Page 11 of Echoes of Nevermore
“That’s not all. If she does pull through, there might be irreversible damage. Her head got the worst of it. Honestly, I don’t know how it didn’t kill her,” he admits, mumbling the last part.
I know the reason. Me. I held her. I grabbed her as soon as I realized what was going to happen and tried to keep her safe. A huge smile spreads across my face, and I laugh, consumed with bittersweetness. I don’t know if I’m supposed to be celebrating or grieving. This is torture.
It wasn’t enough.
I wasn’t enough.
I might lose her.
And it’ll be my fault.
Chapter 8
Nevermore
Her fingertips run up my wrists and then quickly pass over my forearms. She doesn’t hesitate as if they hold significance, because in her mind, they don’t. For me, they are a constant reminder of the ghosts of our past that haunt me every day.
I groan in agonizing pleasure. I’m living in the present with her, but our past looms in the background, impatiently waiting to resurface. There will come a time when the two collide. I want to cling to the hope that it’ll be a moment to rejoice, but the brutal truth glares in my face, and it terrifies me. I don’t want to accept that it will be a heart-wrenching disaster that neither of us knows how to survive. Yet with each passing second that I stay a stranger to her, it points in that direction.
After the emergency room discharged me, I walked out of the hospital with thirty-one stitches, fifteen in my right forearm and sixteen in my left, but it was nothing compared to what she got. I had thirty-one reminders of what was taken from me. Over the years, they’ve faded a little. Most are barely visible to the naked eye and are faint lines running through various places of my tattoos. The colors differ from the surrounding ink but aren’t really noticeable from far off. Some areas wouldn’t hold color at all, but they’re still not the worst scar I carry with me from the accident. My deepest scar can’t be seen from the outside, but it’s unrelenting and never fades. Dark memories of death and loss sank their claws so deeply into my heart and mind that I can never escape the pain.
She doesn’t remember.
She can’t.
She’s better off.
The words play inside my mind. I shouldn’t have said her name. Not Star, but Astra. The doctors advised her grandma and me that it would be best not to upset her, as it may prolong her healing process.
When Star finally started talking to us, everyone was over the moon, but she had no recollection of her actual name. Somehow, she did remember the nickname I had given her. She refused to answer if anyone said Astra. The doctors treating her said it was a miracle she lived, so the fact that she knew any name at all was a blessing. No one pressed the issue, and her grandma helped her file the paperwork to legally change her first name. Of course, Star happily went along with it, because to her, Astra held no meaning. It was just something we called her that she ignored.
I’ve spent so many hours wondering how she can’t remember anything. Things that were before the accident, I understand, but the aftermath is a mystery to me. Her doctor explained that sometimes a person’s subconscious forgets things to protect the conscious mind. Painful and traumatic events are somewhere at the top of that list. Suppression, he called it, informing us that present-day triggers may unlock the suppressed memories.
I’ve been searching for the secret key that will set her free for years. Maybe I’ve been too subtle, but tonight she didn’t really leave me a choice. She ran into me, and I couldn’t stop myself. I had to catch her, at least that’s what I’m telling myself. It’s worth a shot, right?
Before everything, she was always finding a new topic to research, and at the time, she was big into learning Latin. I remember how happy it made her, trying to hold in her excitement. She failed miserably and giggled as she shared the loose translation of her name with me.
“See!” She bounced onto my bed, slamming her book in front of my crossed arms, and raced to point out what she had found.
I smiled, pretending to glance at the page, and then watched her mouth move while she read the words off the page. Her lips mesmerized me, and I considered shoving the book off my bed, pulling her on top of me, and kissing her. This would piss her off, so I forgo the plan. I hear some of what she says, but can’t focus.
“Beautiful,” I breathed when she paused, letting my eyes roam her freckled face.
“Corbin,” she said my name with a huff. “You’re not even looking at the page.” Her head turns to face me, and her eyebrows pull tightly together.
“I’m listening. It makes sense.” I made out enough of what she said to respond. I think I got the important parts anyway.
“How so?”
“It just does,” I absentmindedly answer her, brushing a few strands of hair off her nose. She smiles and blushes, gazing at me in the way I know that only she can. The way she looks at me is as if I’m her entire world, which is good, because she’s mine. There’s nothing, and I mean nothing, else in my life that makes me as happy to be alive as she does. I don’t know what I would do without her, probably die of a broken heart, if I’m being honest.
“No. I’m serious. Tell me why it makes sense.”
“It’s stupid.”
“Humor me?”
I take a deep breath, trying to muster up the courage I’ll need for what I’m about to tell her. I’m nervous, my stomach is in knots, and I have the urge to vomit. “It fits because no one else on this planet seems deserving enough for such a beautiful name. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl. Your name is unique and stands out just like the stars do. I love you, Star.” I finish talking, and my focus drops to the open book, needing to look anywhere other than into her eyes, and I gasp. A breathtaking hand-drawn picture of a crow perched on a branch stared back at me. Around the crow’s body are countless swirls of blue and black hues, and there are stars strategically aligned in a constellation just above its wing. The way they are aligned, they look like the shape of my favorite freckles on her left cheek. A jagged heart. Most of the page is covered by the drawing, but there are three sentences I can read clearly. The explanation of her name is at the top, and the others are written in her handwriting at the bottom of the page.
