Remember Me Not

THIRTY-EIGHT - AFTER

It's funny how quickly things can go downhill—and my return to college is less gradual decline and more deadly freefall.

I feel even worse than the first day I arrived back on campus, which is saying something. Maybe it's because I had a taste of a good thing, of fun and friendship and thriving instead of simply surviving; it's harder to cope when all of that gets snatched away. And the worst thing is I know it's partly my fault. I know I don't help myself, that I don't have to twist the consequences into this all-or-nothing dichotomy—and yet here I am. Back to freezing up and sabotaging myself with my own inaction.

I guess I'm nothing if not predictable.

There's no logical reason for me to cut off Fazia and Adam, but how can I hang out with them without the risk of running into Elliot too? He's made it clear enough that he doesn't want to see or speak to me. It's been radio silence since that night, and no amount of checking my phone has been enough to will a message through. So what choice do I have but to back off?

I've already overstepped the line once. The last thing I want to do is force my presence on him where it's not wanted.

But why isn't it wanted?

That's what I'm struggling to get my head around: why my actions were so reprehensible that they could sever a friendship in a single stroke. It was just a kiss. Unexpected, sure; misjudged, maybe—but was it really necessary to blow up like Elliot had?

Josh lied. I keep telling myself that because it's the strongest case I have for me not being a moral disgrace. He put on a performance for the people who loved him most, acting like an angel while the sinister truth lurked in the shadows. Had I known, I would never have gone near him, let alone dated him.

I don't even get the luxury of a breakup. With him gone, so is any chance of closure; I'm trapped in a relationship immortalized by death.

And I'm angry.

Why should he have a grip on my life all these months later, like hands around my neck? He's already destroyed my life once. Tore the pieces apart in one fell swoop, causing everything to split and splinter. It's taken months for me to feel like I'm starting to rebuild, that by taking extra care I can maybe create something stronger—but now I'm back at square one all over again.

And that's just me. What about the life of the girl he assaulted? Her anonymity doesn't make the trauma any less real. All this time, she's been in the back of my mind as a blank silhouette; I haven't tried to picture her because I don't know where to start. There are thousands of students on this campus—and even then, how do I know she's one of them? She could've dropped out, transferred, graduated. She could've been a visiting friend or an exchange student. She's a nameless, faceless voice who was brave enough to speak out, and unless she wants to change that, she'll probably stay that way.

But I can't stop thinking about her.

Despite the blankness, I still latch on—and the longer I spend alone, the more she haunts my mind. I have to find her. I don't know why, but once I consider the tiny possibility, everything else becomes unthinkable. If I could meet her face to face, talk to her, listen to her, then maybe it could solve this.