Remember Me Not

FORTY - AFTER

The flashback claws its way out. I can almost feel its long talons digging into my brain as it emerges from wherever it's been concealed all this time; the pain is so bad it's like my head is going to explode.

All this time, I've blacked it out: not just the later part of the night, but everything that came before it. Before I had a sip of alcohol. Before I even left my bedroom. But it's coming back now, in a slow yet significant stream, and once the black spots have filled with light I know I won't be able to darken them again. Whatever happened that night, whatever I witnessed—I'll soon have to live with it.

That was how it started. With Hanna, in our bedroom in full celebration mode, with her eyes bright and her leg brushing up against my boyfriend's. Or maybe not; I didn't get to look properly before they had the chance to move away. Still, my mind registered the possibility. And since the truth about Josh came to light, possibilities have started scaring me a lot more.

She was so determined to get drunk that night. And then of course Josh came along with the promise of an even greater high: one tempting enough for her to trust whatever was in that one tiny pill. She went in blind, with no idea what it would feel like or how her body would react. How much control she'd lose.

That was when the night entered a whole new league.

Excruciating pain sears through my head; one hand flies to my skull and my eyes squeeze shut. It only lasts for a few seconds, but even once it's passed, I'm frozen in position and trembling all over. It's like remembering one thing has unlocked everything else, and I'm past the point of no return. The more I go over what's come back, the more details that stand out, and the blackout starts to fall like a stack of dominos.

Now there's something else.

From the party this time, what must have been several hours after the encounter with Josh and Hanna in the dorm. Things were in full swing, and I'd lost my grip on the two people who were also my safety nets, which meant my night had turned into a full-scale mission to locate at least one of them. Someone mentioned Josh had slipped outside for a cigarette—so within seconds, and on slightly unsteady feet, I was heading down in the elevator and emerging on the street.

Josh wasn't there. Or at least he wasn't out the front or around the corner of the apartment block, and I didn't feel quite lucid enough to explore much further. It was the first time I noticed the snow: the occasional flake had begun to fall, white specks collecting on my black lace sleeves. The sharpness to the air was a shock after two weeks of comfortable spring sunshine. So I turned to head back inside—but instead bumped into another familiar face.

Two of them, actually.

"Cat!" I said, because she was the one who looked up first. The other took longer, as her back was hunched and she was spewing the contents of her stomach over a drain. "Hanna? Are you okay?"

She either didn't hear me or was too preoccupied to answer.

"I think someone went a little overboard," Cat said. One of her hands was clutched at the back of Hanna's head, holding her hair back in a makeshift ponytail, while the other scraped back strands that kept falling forward. "Get it all up, girl. You'll feel better."

"What happened?"

"I found her in a bathroom. Slumped over the toilet, looking worse for wear. Thought she could do with some water and fresh air."

She gestured to the Solo cup at her feet, full to the brim—and carefully out of the firing line of Hanna's puke.

"Let me take over," I told her, already stepping closer. "You go back and enjoy the party. She's my roommate, so maybe I should help her home—"

As if on cue, Hanna gave another almighty retch. Her whole body contorting with the reflex, she slammed a hand onto the concrete wall to steady herself. "Ugh..."

"I'm not sure she's in a fit state to even get home," Cat pointed out. "I sure as hell wouldn't want to risk that cab fine, and I don't want to put that on you. Look, I know one of the girls who lives in the building, and I'm sure she wouldn't mind letting Hanna crash in her room for a couple of hours. There's a bathroom in there, she'll be out of everyone else's way, and we can keep a close eye on her. Once she's feeling a little less pukey, I'll take her up there."

I hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"Of course, Morgan," she said, with a smile. "I'll handle it. I'll text you if I need anything—but in the meantime, go have fun. I'm sure Josh is somewhere looking for you."

That was it. It hadn't been a long conversation; perhaps that was what had made it so easy for it to slip through the cracks. But it's out in the open now, and I remember it clear as day. The noise of occasional traffic and the distant bass from a speaker several floors up. The smell of cigarette smoke and cold air and vomit. The final, encouraging smile Cat offered before I turned away, which turned out to be the last time I would see her face.

After that, I know Cat would've kept her word, because that's the kind of person she is.

She would've done exactly as she told me and took Hanna to one of the bedrooms upstairs.

A lie down in one of the spare bedrooms, because she'd gone one stop past good drunk toward verging-on-very-bad drunk.

The creak of the door as somebody—at first, she'd not known who—slipped inside.

"Shh," Josh had said. "Relax."

All this time, the answer's been closer than I ever could have known.

It's Hanna.

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...

See you in the comments.

- Leigh