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I hope so. Since it’s my anniversary, you should be doing something fun to celebrate. Celebrate what we had, who I was, and your future. I promise I’ll be there next to you and enjoy it.
Love always,
Archer
PS Have you done something with your birthday present?
ChapterTwenty-One
Piper,
I hesitated about writing you a letter for each year we’ve been apart. This is the second anniversary of my death. Please don’t feel obligated to read each one of them. Once you feel like you don’t need me to hold your hand and you can continue on your own, burn the rest.
There might not be much in them, only a few words reminding you that I love you and I hope you’re happy.
Every time I add something to the box, I pray that I’m strong enough to survive anything because I can’t imagine life without you. Obviously, I failed, and I feel shitty about leaving you behind.
Stay strong, my ladybug.
Love always,
Archer
ChapterTwenty-Two
Him
May6th
These videoconferences, where I have to speak to a different specialist and convince them that even though I’m not fucking okay, I’m making progress, are draining. We have at least one every two weeks. It’s been more than a year since they started and almost two years since the accident. I’m done. Today it’s my neurologist. I should be grateful he’s not in town testing shit like he does every three months.
“Any news?” Dr. O’Connell asks.
My father stares at me expectantly.
“News?” I ask as if I don’t understand the question.
Derek and I agree it’s safer to play dumb and pretend I’m not understanding everything that’s happening around me.
“Are there any new memories?”
I shrug. “So far, I can’t remember anything.”
Is that a lie?
Technically not. I recall a pretty woman with a siren’s voice. Is she real?
There are these dreams when I’m having hot, heavy sex with her. I stare into her purple eyes and get transported into a peaceful place where I can finally breathe. I hear her voice, but I can’t make out her words.
Should I tell someone?
I haven’t mentioned it to anyone. Not even D. I tell him everything, but sex talk flusters the fuck out of him, and I can already hear him saying the dreams don’t mean shit.
It’s not like it bothers me to think about the pretty woman. She can stay in my head while I deal with my fucked-up life.
I glance at Derek, who could be helping me with other things. Like maybe taking me to a strip club or… sex is a sore subject for him. I don’t understand why though. He’s thirty-six, and according to my research, he’s at his sexual peak.
Do I want to experiment with him?
