Meet Me Where the Ocean Touches the Sky

Chapter 1: Memories, Within Temptation

When the plane touches down in London, memories come flooding in. It's like the wheels connecting with the tarmac triggered a release button. Images, sounds, feelings overwhelm me. I'd already shut my eyes tight when we were hovering over the City; its landmarks visible even from a distance. I don't want to be here. I didn't want to come, but I didn't have a choice. As Danny said, if I'd missed my own mother's funeral, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself. Yet there is nothing to forgive. It's not like we had a relationship. She put me and my twin brother into this world, gave us away to an army of nannies and housekeepers and never looked back. Somehow, I'm supposed to feel something. To miss her or wish things were different. I don't. I saved and used my wishes on someone else. Someone to whom I had a lot more to say on the day we put him into the ground. My sorrow didn't make one bit of a difference. He was gone. There were no second chances. There was no saving him either.

I sigh as I listen to the announcements. Luckily, I'm sat by the window so I can pretend to be civilised and not rush to stand up and get my bags. I would stay in this seat forever if I could help it. But Danny would kill me. He'd find a way to make it to the plane and physically remove me. And I'd let him, just to feel his hands on by body again. I'd never admit that to his face, but he's the one I've been missing all these years that I was gone. On the cold nights, on the lonely nights, I wished he was there to hold me. I would have been fine with whatever category the embrace would have fallen into; friends, lovers, some older brother I'm not related to. We'd kissed only once, almost by mistake, when it all happened. I wanted to stay. I wanted him to be my rock while I grieved. For him to help me see through to the other side. But I couldn't stay. It was all too much: the guilt, the feeling of powerlessness, the need to turn back time, to make different choices, to be stronger. And ultimately, the need to save him.

I know that there are parts of me that still haven't healed. The wounds have been ripped open at the mere thought of having to come back to London. And I know that the healing will only come if I face everything that I've buried with him when he died. I'm not sure I'm strong enough. I don't know if I can accept the role I played in all this and be okay with the unchangeable outcome. So for now I focus on one thing a time: making my way to arrivals without having a meltdown. And then face Danny in person for the first time in nearly five years.

I can do this.

I wonder what he'll say when he sees me. Five years can do a lot to two young adults in their twenties. They have either made him even more handsome or been cruel to him and turned him into a toad. I won't pretend and say that I haven't checked on Danny in the past few years. It was more painful each time, so eventually I stopped. First, I couldn't cope with all the reminders of us, of what we could have been. The reminders of him too. Then realising how much of his life I was missing out on - all the milestones that I wasn't there to witness, to celebrate with him and that I could never get back - nearly killed me. We were meant to accomplish these things together. And then one day he announced his new relationship on Instagram. The heartbreak was too much to handle. It shattered the last remaining bits of my heart. Danny was dating Lena, of all people. But I couldn't blame him. I had bailed, and she probably was the only other person who could relate to the grief he was also going through. That's when I stopped. The texts became scarce. Our weekly FaceTime turned into a fortnightly phone call. Eventually, we stopped talking on the phone too. Until two days ago when he called to tell me that mum had died.

'Hello? Miss... Are you okay?'

I open my eyes suddenly and blink a couple times. Great, they're damp! The face of the cute flight attendant comes into focus. His voice doesn't match with his looks. It's whiny, borderline condescending. The plane is now empty, and I still haven't moved.

'Yes. I'm grand, thanks.'

I wonder if he hears the hint of sarcasm in my tone. Not that he would care I suppose. I'm sure he deals with all sorts of crazies every day. He smiles at me, and I immediately hate the spark of compassion that lights up his forest green eyes. Danny has green eyes too, though sometimes they look almost blue. I used to know all their details by heart: from the tiny black dot in his right iris to the fascinating golden patterns that would dance in the sun when we would do a staring competition. Now I can't even picture his face accurately.