Some memories aren't meant to be revived.
Especially when they're lurking in the deceitful creases and folds of the treacherous night.
*extended summary inside*
Last night was a hazardous illusion that struck a sense of foreboding in to the centre of Nicks paper heart.
He remembered driving him and Miriam to the party , he remembered drinking and watching her drink.
He could hold his liquor thoroughly well, which meant this temporary memory loss couldn't of been triggered by alcohol.
Miriam however was a lightweight.
He was all too aware of how last night she was drunk, and him in the realms of sobriety and being tipsy.
He remembers her pulling him in to the pool, the bass resounding in their ears. He remembers her lips on his and their hands wandering in a fervent rhythm.
He can memorise every plane of her face. The way his finger traced the stars on her cheeks and the galaxy on her eyelids.
The galaxy he printed on her eyelids a few nights before, not that he had intended too.
She was over at his for a movie night and his mood was particularly low.
He loved her for her compassion and he loved how hard she worked to rise at least a smile out of him, albeit shaky at the edges.
But he knew she was walking on eggshells around him and he detested the way she tensed when ever his fingers brushed her collarbone like an ominous whisper of more to come.
This had angered him. All thoughts of Miriam's compassion were soon tarnished and he found a river of red flowing in his irises.
He had printed a galaxy of blue and black on her eyelids that night. He had dipped his fury into ink and made the blind infuriation and loss of control travel across her paper skin. He had written on her in places he had once tenderly touched and he had watched her melt in to a polluted whirlpool at his feet, when he whispered I love you.
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He is sure he can remember staggering from the pool, a drenched but radiant Miriam on his hip.
After that though, it's as if someone cracked the window in his memory and all he can see are jagged, spiteful shreds of glass.
Nick never usually feels afraid. However, Miriam isn't answering his calls and texts and when he called her foster parents they said they hadn't seen her. There was no where else she could be.
He knew that if she wasn't with him or at her home, Miriam wasn't anywhere.
Usually, the weight of Miriam's puppet strings resting lithely on his fingertips would cajole him in to tranquility.
But it seemed the strings had snapped and with them nick had too.
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