Meant for Me | ✔️

8) I want to forget

Saturday, August 9th

A D D I E

Zac walked into the bedroom with a cup of hot tea and a cold flannel. I was still curled up against the headboard, ashamed and embarrassed of the scene that I must have made.

The bedside alarm clock read that it was three in the morning and I'd felt terrible for screaming the house down until Zac told me that his dad would sleep through a tractor driving through his bedroom and Zac himself woke at about four most mornings so it was no big deal.

That didn't stop me from feeling humiliated.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and handed me the cup. He was wearing a pair of black sweatpants and no shirt. If I hadn't been in such a state, I might have been able to appreciate the entire situation a little more.

"Here," he handed me the cold flannel. "Might help cool you down a bit."

My face and neck were drenched with sweat; tendrils of hair were clinging to my forehead and the white t-shirt that I was wearing was damp. I used the flannel and wiped my face with it, but I knew that I would need a shower to feel clean. Zac ran his hand across his jaw and looked perplexed.

"Is this about Margo?"

Sometimes I felt like my throat was being squeezed whenever I tried to say her name. And not in a metaphorical sense. It hurt. Real pain. When Zac said it, he was so casual. It slipped right off his tongue and his southern drawl licked at the roll of the R.

But I sort of loved that he called her Margo, rather than referring to her as my sister and nothing more. It was acknowledging and she deserved to be acknowledged.

I nodded and tried to expel the remnants of the nightmare that had become a regular occurrence.

"You were. . . there for her death?"

"I can't, Zac," I whispered and shook my head. "I can't."

"Alright," he took the flannel from me and threw it onto the dresser. "You want to get back to sleep? Or come for a wander with me? Figure I'll get a head start on the chores."

"Chores on a Saturday morning?"

"Every morning," he flicked his head toward the door. "I'll get something better to wear?"

"For me?"

He nodded and stood up, his skin pulling against taut muscles. "You don't have to come though."

"No no," I pushed the thin sheet back and stood up as well, his gaze was fast and fleeting, but it lowered and looked me over from my bare legs to the white shirt pulling tight against my thighs. "I won't be getting back to sleep. I'll come. I'll even help."

He smiled and turned around. "Back in a minute."

He gave me a pair of his mom's old farm pants after he made me promise that I didn't find it weird, a pair of her boots that looked as though they had never been worn and one of his hoodies. It wasn't cold outside, so the clothes were enough, and we trekked through the back garden and down towards the paddock.

The sun wasn't up but it can't have been far because there was a bright glow coming from the horizon and it lightened the night sky to a cobalt blue. Birds were beginning to sing, and I couldn't decide if I preferred dusk or dawn out here. It must have been an even tie.

"I'm sorry, again," I said as he opened a steel gate and waited for me to follow through before he closed it again. "For screaming and all that. Not the best house guest."

"Would you quit apologizing," he shook his head with amusement. "If I was bothered, I'd have left you alone as soon as I'd woken you up and told you to shut it."