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“Of what?”
“Of me.”
A jolt goes through me, and I realize it’s fear. “I can’t. I fucking can’t, you know that.”
“You have to, Matt.”
“No fucking way. You can’t ask this of me.”
“I’m tied down.” And I know she’s telling the truth. “I don’t want you to go down with me.”
“Emma, no.”
She touches my face, and her hand is cold, so cold. “I want you to live, because I love you. Take care of our kids. And take care of yourself.”
I’m crying. I’m fucking crying like a baby, and I don’t care. I don’t want her to go, dammit. The tears rolling down my face are cold, like her hand.
“It’s okay,” she says.
But it’s not her.
I blink, and the pretty eyes looking into mine are familiar. “Tay.” I reach for her, and she lets me pull her down, close. “She’s gone.” I grab the back of Octavia’s head and drag her closer, until her face is pressed up to my neck. “Gone.”
She nods, the movement soft against my skin. “Yes, she is.”
I swallow hard, my throat like sandpaper. “She’s not coming back.”
She shakes her head against my neck.
“She was right here with me. Emma was here.” I struggle to keep my voice steady. “What’s even real?”
A voice in my head says, “You will lose what she has lost.” Who said that? Who told me that?
“I’m real,” Octavia says.
She is. She’s here. Not a ghost, not a memory, but flesh and delicate bone, a soft voice and that smile that warms me up like the sun.
“Now you’ll make me blush,” she whispers.
Did I say all that out loud? “I feel drunk,” I inform her.
“You’re sick. You’ll get better.” She lifts her head. “Let me take care of you.”
I turn my face away. I don’t want her to see how fucking shattered I am after the dream, after the realization that came at its heels. I’m laid open, my control gone, my defenses crushed.
Don’t want her to see how I want to believe her, how much I fucking need her, now more than ever.
How I want her to take care of me, to stay with me.
She’s trying to save me, but I don’t think she can.
I wake up what feels like ages later. My eyes are gritty, and my whole body aches. It’s dark outside the window, and inside the room only my bedside lamp is on, casting soft yellow light.
The bed creaks and moves, and a shadow unfolds and approaches me. Fragile, slender, and I know who it is. I don’t think it’s Emma, not even for a second, which is weird, and I frown.
Octavia leans over me. “Hey, you. How do you feel?”
Maybe it’s her scent, so unique and sweet. Maybe it’s the shape of her body, of her hair, of her face as she comes into focus.
