Page 145 of Forget Me Not

Slowly, he removes his shirt, then his boots and jeans. Then he comes to bed and spreads me out atop the sheets.

Neither of us says a word . . . we both know what this is. It’s the end.

I’ve never been good at goodbyes and I doubt he is either.

Luckily, I don’t have to think. I don’t have to hide. All I have to do is feel.

His touch is different this last night, as if he’s savoring every inch of my body. Memorizing it for when this is all just a distant memory.

The harsh reality is that sometimes, people leave. No matter the love story or the characters. Not everyone is meant to have a romance novel happily ever after.

Some of us are just supporting characters.

So when he kisses me like this is the last time, his body covered in perspiration as he rolls into me, sometime early in the morning, I accept it.

The end is here and there’s no more running from it.

We lose ourselves in each other until the sun slowly starts to rise outside the window and I can’t keep my eyes open any more. No matter how desperately I fight it.

And when I open them some time later, he’s gone.

When you lose someone, grief is inevitable. It comes like the flash of an atomic bomb and suddenly, there’s a crater in your chest. Your body aches and you cry until you feel all your airways fusing shut and feel like you’re going to vomit on the bathroom floor until you fall asleep. Your dad wakes you, carts you off to bed and tucks you in like you’re a little girl again. Days pass. Time passes and the pain is still there, but you become so calloused to it because hurting won’t bring them back. It won’t erase the guilt. They’re dead, and you start to realize no number of tears is enough to reverse time.

When you lose someone and they’re still alive . . . that’s a whole different story.

It’s not grief I’m feeling.

It’s hollowness.

The days seem to drag. The nights are even longer. The only time I feel comfortable is when I’m asleep and even then, it feels empty.

The island is depressing. The winter brings cold, harsh winds and hot soup, but nothing warms the chill in my body. Instead of vibrant blues and greens, everything is white or brown. Gray.

I know everyone says to lean on your friends and family in times like these, but I don’t want to. I guess it’s my own stubbornness, but maybe it’s also because they don’t know me.

Not like you do.

People only know what you tell them and I’m not willing to share anything, so I can’t fault them.

The kids ask about you constantly. I lie and say you called and said hello because I just can’t bear to tell them you’re gone and you won’t be coming back.

I know it’s wrong, but . . . sue me.

My friends are concerned because I’ve been going through the motions. I don’t see why. Life is no different than it was before you were here, yet I see the way they watch me, cautious as if I’ll launch off the deep end at any moment.

I was invited out last month for drinks and karaoke. I didn’t go.

After that, they didn’t ask again and I’m thankful.

At night, I sleep on the couch because sleeping in the bed feels foreign. Too comfortable when I fall asleep. Too empty when I wake a couple hours later. I’ll take the aches and pains of curling up with a cat and dog on a tiny couch any day over that emptiness.

I don’t take days off, filling my time with work on the inn, work in the classroom. Really anything I can do so I don’t have to walk by that damned porch swing where we sat and talked for hours. I thought about taking it down, but then the panic and disgust with myself for still caring this much set in and I walked away.

I don’t paint. Not since you left. I don’t even look at the docks because I know Hope’s Grace is still here, waiting for her new owner. I know if I grow used to seeing it every day, I’ll break down when it’s gone.

I spend my time at home watching trash TV that I know you would hate because I need a reason to cry.

Except I don’t.

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