Seven Days

1: Lost Time

1: Lost Time

“I lived for those moments when we were together, those few times in my life that I actually felt alive.” – Melissa de la Cruz

It all began the night she told me she loved me.

We were standing at the curb of main and Haddenfield, trying our best to hail a taxi. Ryan Andrew’s party had been an epic fail of epic proportions. The guy was wasted beyond conscious thought when the cops showed up to break up the party at the warehouse. It was good timing considering that Wendy and I were already halfway down the street. It was her idea to leave the party I’d drag her to and like always she was right and pissed off at me for the trouble with the law we’d skated past once again.

She was quiet beside me, her arms crossed over her chest as she shivered, the frigid air nipping at her exposed arms. I shrugged off my jacket and draped it over her shoulders, hoping that it would serve as an unsaid apology and offer her warmth.

Wendy flashed me a grateful smile and just like that the tension between us dissipated. She didn’t say anything, instead it seemed like her mind was somewhere else as she stared out across the street. I dug my hands into my front pockets and looked around me at the handful of people going about their night. There was a bum, sitting contently in front of a low key Chinese restaurant. In his right hand he played with an old metal tin and whenever someone would come his way he’d reach up, asking for spare change. A few people stopped and dropped money into the can, but it never seemed enough for the old guy.

“Your watch,” Wen’s voice caught my attention and I turned to see her downcast eyes staring at my wrist. “It’s broken.” I looked down and saw that my grandfather’s watch was indeed broken, the glass fractured and the hands held in suspension at 11:37.

“Dammit,” I mumbled. “How the hell did that happen?”

Wendy shrugged and shook her head sadly. “Dunno. But that’s weird.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not eleven thirty-seven. It’s,” she pulled her cell from the front pocket of her jeans and unlocked it, illuminating her white skin with bright LED light. “It’s just eleven o’ eight. It probably happened earlier today.”

I tried to recall where I was at that time, but nothing stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Ian?” she asked. “Can I tell you something?”

“Only if it doesn’t involve ripping my head off.”

A faint smile sprung on her lips and she elbowed me playfully. “No it’s not. Well, I don’t even know how…” She let out a sigh. I turned my body towards her, the sound of her voice grasping my attention and holding it captive. Whatever she wanted to tell me was serious.

“You can tell me anything,” I reassured her. “Always.”

She lifted her head and met my gaze, her normally light green eyes dark in the shadows.

“I don’t think you’d want to hear it,” she whispered.

My brows knitted together with confusion as I tried to read the emotions playing in her eyes. Wendy let out a sigh and looked away, finding something fascinating on the ground, focusing on it like her life depended on it. I stepped closer, looking down at her bowed head and reached forward, turning up her chin.

Her eyes met mine for a second before she went back to looking at the ground.

“What is it?” I asked, curiosity twisting my stomach.

She gulped and shook her head. Then as if the internal battle that waged inside her had come to a close she looked up and said words that I never imagined she’d say to me.