Sophie

"Is it bad that I don't remember it?" Sophie asked, swallowing as Keefe shrugged. He hadn't technically admitted it, but his response said enough. She should remember it, but she didn't. She should remember so many things, but she didn't.

"It's not bad, but..."

Sophie sucked in a breath, hating how clammy her hands felt. Wiping them on her pillows didn't help, either. Keefe stood before the now closed bedroom door, while Sophie was on the opposite side of the room on her bed. She was stuck thanks to the creature her adoptive mother had called "Iggy".

"Her name was Ella," Keefe said. "She came with you when you moved here from the Forbidden Cities. I don't know the full story, but if you wanna know, you can ask Fitz."

"Fitz?" Sophie asked. Keefe shrugged, and Sophie felt her blood boil. Why wouldn't he tell her anything?!

"This is so annoying!" she grumbled, crossing her arms.

"What?" Keefe asked, and Sophie scoffed at him.

"Why am I not allowed to know anything? It's my life that you're keeping from me!" Keefe shifted uncomfortably, crossing his own arms in unease.

"No one said you aren't allowed to know anything," he tried to argue, but Sophie wasn't having it. She was done putting up with him.

"So start talking! Because so far, you've been extremely vague, careful with words, and whenever you let something slip, you blow it off and say 'later'." She mimicked the voice in Keefe's accent perfectly, making it as mocking but similar as possible.

"I'm only withholding the things I don't think you're ready for," he protested in a calming voice, only annoying Sophie further.

"'Not ready'?!" she snapped. "I've been ready since before I woke up! And now, you're hiding things from me about my own life and won't let me talk to anyone unless you're there to babysit me!"

"I'm not your 'babysitter'," Keefe promised, stepping towards her bed and reaching for her hand. Ignoring Iggy's burp of anger, Sophie jumped out of bed and onto her feet with a raging scowl.

"Don't touch me! I don't even know you!--and that's your fault too, for not telling me anything!" Keefe flinched at her words, hurt flickering across his features. And for a moment, Sophie felt bad. Until she remembered it was his fault. He was hiding things from her, and she was sick of it.

"Try and be thankful I talked Forkle into this at all. He wanted to have you on bedrest for the next week." While his tone was rising, he kept his composure well.

"Maybe I should've stayed on bedrest. If I could've talked to him, maybe I'd get some actual answers." Keefe scoffed.

"Sure. It might not feel like it, but I've shown you much more than he would have, no matter how much begging and groveling you would've done."

Sophie wished she could understand what he meant; wished she could call on her memories to prove his words true. For all she knew, he could've been lying straight to her face. Of course she couldn't ask him if he were lying--answers could be lies, after all. Wait... where did she know that from?

"You good, Foster? Your emotions just spiked." The words had already left his mouth by the time they'd slipped out, and instantly a wave of familiarity washed over Sophie. He'd called her by her surname--which shouldn't have been a big deal. But... 

"'Foster'?" she echoed, curiously. Keefe tensed, sucking in a breath before doing his best to explain. Sophie ignored his weak excuse, however. It was only a lie. Everything with Keefe was a lie. And she wanted answers. 

"Why does it matter what you call me?" Sophie asked once he'd finished his excuse for the nickname. Nicknames shouldn't matter, so he shouldn't have been freaking out. But he was. And Sophie knew why. Before Keefe could think of another lie to tell her, she cut him off. "I know it has to do with my missing memories, which brings us back to the fact that you are doing everything in your power to hide things from me. And I'm sick of it, so if you won't give me answers, I'd like you to leave." 

He opened his mouth, probably to argue, but Sophie shook her head. She. Was. Done. Keefe could go and take his lies somewhere they'd actually mean something. Here, she was done listening to his pathetic excuses, dodging her questions, and ignoring everything. She was sick of being "protected". She needed answers, not someone to coddle her. 

"I'm done with listening to your lies; your petty excuses; and-- and-- everything that's come out of your mouth! It's not fair that you're keeping me from my memories! I'm sick of being clueless; being helpless! So unless you decide you want to be useful and actually help me out, you can get out!" 

Her finger pointed to the door he stood beside, eyes burning into his own eyes with a fury she couldn't describe. It wasn't fair. Why should he be allowed to hide stuff from her? Why couldn't she know what had happened? Why couldn't she know what had happened to Atlantis? Why did he have to parent her? She had parents, not that she'd ever treat them as such. Not until she actually got some answers. 

Keefe's eyes glossed over with salty tears, his expression portraying his shock and hurt. But Sophie didn't care. He deserved to hurt. She wanted answers, and she wanted them now. Still in shock, Keefe pulled open the door. Iggy squeaked a plea, skittering over to Keefe and tugging at his leg to no avail. 

"Iggy," Sophie ordered. "Come." 

The colorful imp looked back at her with wide, puppy-like eyes. Pleading. She sneered at that, too full of anger to think anything other than "petty". Reluctantly, Iggy retreated back to his cage while Sophie shut the door behind Keefe. He flinched, just as the door slammed shut. Sophie felt her heart wanting to call him back in, apologize. 

No. He had lied to her. She'd been lied to. So. Many. Times. Though she may not remember it, she knew she'd been lied to, her heart told her so. And she was angry. So, so angry. They were her memories. And she deserved to know what was going on. As the door shut, she fell back onto her bed, her own tears forming. 

She wanted to trust him. She did trust him. So why was he hiding things? Why couldn't he tell her anything? If she couldn't trust him, she couldn't trust anyone. Iggy burped, flapping his small wings over until he was right beside her, giving her cheek a small lick, leaving his smelly "Iggy breath" on her face. 

"Iggy," she said, half-chuckle half sigh. It no longer mattered what he was hiding, but why. And why couldn't the one person she trusted, be the one to tell her the truth?