Save Me

Chapter Twenty-Six

♔ Chapter Twenty-Six ♔

I was on a boat, out at sea. The white sails whirred against the wind, sun beaming down through clear skies, everything near-silent and still for miles and miles. It didn't feel like the real world, it was too calm, too perfect. No thoughts or worries.

In the horizon, I could make out the coast of Cornwall, yellow sand and rocky cliffs, green fields and pastures stretching along the skyline. The boat barely moved, as I stood at its edge and looked out at the miraculous nothingness.

"Isaac," he said, breaking all silence. Him.

"I should've known," I said. "I can't ever escape you, can I?"

I felt his hand on my shoulder, light like a feather. "You thought you'd moved on from me, didn't you?"

"No. Not ever. I think about you every day, Tom."

"Maybe you shouldn't," he murmured. "Maybe it's better to let go."

"Is that why you're here?" I asked. "To tell me to let go, move on, be happy to be alive? Are you going to tell me to live in the now, not the in past? I don't need to hear it. I've heard it a thousand times before."

"And every time you hear it, it goes through one ear and comes out the other. I don't know why I'm here. I'm in your head, you tell me."

"God, why am I so fucking fucked up?" I asked myself. "Why am I fucking haunted by this shit constantly? Can't I go a couple of days without seeing a dead person? What is wrong with me?"

"Maybe you just missed me."

"I dunno." I stiffened. "Maybe."

I turned away from the horizon to face him, unchanged, just like the day I met him. Coarse black hair, stunning blue eyes, but so shy, so burdened and broken, so alone. His skin was pale, and flawless under the bright sunlight.

My hand went to hold his face, and I wanted to comfort him, to make him feel better, to make him overcome all his worries and insecurities, and treat him the way I should have done from the beginning - like he deserved.

"I must be in Heaven," I said.

"What makes you say that?"

"Seeing you again. That's gotta be Heaven."

"What makes you think you'll be going to Heaven?" he asked, not unkindly.

"Yeah, I'll probably be going to... the other place, if it's even real."

"It isn't."

"Neither is this," I said, gesturing to the wide sea around us, the empty skies above us. "Neither are you."

"You still missed me, either way. Or why else would I be here? Why am I on your mind?"

"Because I'm a masochist. My memories of you are torture to me, excruciating, but I still won't let you go."

"And why's that?" he asked, leaning in.

"Because you're right, I do miss you. I'll always miss you." I leaned in too, wanting to kiss him, to pick him up in my arms and pretend that it was all real; telling myself that if I wanted it enough, it would be.