Remember Me Not

THIRTY FIVE - BEFORE

The first real fight was in December.

I should've seen it coming. Everyone knows the honeymoon period is temporary—even me. I didn't need a string of past relationships to work that out. But I guess there was still that hopeful, naïve part of me that floated the idea that we were different. That we were so happy and content and easygoing there was nothing that could shake us.

Like I said, it was naïve.

It didn't take a genius to notice that Josh was more extroverted than me. But so far we'd managed to strike a balance—one that worked so well it got me thinking maybe I'd made a breakthrough. If only I'd sought out more confident guys instead of quiet ones I might've had more luck in previous endeavors. Any time Josh headed out, he asked if I wanted to go with him. Sometimes I did, tagging along to parties or joining him when he hung out with people from the volunteer group. I made a lot of extra friends that way, actually, because he always made the effort to introduce and include me. But sometimes I didn't feel like it, and that was okay too. He never got mad at me for turning the offer down.

Usually.

This time, it was like the expectation had changed, and no one had thought to tell me.

When he showed up at my dorm on the last Friday of the semester, all dressed up in his best jeans and new cologne, there was already a layer of impatience in the air. I later realized this was the effect of more than a few beers, which he'd started on before arriving.

"Morg, change of plans," was the first thing he said when I pulled open the door. "We're going out."

Either he didn't notice or didn't care about what I was wearing: a bobbly pair of leggings, thick socks, and one of his hoodies that I'd acquired a few weeks ago. When he'd given it to me, I'd acted like it wasn't a big deal—but inside I'd been secretly thrilled. He didn't know how attached to it I'd become.

"What?" I said, confused.

I stepped aside to let him in the room, but my question still hung in the air.

"We're going out," he repeated, like this gave me any more context. "One of Dean's friends is in Zeta Beta Xi, and they're throwing this legendary end-of-semester party. They've kitted the house out with so much awesome stuff. They've got kegs, a hot tub, and I'm pretty sure I heard a rumor they were going to turn the living room into a giant ball pit. I have no idea whether that's going to work, but I sure as hell want to find out."

I was still confused—mostly about why he was talking about this like such a certainty, despite the fact that his parties were fast losing their appeal and I'd passed on the last three he'd gone to. Despite the fact this was specifically a frat party he was talking about, and after everything I'd told him about Caleb, he really should've known his audience better.

When his voice trailed off, I thought it might have hit him. But I hoped for too much. "Well, come on," he snapped. "Hadn't you better get ready?"

In that moment, I found my voice. "Why?"