kill yourself.

Matthew left it at that and set his phone down, taking out the toast and spreading some butter on it. From personal experience, he knew that eating a lot after a crazy night out usually just made him sick. Toast was usually the safest bet.

He was grateful that his dad wouldn't be home until the weekend, and his brother was still away at university, which meant he got to avoid the funny looks he would get from bringing a girl covered in mud home.

After the toast was ready, he heard the sound of the bathroom door opening and the soft pad of feet on the wooden floorboards. Clare walked quietly into the kitchen, wearing his hoodie and jeans. Which could have been considered a long-term wish of Matthew's being fulfilled. If not for the fact she was wearing the hoodie back to front.

"No, Clare, it goes on the other way round," Matthew pointed to the hoodie,

Clare blushed slightly and nodded, leaving the room to fix the hoodie. When she returned, Matthew offered her the toast and sat her down by the sink in case she threw up.

"Okay, Clare. Can you tell me what happened last night?" He asked, speaking slowly as though he were talking to a child.

She didn't respond, eating the toast so fast that she almost inhaled it. When she was finished, she looked up at him like a starving puppy, and he sighed, putting some more in the toaster.

"Come on, I need to know what happened to you last night," Matthew sighed.

"I don't know," Clare shrugged, scratching her wet hair absentmindedly.

"What do you mean you don't know? You were there! No… sorry, I know you hit your head; I shouldn't lash out," Matthew tried to calm himself.

Clare reached up, feeling the lump on the back of her head, "I think you should know something,"

"Is it about last night?" Matthew asked quickly.

"No, it's about me,"

He shook his head, "Then I'm sorry, but it will have to wait. The way you've been acting is really worrying me, and I need to call your parents to pick you up. Can you please give me their number?"

"About that…" Clare looked down at her feet.

"Let me guess, you've forgotten their number, too," Matthew sighed.

Clare looked up at him, her eyes intently meeting his. 'Weren't her eyes green… But those are-'

"I never knew any of this stuff you're saying I forgot," Clare said slowly.

"Of course, you would say that. You've forgotten that you used to know it," Lan pointed out.

She shook her head, "No, I never knew any of it because I- I am not Clare."