Page 146 of Forget Me Not

I guess, after everything . . . I just feel numb.

How am I supposed to be sad when I’m still in love with you?

How do I stop being in love with you?

No matter what I’m doing, you trickle into my brain and I pause because that’s all I can do. Relive the memories of our short time together and wonder what it was about you that made me throw caution to the wind and let myself live for once?

Maybe it’s because you were so carefree that it was magnetic. You forced me to challenge my inner demons and in turn, taught me how to deal with the pain that I’ve left unchecked and simmering beneath the surface for years.

I’ll be forever grateful for that.

There’s no possibility I’ll ever see you again, but it’s like at any moment, you’re going to trudge up the steps and walk in the door, asking about dinner and shooting me that devil-may-care smile I love so much.

I don’t watch the news. I know that one day, your name could come across it and I don’t know if I could stomach it if something bad happened.

At least with you in the world, it seems a little less bleak. No matter how far away you are.

I know I wasn’t supposed to. We promised not to.

But I fell in love with you. Too fast and way too recklessly to be normal.

Perhaps that’s why I’m writing you this letter you’ll never receive. I won’t send it out. I don’t even have stamps.

Now all that’s left are the memories and a hole in my chest until one day it will either scab over or kill me.

At this point, I’m not sure which would be worse.

Love, Nova

For the last two months, my Friday night routine consists of old True Blood reruns, cheap frozen Chinese from the Quick Mart and a bottle of wine.

I don’t even like the taste anymore, but it dulls the nothingness, so I drink it.

That’s what adults do, right?

Tonight is no different. After I eat, saving half because my appetite has been as checked out as I have recently, I lay back on the couch, Creamsicle above me and Toast with his head on my hip as Sookie tries to decide which of her three men she is in love with this week.

I mean, what’s so great about her? She’s pretty and all, but can she hold down a real job with all those men running around?

God, I sound bitter. I love Sookie Stackhouse. Boy problems and all.

It must be the cheap grocery store wine talking.

Since the couch has also become my bed, I nod off easily while sitting on it. Not to mention, I barely sleep all the way through the night anymore, so I’m always exhausted.

A loud, shrill screech wakes me this time, and I fall to the floor, tangling myself in a mess of blankets and pillows.

“Ouch,” I grumble, shooting the old phone on the wall a look. “Fuck you, phone.”

I never replaced my cell phone. I just didn’t want to. I like being in the quiet.

Disentangling myself from the mess, I hurry to grab it, annoyance bubbling through me when I answer.

“Hello?” Who dares disturb my Friday night ritual?

There’s a moment of silence, but I hear breathing, I’m about to hang up when a soft voice filters through the line.

“Nova?”

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