Book III of UNC Series
While it's known that there are five stages of grief, did you know that there are also five stages of love?
Bailey Nicholson dreamed of finishing her Master's degree and settling in Boston while working alongside her boyfriend...
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I stare down at Chase's old fake ID, thumbing over his picture where his features are still soft and muted, taken when he was 18. Since then, he hadn't changed much, just filling out his shoulders, strengthening his muscles, and looking more defined and sharp.
My heart stutters, and my eyelids flutter as I remember around this time last year, I was at dinner with Chase and his parents. My own parents hadn't deigned to see me on my birthday, shooting me a text in the morning and calling it a day.
This year was no different, waking up to three messages—my parents and brother—before Ryan and Mia ushered me around and kept me company all day, taking time off from their jobs and school.
I can see through what they're trying to do, keeping me from falling into that rabbit hole of pain and anguish at the thought of Chase not being here. The few months following Chase's death and before I went to Europe, my friends were genuinely scared for my well-being.
According to them, I had become paler, lost significant weight and was a walking zombie. Barely uttering a word, eating, much less taking care of myself. Eventually, over time, I got better at hiding the pain. My friends had done so much for me during those two months before I left with Ava, and I didn't want them worrying and fussing over me. Not anymore.
I loosen a heavy breath, staring down at his picture, which, dare I say, looked better than his photo for his actual ID. I recall the last time we used the fakes, and a slight smile tugs at my lips.
The day before I turned 21, we went out for drinks. Though Chase didn't need to use his fake, he did, in solidarity, since it would be my last time before I could use my real one. After that night, he gave me his for safekeeping.
And now, as I turn 22, I wonder what Chase would have had in store for me this year. Would we have dinner with his family again? Would we have gotten drunk leading up to midnight, where we stared up at the stars and took turns guessing what would be our ultimate wish?
As music thrums and vibrates along the hardwood floor beneath my feet, I blink back the tears. I toss the ID back into the drawer and slam it shut. Shoving the memory of him deep down, I let out a deep breath and wander back out. Thankfully, the third floor, which only has two doors leading to Mia and my rooms, is empty, with no one bothering to venture up here for two locked doors.
As I descend towards the second floor, a few people are gathered around the bathroom door. However, no one attempts to open Ryan's locked door, not after I heard Ryan yelling at someone for trying to get in. A genuine smile curved my lips when I heard her earlier.
Out of the three of us, though Mia is the least intimidating, no one finds her as threatening because of Ryan's childlike personality, especially when I'm standing next to her. Just the thought of Ryan yelling and screaming, stomping her foot to make a point, and fisting her tiny hands, is like watching a smurf get angry. It's adorable and funny.
