Well, here I was, for what felt like the millionth time, standing off to the side of a set, waiting for my name to be called by the dark-skinned woman.

    Her name was Priscilla Johnson, and she was about to put me through an interview. Again.

    It was another promotion urged by my manager, insisting it would make for good publicity. Me? I did for the fans. I did it for the people who believed in me and showed up at every movie showing.

    I did it for the girls who were lost like me.

Priscilla: “And here she is folks! Jasmine Brookes!”

    Yup. That was me. Jasmine Brookes, unlikely movie star of the decade. I made my entrance, the crowd applauding as they always did for this sort of thing. I waved and smiled and took my seat near Priscilla. She wore her typical, larger-than-life-grin. Sometimes it puzzled me how she could always be so happy.

    She started talking again the second I sat down.

Priscilla: “Well good evening Jasmine! It’s so good to see you!”

    Like I said: always happy.

Jasmine: “It’s good to see you, too, Priscilla.”

    I replied, a genuine smile crossing my soft pink lips. Aside from how she seemed impossibly happy, I got along with her just fine. We weren’t best friends or anything, mind you, but we got along fine.

Priscilla: “We’ll get to the movie in a second, Honey. First, I want to hear about that steamy romance you’ve been having with tall, dark and handsome.”

Jasmine: “You mean Jake?”

    I was certain she was referring to Jake. Jake Stone. Typical rocker name, I know, but that actually was his birth name. All the tabloids were printing articles about our dates lately -- most of them false with some hidden grain of truth. His dark hair, brown eyes and strong jawline tended to make most girls swoon. Well, that, and he was the frontman for a rock band.

Jasmine: “There’s nothing much to say.”

    Other than I’d told him it wasn’t working out and there was nothing special between us. It was kind of cruel to put it that way, though.

Priscilla: “Let me get this straight: you’re dating one of the hottest guys in rock and roll, and there’s ‘not much to say’?”

    I got that reaction a lot when I talked about the lack of spark between myself and Jake. But, well, that was kind of why I’d broken it off with him.

    And that information was going to blow her away, even if I fudged a few details to protect his dignity.

Jasmine: “We broke it off this morning, actually.”

    I told her, as though it were an afterthought only brought up by her mention. There were perks to being an actress: I could act my way through a hurricane.

    Her mouth gaped open at the news.

Priscilla: “You’re kidding me! What happened?”

Jasmine: “Not much. That was kind of the problem. I mean, he was nice, handsome and dutiful. Always arrived on time, always looked nice, opened doors and pulled out my chair.”

    Definitely not the behavior you’d expect from a rock artist right? Well, he had a soft side, and that was something I’d personally witnessed.

Jasmine: “But there was just . . . nothing special in our relationship. He’s a good guy, just not the one for me.”

    I shrugged, as though it were no big deal. In all actuality, I jumped from relationship to relationship, trying to find one that was special. For the first couple years, I refused to date at all, but the loneliness was so staggering, I started going out with men.

    Not one of them helped the emptiness in my chest.

Priscilla: “So let me get this straight: you have now gone through nearly fifteen guys in five years. It’s like the second you dump one, you’re dating another. Would you say you’re prime for a new relationship?”

    Prime. I didn’t know why, but I hated hearing that word. It was like a pet peeve of sorts.

Jasmine: “I certainly hope so. I might not remember much of my years between sixteen and coming here, but I did have an engagement ring. It was just . . .there. And I was hoping that the man who’d given me that ring would have found me by now, after all, he’d know where to look, but . . . it’s a no go. There’s been nothing.”

    I shrugged again, as if it didn’t bother me that I’d been engaged and had no fiancee to show for it. It hurt. It hurt a lot. I just felt . . . abandoned.

Priscilla: “Well, I think Prince Charming is just around the corner. But we must get on to the movie. That’s what you all came for, right?”

    She looked at the audience, the response being what was expected: they cheered and applauded in affirmation, so we began the interview for the movie. It was about my tendency to play the unlikely hero in science fiction films and how this new film was no different. Well, except for the underage additions added in. I still didn’t know their names, but had been told they were big fans.

    I was a young woman, about twenty-seven, twenty-eight-ish,  dealing with the death of my entire family from a natural disaster; I’d been on vacation and narrowly avoided dying with them. And in my attempt to numb the pain, I’d attempted to become an intelligent robot with halfway results.

    No one but a few private people, who’d nearly signed away their lives at knowledge of the information, including my director, a few cameramen, the producer, etc., knew how true that was.

    I am not normal. My body is not normal. And if I’m not careful, I would expose my secret to the world. Thankfully, I have a very . . . persuasive lawyer, who doesn’t come cheap but is easily paid on my acting salary. He makes sure not a single person talks about it. If they do, then he can make a loophole to charge them with treason, or something else crazy like that.

    And it made me think: did the man who gave me that ring know about my secret? I had no idea. And when my thoughts drifted towards the ring, they went to the bracelet, and the shocking shade of blue I always saw when I touched it.

