The Persistence of Memory | ✔

18

The room was cold and dark when Nina opened her eyes. A chill seeped into her very bones as she lay on the floor, staring blankly up at the off-white ceiling. Outside, the rain persisted, while the clock on the wall continued to tick away the minutes. Both remained unchanged. The same could not be said for Nina.

Something inside her felt different, yet one more piece of who she was—or who she thought she was—having broken off. Nina had picked up the pieces once. Put them back together until she was whole again, despite the cracks still visible to those who cared to look. She didn't think she could manage that a second time.

Not when he thought back to all that she'd learned the previous night. Crimson lips stretched in a mocking smile, and Nina had to push the thought away as she felt a surge of pain in her head.

Slowly, she sat up, her back aching almost as much as her head and her body feeling stiff from having spent so long lying on the floor. Dawn hadn't yet broken, cool moonlight filtering through the slim gap between the curtains, and Nina felt an odd sense of disorientation at not knowing just how late it was, or for how long she'd been lying on the worn carpet of the motel room.

That feeling grew stronger as her weary mind struggled to catch up with all that had happened. Ben's warning to her, the long drive without a destination, a familiar face that she'd never truly known—it all mixed into a muddled mess that Nina was caught in the midst of. And yet, the greatest detail Nina fought to understand was Nat. Or at least, the woman she'd thought Nat was.

The woman who Nina could still picture as a young girl, smiling brightly as she walked at Nina's side. A blue backpack rested on her shoulders with the small rabbit ornament Nina had gifted her months earlier dangling from it. Nina could still remember the way they'd head home together, both of the girls living on the same street.

She remembered snacking on apple slices and yogurt cups at a wide, wooden table in Nat's brightly lit kitchen. The way the sun would gleam off the pristine counters and the feel of the warm, summer breeze as it blew through the kitchen window, rustling the pages of printout that made up the girls' homework. Nina remembered it all, remembered the feeling of happiness—of acceptance—that came with having a friend like Nat.

Most of all, Nina remembered the day she thought she'd lost all of that. It was with perfect clarity that Nina could recall the way the sun's rays had seemed so feeble as they streamed through thick clouds in thin strips, breaking through the dullness of the day. She could see how the light bounced off the shards of glass scattered over the asphalt, like stars glimmering amidst a pitch black sky.

The scent of petrichor hung thickly in the air, water pooling all around her and the faint coolness of drizzle just starting to dot her skin. There were cries of help, of panic, of emotions Nina couldn't be bothered to identify at the time. Not when her own heart threatened to beat out of her own chest and a sense of dread mixed with horror rose inside of her. From the distance, there was the sound of sirens, the wailing sound seeming like a mournful cry to Nina's ears as it grew closer.

Amidst it all, was Nat, the only source of stillness in the chaos that surrounded them. Crimson stained her clothes, her face, and Nina was almost glad she couldn't see her friend's state from where she stood, shaking from more than the chill in the air.

And then, she was in a startlingly white waiting room. The stench of antiseptic Nina would someday come to detest was almost stifling as she sat next to her mother, who had an arm still wound tightly around her. Nina remembered the exhaustion, the dread, as she waited for news on her friend.

When she finally did see Nat again, much later, she was met with a pair of mismatched eyes. The smile on Nat's face was sharp as Nina stared into those eyes, gleaming a they stared at her, and the thought of them—the memory Nina had always thought belonged to her—was enough to make her shiver.