I jolted awake and sat up, looking around the room. I fought the urge to scream in terror, nothing looks familiar.

Where am I?

Who am I?

Questions kept running through my mind and I tried my best to find something I knew. I closed my eyes and an image of piercing green eyes, dark and curious, attached to a boy with jet black hair came to me.

Who is he?

Do I know him?

I tried to desperately remember something, anything. I gripped the sides of my head with my fingers, letting out a shaky sob.

What is happening?

I glanced around the room I was in, taking in the baby blue walls, white dresser with books and makeup cluttered on the top. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion, a conclusion coming to me. I knew what things were and how to do things, but I didn’t have any memories associated with them.

I let out a breath and slipped out of the bed I was in, catching the note on the nightstand as I did.

Your name is Charlotte Peters, you live here. This is your room. You live with your younger brother Kaden, and your parents Ashleigh and Nick. Your older brother Jake moved out and is in university. You turned 18 yesterday and Abby is your best friend.

Look through the journals to know the rest.

-Charlotte Peters (You)

With a gasp, I back away from the note. How did I write this?

I don’t remember doing that.

What is happening?

Another note is on the dresser and I rushed to pick it up.

The journals are in a box in your closet. Stop freaking out. You are safe and okay.

I glanced around and noticed a door to my left, I yanked it open. A brown box sat on the floor and I crouched down to lift the lid.

Empty.

“What the hell?” I said out loud, looking for another box in the closet and coming up empty.

Where are the journals?

How do I know what is happening without the journals?

My breathing became shallow and I fought to stay calm. I reason that someone must have taken them. It must have been the boy, he must have stole my memories and only left me with the one of him! I let out a laugh at how ridiculous that sounds.

My brother is the more likely culprit. The boy is probably a friend, like Abby, or maybe her brother if she has one.

The journals have to be in this house.