    My therapist said it was sensory memory, but I couldn’t think of a single thing in this world that would have that shade of blue and be natural. Well, maybe except . . .

Priscilla: “Well thank you for your time, Jasmine! I hope to be hearing from you soon!”

Jasmine: “Always good to see you, Priscilla.”

    I smiled, shook her hand, and left.

    Akane was waiting for me when I left the stage, as he always was. That was why he was my head of security. He was always keeping an eye out, and never let anyone get too close.

~First-Person Narration: Orion~

    I watched the screen, completely absorbed, as that woman walked off stage. Her auburn tresses stung my memory a little, and distracted me long enough that a blow landed to me head, knocking me to the ground.

    That always happened when I saw one of those interviews.

    You’d think that by now I’d know better than to watch them while training. Of course, I still did, and in turn, Jason always gave me a nice bruise where he otherwise wouldn’t have even made contact, but oh well.

    He just looked down at me curiously.

Jason: “Watching that Brookes lady again, eh Orion?”

    I grumbled as I got up from the mat in the private gym.

Orion: “Shut up, Jason.”

Jason: “Hey man! Don’t get like that! I’m just saying! She’s back on the market and everything, too!”

    I sighed, frustrated.

Orion: “What does that matter, Jason? She doesn’t even know I exist, unless she watches a fair amount of MMA. Which I highly doubt, by the way.”

    Somehow, she didn’t strike me as the violent type. She seemed too sophisticated, high-end, and if that were the case, it was likely she would never know my name outside of utterances on the streets.

    How I wished she would know my name.

    How I wished she just knew me.

~First-Person Narration: Jasmine~

    It was one of those nights again.

    I woke up around three, maybe four a.m., breathing heavily, hand on my chest, having sat up straight without a thought.

    I was in a cold sweat again. Sadly enough, this happened most nights. I woke up, sweating and shivering, with little to no memory of what had just happened.

    But I remembered tonight.

    I’d seen a man’s face. A cruel, hate-filled face. He’d pinned me down, saying I’d been elusive long enough, and . . . and . . . I haven’t a clue where any of that had come from!

    I was just grateful Akane had come in tonight. That was a sign I hadn’t screamed this time. I tried to calm myself, desperately. I took a  deep breath, but it was ragged and strained.

    A small body jumped up next to me. I barely made out the gray form.

    It made me smile.

Jasmine: “Hey, Rocky. How are you, Baby?”

    The small American Shorthair cat just curled up in my lap, kneading before she laid down. I laughed lightly. She was often my ‘first responder’ in these situations, if Akane wasn’t bursting in the room, that is.

    I’d had her for so long, I couldn’t imagine being without her. She was such a sweetheart. Very timid, but a total sweetheart. And I loved her to death.

    She was one of the four animals I had. Another cat and two dogs.

    The dogs, a husky and a golden retriever, I guessed were at the foot of my bed. They usually were at night. The other cat, though? I was never sure where she was. She wandered day in and out. But at night, if I really wanted, I could lift the blankets when she was around and she’d immediately prance over, crawling under them, and she’d stay there until well after I was asleep, but she was always gone by the time I woke up.

    Thankfully, Rocky was enough to calm me tonight.

    Unfortunately, most of my nights were categorized three ways: the ones where I woke up crying, the ones where I woke up screaming, and the ones where I was lucky enough to escape having any troubling dreams at all.

    But those ones were rare.

    The worst part was being upset when I woke and having absolutely no idea why. I normally can’t recall anything. The dreams are always so vivid, but once I’m awake, poof. They’re just . . . gone. And it’s so, so troubling to have those.

    Angela said they were night terrors, and perfectly normal considering my situation, but I doubted her.

    I may have done some research of my own, and what I found didn’t align with her insistences. Night terrors occur in the early hours of sleep, not five hours after beginning rest. And that’s when I was having them, which is when the actual dream cycles begin. I couldn’t imagine what was wrong with me that these things were happening.

    I shook my head and laid my head back down on the pillow. I’d worry about it some other time. We were shooting another scene tomorrow, and I had to be rested.

    I just wish I knew what was so unusual about me, besides what I already knew, obviously, but for the moment, I was unknowing.

~First-Person Narration: Angela~

    Another eventful night. And I hadn’t been fully prepared. She’d woken before I could wipe her memory, but I was thankful it was a Alpha dream instead of a Beta. Yes, I’d now categorized her dreams. Because, well, for the most part, they fell into two categories.

    Jasmine knows me as Angela, but my name, preferred until now, is Angel. I refuse to use that one around her, though, just to keep things . . . subtle, I guess. I don’t want to trigger anything for her. She has no idea what she’s been through, and I’m not about to change that. She has to find out for herself.

    A theory comes to mind whenever I think about how incredibly lost she is without her memories, one from a long time ago, developed by a man named John Locke. Tabula Rasa: the blank slate.

    Because quite frankly, without her memories of the world she gave everything for, that’s pretty much all she was, and I hoped so dearly that she wouldn’t etch too many new things into her mind before she was found by those who would uncover the old engravings. I just couldn’t help her by myself.