Normal Love Stage

Clementine moves back to her old town in Illinois, hoping to reconnect with the nicer parts of her childhood. She doesn’t smile much anymore—maybe because of the amnesia, maybe because of the weight she’s carrying. With Ava, a long-time family friend and student therapist, she’s trying to piece together the memories she lost and settle into something that feels like home. At first, it’s peaceful. She gets used to the quiet again. Starts going out. Finds her rhythm. That’s when she runs into Nate at a comic shop. He’s awkward but gentle, with a weird sense of humor that makes her raise an eyebrow more than once. But he’s kind, and she likes that. So they start dating. Clementine learns a lot about Nate—he’s into the drums, he loves cooking, he reads comics and watches too many late-night movies. He’s the type to ramble about random movie trivia one second and sit in complete silence the next. She finds that charming. But there’s something else there, something heavier. It starts with small things. The way he sometimes flinches when she touches his wrist. How he wears bandages more often than he should. He says he cut himself cooking, but she knows how long it takes for a scar to fade. And he’s got a lot of them. Clementine doesn’t say anything at first. She notices the way his eyes shift sometimes—bright hazel fading into something darker. His pupils dilate when he’s too nervous or too excited. It freaks her out a little. But she stays. Because maybe that’s just part of who he is. Things shift when she talks to Edmund—Nate’s ex. It’s not a long conversation, but it’s enough to make her feel uneasy. Edmund warns her, says there are things about Nate that she hasn’t seen yet. That he has a way of hiding the parts of himself that matter most. That he does things to keep people around—even when he knows they don’t want to stay. Clementine takes it to Ava during their next session. She tells her what she found out, and Ava doesn’t say much—just asks her to keep paying attention. Not to jump to conclusions, but to notice the way Nate reacts when she says no. Or when she pulls away. Later that week, Clementine stops by Nate’s place. He had asked her to come over, but she said she had therapy. She said she’d try. When she gets there, it’s quiet. She unlocks the door with the emergency key he gave her. The place is a mess, lights off, curtains drawn. She hears soft sobbing from his bedroom. When she knocks, the sobbing stops. Nate comes out a second later with red eyes and a forced smile. He’s trying to act like nothing’s wrong, but she sees it. The blood under the bandages. The raw skin. The jacket on his bed—it’s hers. She walks past him even when he tries to block her, pushes through the door gently. The scene hits her like a brick wall. Her jacket, soaked in blood. A kitchen knife on the bed. The sheets stained. And Nate, standing behind her, holding his breath like the world’s about to end. She doesn’t scream. She doesn’t cry. She just stands there, trying to figure out if she should stay or leave—because something’s broken, and she’s not sure she’s the one who can fix it.