Miscellaneous

Forever

"I just thought, for once, I could be more than just somebody's sister, or somebody's daughter, or some prize to be won." My hands shook as I spoke, and I ran them nervously up the nape of my neck, up into my hair, messying it even further. I didn't care, though. I knew the boy sitting across from me didn't care how I looked.

"You're so much more than that. If I wanted to date your sister, or your dad, I would have."

A smile bubbled out of my lips, not just at the joke, but at the way he said it, what he said... "Date?" I whispered, hands falling to my sides awkwardly. He smiled at me, showing off his slightly crooked teeth, and I couldn't help but laugh, but smile, but grab his hands and shove my lips against his--

Don't. Stop thinking about it, because it isn't going to help.

I know I shouldn't. I know I should just stop fantasizing, that it will never be like that again, but the moment runs through my mind a million times at once, his thin lips on my too-plump ones, my calloused hands in his soft ones. We were both so imperfect, so awkward, so naive.

It was perfect.

We didn't need each other to be flawless. I didn't need a guy who had straight teeth and green eyes and rippling pectorals. I needed him, with his shaggy hair and his muffin top and his witch cackle of a laugh. He didn't need a girl with a thin waist and full hips and tiny, gentle fingers.

I like to think he needed me.

Stop. Thinking about him will only make it worse. There is nothing you can do now, nothing that will bring him back, make him real again.

My head thumps a dull ache, and I don't know what to do. I need to let him go, because I'll never feel his arms around my shoulders again, never feel his teeth against mine as we just fail at kissing, and I'll never feel his chest shake as he laughs at us, and I laugh too, because we're so ridiculous and messy and in love.

As I sink down to the ground, my hands sliding into the dirty grass, I relive the good moments; him singing me into a completely unnecessary nap, me handing him a box of chocolates because boys can like chocolate too, both sitting there, both happy, both completely and desperately together.

I relive the bad moments; people telling us we were too weird, too loud, too ugly and awkward to really be in love, because according to them love was soft and gentle and sweet, all perfect harmonies and romantic sunsets. They were wrong, though. Love wasn't a chick-flick. Love was loud and obnoxious and messy and aggravating and perfect.

I relive them screaming.

I relive him screaming.

I relive the flames licking at my flesh, and my hands on his arm, pulling him, saying keep going, we're almost there, just please for the love of God keep going.

The smoke was too much and it was clogging my lungs but I was not leaving him there, I was not going to let him die. He coughed and wheezed, a limp dead weight against my muscles, but I didn't care, I didn't care, the door was right there and we could make it--

He wasn't moving. I was stronger than him, and I could easily lift him, but he just wasn't moving because he was all dead weight, all completely limp and I couldn't move him.

I was selfish. I was weak.

I left him.

A sob leaves my lips, and I press my cold fingers on the stone, but I won't put gloves on because I know he just needs the cold right now. My sisters hands are on my shoulder, and she's saying something, get it together, Ashley, it's been a month, it can't really be this bad, and she is heartless and cruel and she doesn't care about anyone but her, and she's never loved like this. She's never loved, only wanted and lusted.

I shrug her arm away, my world falling apart. I can't go back to my crappy apartment, alone, without him beside me. He has to come back.

He has to.

My sister groans, and says something but I don't hear her, all I hear is his voice, soft in my ear, my fingers in his hair, and I'm sobbing.

"Forever," he had whispered, putting a ring on my finger.

"Forever." My body shakes and heaves as I spit the word out. Forever. To him, maybe. But not to me.

It's my fault. It's all my fault. I shouldn't have left him there. I shouldn't have saved myself. I don't deserve to live in a world without him in it.

My sister is gone. I don't know how long it's been, with me collapsed and sobbing, but my knees are drenched in mud and my body aches. I must've been here for at least an hour.

I say a few nonsense words to him. If he were here, he'd laugh and kiss my cheek and start a conversation worth having, rather than just choked sobs to an indifferent grave.

He is not here.

I remember hearing once, "The conversation between the living and the dead is full of broken promises and silence." How heartwrenchingly true that is.

"Forever," I whisper one last time, staring at the dirt below me.

But nobody ever replies.