Forget me lots (Completed)

25. River 🐝

Days go by and nothing changes. I try to build up layer upon layer of our stolen time together for her to come back to me until I understand she is dealing with enough already.

These last few days, after visiting her, the hole in my chest is so immense I need to be alone. I've hidden in the forest by the lake a lot—wondering what memories are made of.

My favorite one is the moment I first kissed Dawn. It's not a single memory, though. While reconstructing it over and over in a desperate loop, I also remember the smell of her auburn hair or the way her eyes had an iridescent rim thanks to the bonfire spell. How her body made me feel the second my lips touched hers—like we were meant to be together. How my skin had countless nerve endings all wired to one of her smiles, or a loose lock of her hair.

My brain's ability to collect, connect, and create mosaics from these milliseconds-long impressions is the basis of every memory I treasure. By extension, it is the basis of me.

This isn't just metaphysical poetics. Every sensory experience I've lived has triggered changes in the molecules of my neurons, reshaping the way they connect to one another. That means my brain is literally made of memories of her...

Why can't hers remember us? Was I so meaningless in her life? Weren't our memories enough? Why did I disappear from her life as if I hadn't meant a thing?

I thought I could win this fight. I thought I had it in me to endure this hell, but it's been weeks, and my health has finally collapsed. The lack of meds has increased my tremors, and to make matters worse, I fainted yesterday.

My abuela found me sprawled by the kitchen sink. All I know is that I wanted to get some water. I'd dreamt about Dawn and how I was too late to reach her, so she drowned in Elsie's Lake. I watched in horror how her body was carried out of the water by the paramedics. A bloated-blue shape of the girl I loved. I woke up covered in sweat and with a sore throat—I was screaming in my dream. I walked to the kitchen, and before I knew it, everything turned blurry.

I woke up in my bed, with my folks staring at me, worry etched in their features.

"Enough is enough, River," Mom said, her shoulders spasming out of control.

"We need to make you better, son. This is not helping you or her or anyone." Dad was right. There was nothing left to be done. Our time was up.

My stupid, deteriorating health was making my body weak. So, I needed to stop trying to bring her back. She only did when she felt like it, anyway. In dreams, bike rides and broken-down déjà vu.

Like I'd be driving to school and past the roundabout into the park, and I'd see a girl with long, auburn hair, by the angel fountain, playing with the droplets coming from the rusted bow.

I could swear for half a second—for an airless moment—it was her and not this unknown girl with foreign laughter.

I still wake up when it is past midnight, sure that she has sent me a message. Sure that she needs me. I miss her so damn much, nothing is worth anything anymore.

But I can't summon her, no matter how many times I stare at the thousand selfies—witnesses of our adventures—praying she'd wake up and ask for me. It's time to stop trying to bring her back. I decide on the way to do it, too.

When Mom mentions a clinic in Switzerland, with this experimental treatment for my heart condition, I say yes. I'll leave it all behind. Maybe if I get better, she'll get better.

I go to the hospital and say goodbye to her green eyes. Then, I trudge home to pack my bags into this nightmare. An unwanted chapter I fought so hard to avoid living.