But it happened to me.
I’m not sure if that’s whatever’s left of my scrambled-up brain trying to protect me—my psychiatrist says forgetting can be a powerful thing, but it’s not always the best.
Forgetting was working, sort of.
Until I started to forget things about Sloan.
A muscle in my jaw ticks, and I clench the sink before making a fist and knocking it against the countertop, right beside my little pharmacy of pain meds and too many antidepressants to count.
I don’t think they’re really working, either. They make me foggy and sluggish and slower than the stupid accident made me on the ice.
I feel a bit like swiping them all off the counter. I don’t—I open them up one by one and swallow them with water from the tap instead.
I tried skipping them, but the nausea and the brain zaps were almost worse than what it feels like to be on them.
My eyes find the mirror again, but it’s not my reflection I see.
It’s Sloan.
Standing in the kitchen this morning, sunlight streaming in and doing things to her eyes that I would usually notice but my brain just skipped right over. Hands gripping a mug and I cansee now that her finger was tapping against the handle in quick counts of three.
Cheeks red, her usual soft smile strained.
You fell asleep early last night.
She needed me, and I was supposed to tell her three things I loved about her. Three facts to help her, and I couldn’t.
Truthfully, I probably couldn’t have strung three facts about anything together even if I tried.
I blink, and it’s just me in the mirror again.
Some pathetic shell of a man.
“Fucking useless.” I smack my hand against the side of my head. “You don’t deserve her.”
Maybe a different me did.
But this stranger? Whoever he is?
He doesn’t deserve shit.
Bohdan
Then - Seattle
It takes me longer than it should to work up the courage to do it.
I didn’t do it the day I should have—when I looked in the mirror and realized I was worthless and the only thing I could do right was hurt her.
I’m not sure why I pick that day—a random Wednesday.
I grab the singular sorry duffel bag I packed earlier and sit down on her side of the bed by her feet, not close enough to reach her even if I was tempted. And I would be. Always with her.
Maybe it’s something to do with the fact that I can feel how beautiful she is with each beat of my heart. It’s not just blood pumping through my veins.
It’s her laugh.
It’s the stars living in the freckles on her cheeks.
