In the aftermath of her twin sister's tragic death, Reagan Sinclair finds herself in a never-ending battle against paralyzing panic attacks and drowning in grief. Desperate to just survive each day, Reagan's world is turned upside down when Paris un...
Today's prompt: (Something you loved about the person you lost)
Dear Robin,
I saw two girls at the grocery store today, their laughter echoing through the cereal aisle and filling the air with an infectious joy. I don't know if they were friends, cousins, or sisters but it was obvious that they had a strong connection. They were happy, glowing with life as they shoved and pushed and teased each other while laughing about something I'll never know. It made me remember the time you dragged me to the grocery store to get me out of the funkI fell into after this boy I liked told me that he'd never date a girl with ADHD. He said it was just an excuse for behavioral problems and was essentially a "made-up" condition to sell more medication and that I just needed to try harder and concentrate. At the time I felt his words like a heavy blow to my heart and It’s hard to believe I don’t even remember his name now.
You dragged me out of bed and took me to the grocery store and you made me laugh about anything and everything. Reassuring me that it was his loss while we bought way too much candy and more snacks than we could eat. Then you wrote a detailed note to his mother on the jerkoff of a son she has and stuck it in their mailbox while I hid in the car. You always made me feel better, cheered me up even when it felt like my world was ending. I love and miss that about you. I could use some cheering up these days, Roe. Itdoesn't feel like my world is ending anymore. It ended the day you died.
Love Reagan.
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IT SMELLS LIKE COFFEE and toasted bread when I walk into the kitchen, and it makes my stomach growl. I yawn and rub the sleep away from my eyes as I find Paris Standing by the counter, a cup of coffee in his hands. His presence alone sets my heart racing. “Good morning, love,” the timbre of his voice brings back memories of last night and my face burns.
“Morning,” I whisper, fidgeting on my feet. His gaze drops to my shirt, and then a single clench of his jaw. It's his shirt. I threw it on after waking up in yesterday's clothes. I clear my throat and walk into the kitchen, unable to resist the aroma of the coffee. The tension between us crackles in the air, buzzing like electricity, as I pour myself a cup. He leans on the counter and I feel his eyes burning into my back. I have to bite my lips to keep my hands from shaking while I stir the sugar in my coffee and only when I toss the spoon into the sink does he finally speak.
“Have a seat, Reagan. Let's talk,” my heart speeds up at his words, a mix of anticipation and trepidation fighting for dominance in my stomach.
“Okay,” I make my way around the counter with my coffee gripped tight in my hands, and then I take my time sliding onto the stool because my ass still hurts. Paris sends me a look like he knows it too but stays on the other side of the counter. I don't know why, but a wave of emotion washes over me, threatening to bring tears to my eyes. It feels like he's ready to pull away or create some distance after what happened last night. He's silent for so long, that the distant sounds of New York coming to life reach my ears, gradually growing louder and filling the void of his silence. I tap my fingers thirty times on the countertop before he speaks again.
