Thanks for all of you, who subscribed already. I hope you won't have to be disappointed :)

This is the first part of two. Criticism and comments are loved!

Amnesia (from Greek Ἀμνησία) is a condition in which one's memory is either wholly or partially lost due to the extent of damage that was caused. Any condition that interferes with the function of this system can cause amnesia.

• Anterograde amnesia, is the loss of long-term memory, the loss or impairment of the ability to form new memories.

• Retrograde amnesia, the loss of pre-existing memories to conscious recollection, beyond an ordinary degree of forgetfulness. The amount of memories lost depends on the severity of the case. The person is unable to recall some or all of their life or identity prior to the onset.

Both categories of amnesia can occur together in the same patient, and commonly result from drug effects or damage to the brain regions most closely associated with episodic memory: the medial temporal lobes and especially the hippocampus.

I opened my eyes. There was this scent hanging in the air, some kind of cologne. I had never smelled it before. I adverted my gaze from the ceiling. The room was strange, unfamiliar. My heart was beginning to beat rapidly against my chest. There was nothing familiar. I had no idea where I was.

What had I done last night? What kind of party had I been to?

Wait, did I even have clothes? Feverishly I threw my blanket aside. I was wearing pajama bottoms and some worn-out shirt I had never seen in my life. What the had happened?

Just as I was trying to take deep breaths, I noticed something that made me jump from my spot on the bed. Or more like someone. There was some ing guy in my bed. Not in my bed, I was probably in his bed...

There was some dude, who I had never even seen in my life, in bed with me. , , . This isn't happening. What the did I do last night?

I grabbed my head only to whimper in surprise when I found silky hair. I rushed to the only door in the room, trying to be as quick and soundless as possible, and stepped to the hallway, opening couple doors until I found the bathroom.

I stepped inside but stilled for a moment. Opening my eyes again and trying to control my rapid heart and uneven breathing, I slowly stepped before the mirror. The sight that welcomed me emitted a quiet cry of horror.

In the mirror there wasn't the 17-year old with half shaved off hair, but older me with curly dark brown hair. Not believing the horrible change, I brought my fingertips to my face, trailing the skin, noting the first beginnings of wrinkles around my eyes.

Only when I had suppressed the tears of shock filling my eyes, I noticed the photographs stuck to the reflection. With shaking hands I reached for the first to catch my eye.

There was me like I remembered myself, although I didn't remember the picture being taken. I was eating ice cream. I hated ice cream.

The next one had me in the same clothes, but with that guy, that I just woke up next to. We were sitting on a park bench and he was holding the camera as far as possible, to fit us both into the picture. There were smiles on our faces.

I took the next picture into my hands. I had different hairstyle. It was otherwise normal if not for the diagonally cut fringe. I was showing my middle finger, but the carefree smile on my face was something I didn't remember ever having.

With numbness so not like me, I reached for the last picture. The picture was taken by third person and there were again me and that guy on a busy street, hands around our middles, dorky smiles on our faces.

I didn't even know what to think any more. I stared at the photograph, then at the mirror, head spinning and nothing making sense. Whoever that guy was, I wasn't gay. I placed the photographs neatly on the sink, turning my back to the reflection and stepping back to the hallway.

I opened some doors, silently looking for clothes. Actually any clothes would do at the moment. Without noticing I already sneaked inside the room I had waken up in. I had no idea what was going on but I knew I had to get the hell out of here.

“Oh, you're awake,” the voice startled me, making me whirl around. The guy was still laying in bed, but his eyes were wide open. I stared at him, thinking on my next move. He wasn't ugly, to tell the truth. Actually he was pretty attractive. Funny, he kind of looked like a dinosaur.

“I know you're confused, if you wait a minute, I'll explain it all to you, Kibummie.”

My eyes widened at the pet-name. This much I'm sure, that no one, and I mean no one, called me that. My name was Key. All my friends knew I was Key. I had never in my life told my real name to anyone. It was the only assurance I had.

Smiling, he got out of bed. I turned away when I noticed his uncovered chest, his muscles and abs well defined. He chuckled lightly and I pretended to inspect my surroundings, walking to the desk and looking at the papers full of awful handwriting. They were for school I realized.

When I turned around, to ask the guy about it, I caught him staring at me with a sad smile. Then he shook his head and signed me to follow him.

We went to a kitchen. My eyes fell on the clock, that said it was little bit past nine. Jonghyun the coffee machine and I sat at the table, silently watching him. He gathered things from the refrigerator and then started to make sandwiches, quietly humming to himself. I just watched him, not really having anything to say. Just when I realized that I don't even know his name, he opened his mouth.

