Page 94 of For Fox Sake

“You, me, we, it’s all the same.” She lifts a hand, gesturing between us.

Her eyes scan over me, dark and almond shaped, just like mine. Her nose, a petite replica of my own, scrunches in thought.

She flops back on the bed, her long hair spreading out on the black and white bedspread. The scent of her hair, the jasmine shampoo she loves, hits me right in the gut. Why does my whole body hurt?

Her hand reaches for mine. “It wasn’t your fault, Jake.”

A high-pitched ringing reverberates in my ears. “What?”

It’s like I’ve been shoved into a glass jar and someone’s banging on the lid.

My fifteen-year-old self dissipates like smoke, and memories rush back in.

This memory, and all that followed.

Terror

Loss.

Grief.

Guilt.

And the pain. The all-consuming pain.

My vision goes black. A faint beep echoes in the distance. What is that?

I blink. No. I have to stay here with her. She can’t go. I can’t go. Not yet.

“Aria?”

Her hand squeezes mine.

The sensation pulls me back into her room. The heat of her fingers. The soft pads pressing onto the back of my hand. The familiarity.

I blink harder, and my vision clears.

I’m still in Aria’s room, on her bed. Everything exactly as it was the week before she died.

“Am I really talking to you, or is this just my subconscious talking to itself?”

Her head tilts toward me. “Does it matter?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

I can’t stop staring at her. This is so real. She looks exactly as I remember, down to the freckle on her neck. I miss her so much that the pain nearly takes my breath away.

“I don’t want to forget you.”

She shrugs. “Then don’t.”

I try to swallow, but my throat is sore. “It’s so hard to remember.”

She sighs. “Because you are so focused on forgetting. Stop it. You have to forgive yourself.”

“It’s not that simple.”

She frowns at me. “If you had died, and I had lived, would you want me to be miserable?”

---