Short Stories

Oh Sweetie

She was cocking her head to the side, a frown settled on her lips as she turned the pages of the just-received school magazine. I let out a chuckle at her pained expression, shaking her out of her own daze. Instead of glaring, she threw me a soft smile and pats the space beside her on the couch.

"What were you reading?" I said, flopping down on the couch.

"Nothing, actually," the frown returns and it seemed as though she'd wanted to say something but decided against it.

"Then what is it, sweetie?" I let my head dropped onto the back of the couch, facing her.

"My friends told me I'd sent a piece of my writing last year for this edition," she blinked her eyes a few times at this, "But it didn't make the cut,"

I hummed in reply, silently wondering which one was it. She'd written a lot of great pieces, it's her talent after all and she did mentioned sending one of her'masterpiece' to the magazine panel board for the creative section. She still had the frown on her face as she continues boring holes into the open magazine. I was just staring at her when she suddenly whipped her head to face me and in her eyes, I didn't find the disappointment I'd thought would be there. She love writing and even the word love would be an understatement on describing her passion in writing, so the fact that she'd actually wanted to pursue a psychology career still baffled me.

But I didn't see the cloud of grief and disappointment in her bright eyes, I did see something else though. My eyes widened as I finally figured what it was.

She didn't remember.

"You..." I couldn't bring myself to finish the statement but she did nod, knowing what I was trying to say. "Have you taken your meds yet?"

"Of course I did," she huffed in annoyance, "I'd taken it once every single fuckin day,"

"When did you receive this?" I pointed to the purple magazine.

"Today, after morning break," she replied.

"And I assumed your friends mentioned about the piece first?" she nodded to confirm my claim.

"But I didn't tell them I can't remember," she sighed, "Though I think they still knows,"

"Probably," I muttered.

I knew her circle of friends by heart now and I trusted them as much as I know she does. Hell, we had a private conversation about her condition after the diagnosis though she'd would kill me if she ever found out. She still had that blank look on her face as she runs her fingers on the neatly edited cover.

Desperately trying to show my concern, I laid my hand on hers, cold ever since the diagnosis and treatments. She looked up to me and smiled.

"Do you remember what it was about?"

"No," she winced, "but my friends did tell me the title of the piece and who it was about,"

"Who?" I frowned, who? That's interesting. "Who was it about?"

She blushes but the pained expression's still there which made my worry increased.

"You don't remember the person, do you?"

"I can't," she shut her eyes, her voice almost breaking.

It clicked in my mind then on which piece it was and my mind drifted back to when I first read the piece before she'd handed it to the board. It was nicely-written and the emotions conveyed with each word successfully reached my heart. And yes, I do know who it was about.

"Did they tell you?" I asked, referring to her friends.

"They showed me,"

She flipped the pages of the magazine almost carefully, as if trying to not break the memories contained in the betweens of the papers. Her eyes scanned over the class' photos before stopping at one specific class then with her finger pointing to one of the individual pictures, she handed it to me.

"This is him," she squeaks, "But I...I can't remember,"

But I do.

I felt my jaw involuntarily clenched as her finger still glued onto the picture displaying the figure of a tall tan boy in his youth, toothy smile and dazzling bright eyes. I still remember him, clear as day, the first time I'd met him face to face after hearing about the dreamboy for so long. Posture high but earthly humble, kind and gentle but unfortunately oblivious to the hearts he's crushing.

Including hers.

"I remember him," I forced a smile as she looked at me, eyes wide.

"You do? You've met him?" I could hear the excitement in her voice.

"Yeah, a few times," and everytime I did, I wanted to beat him up for being one of the reason why we aren't 'us' anymore.

She seemed to contemplate the next line she was forming in her mind, glancing at me as if unsure.

"So I wrote about him?" I nodded.
"So this," she held out a transparent file from behind her towards me, "Is about him?"

I took the file from her before noticing the paper in the very front, flooded with words and scrawled on the right top was 'FOR THE MAGAZINE'. I instantly recognized the paper as the copy of the piece she'd chosen as one of her masterpiece

It was titled 'His Smile'.

"Yeah," I let out a tired grunt as I let my fingers danced on the cover, "This is it,"

"Yeah, my friend told me that I'd kept a copy of it somewhere so I looked for it,"

"Of course," of course you'd look for it, you always do when it comes to him.

"Honey?" she muttered, cradling my face in her hand, me ignoring the ice cold tingling and the warmth she'd caused in my stomach.

"Yeah, sweetheart?" I softly smiled as I look into her eyes.

"Tell me," her eyebrows furrowed and there was an absolute desperation laced in her voice.
"Is he important to me?"

I looked over to the picture again, the smiling bastard before looking up to her again.

He was, he was so important to you, you'd crumbled and destroy yourself for him. Heck that was exacty what you did for the sake of him. You'd sacrificed your restful sleep and your peace of mind just to be replaced with wet pillows stained with your tears and garbled thoughts on why you still love him. Oh yeah, of course he was important to you; you love him.

I wanted so badly to tell her that but I couldn't. Not when she looked so broken and desperate just to know this person who undoubtedly was essential to her, who she didn't realize had broke her heart a thousand of times, cold and mercilessly. I also never did understand that, she would always remember after she forgets, it would take a long time but she will eventually. When it comes to this guy though...It's nothing. She can't remember and something at the back of my mind told me that she don't want to really.

But I also know not knowing destroys her and not remembering made it worse than it already is.

"He was," I pulled her figure close, embracing her in my warmth, "But he's not anymore,"

"Really?" she looked up to me in wonder.

"Yes, love. Really."

There's no way I'm letting him break her again.

Never.