“My name is Jonghyun,” he said, bringing his gaze at me and smiling. He was cute, I'll give him that. He actually looked like a puppy.

“I'm 26 and so are you. I'll explain in a sec.” he finished the sandwiches, pushed the plate between us and signed me to take one. When I did, he placed two cups of coffee on the table and sat down.

“Okay. I know you don't know what is happening to you but I need you to trust me with what I'm about to tell you,” he said sipping his coffee and taking a sandwich. For some reason he felt trustworthy. The least I could do was to hear him out. I'd decide if I believe him then.

“You have amnesia. You can remember things for only one day. When you fall asleep, you will forget it all. You usually don't remember much after your 18^th year. I know you don't recognize me. And I know it's not your fault,” with his last words I could see how hard he tried to hold his smile in place.

It surprised me how he got straight to the point. He must've been used to explaining these things to me, he knew I hated beating around the bush. Amnesia. It actually would explain it all. Why I didn't look like 17 year old, why I wasn't at home, why I had been in the same bed with him. Well, not exactly that.

“I'm not gay.” I said it without thinking, feeling a need to defend myself. When I noticed the change in his expression, I regretted it immediately. It seemed like his heart had broken little bit more. But he was fast to cover it.

“I know it's hard to accept, but... we truly loved each other. I still love you. I will love you, always. Don't worry, I don't expect you to love me back. I understand that you practically met me just today. But... we were happy. Please, don't question it.”

His words were sincere, I could tell. I felt sad for him suddenly. If I really had amnesia like he said (and I had no reason to believe nor disbelieve him) he must've have a rough life. To love somebody who will never love you back, who doesn't even recognize you anymore, who doesn't have a future. To love somebody like me.

“I don't have much time. I have to go to my classes,” he said while placing his cup into the sink. “Come with me.”

He took me to the living room. There was TV, comfortable-looking couch and in the corner on a table I could see paints and brushes.

“You may not know it, but you really like to paint. Just try, it will come out beautiful, I assure you. You have a talent.” I listened his words with doubt. Painting didn't seem anything like me.

“I will be back at around 3. Then we can go eat lunch together. If you get hungry, there's food in the kitchen. Just look into the cabinets or fridge. You can go for a walk if you'd like, but please be back at 3. Otherwise I'd have to call the police again.” he said it with light tone and smile, but for some reason I got a feeling that he wasn't joking.

He then walked to the door and put on a light jacket. He took the bag I hadn't noticed before and waved at me, his smile making me feel little bit better. However, as soon as the door closed behind him, the feeling disappeared and anxiety took over.

I walked from one room to another, eying everything, trying to find anything familiar. If I remembered at least something... But I didn't. I remembered nothing.

Depression came over me as I looked through room after room. I took things in my hands, I felt them, eyes closed and trying so hard. Nothing. I had absolutely nothing.

I willed the tears to subside. Crying wouldn't change anything. I probably did it every day. I probably walked around this same place, doing the same things, crying over my own misfortune. Pathetic. I was absolutely pathetic.

Why did I even live? This was not a life. It was a nightmare. Whatever I did, whatever I felt it would be gone tomorrow. I would wake up and remember nothing.

Would I freak out, finding him in my bed, again? Would I cry over my lost years again? Would I listen him voicing the same words, hear out the same confessions? Was every day in my life exactly the same? Copy of the last? For years and years? How long? How long more would I live like this? Live without past nor future.

I was already dead. I wasn't a person. I was just something broken, repeating the same from day to day. No truth, no lies, just repeating.

I made my way to the living room. It was courter to eleven. What would be one more lost hour in the midst of years of blankness? I had nothing to do and all the time in the world to kill. I could at least try.

I found paper and picked out a brush and acrylic paints. Closing my eyes, I visioned the outcome and got to work. To my surprise, it all just came to me. Without thinking I collected the paint and the brush begun working its magic without my dictation. It just poured out from inside, not having anything to do with me. My hand moved on its own, following someone else's command. And my eyes just registered it all in wonder.

I stepped back and took a look at the picture. I found nothing to improve anymore. With a soft sigh I put the brush down.

I took a look at the clock, only then noticing all the time that had passed by. Still I had over three hours until the guy – Jonghyun, I corrected myself – came back.

And I didn't say home. Because it wasn't my home. It wasn't familiar, I didn't feel secure. It was foreign and unknown. And Jonghyun was just a guy. He couldn't be anything more. Maybe before, but not anymore anyway.

This was and would forever be my life, living with nothing ever becoming mine. Nobody ever becoming mine.