Therefore, I didn’t matter.
Then one day… it all changed.
Heather’s head drops back against my shoulder, her body quivering with melancholy as she continues to sob in my arms. I know there’s nothing I can do to supress the shock and confusion she’s feeling right now, but more than anything I wish there was. I wish she was the one alive right now, not me. God, I’ve prayed daily since the moment I lost her that I could change something, anything, but I can’t.
“Shh, you’re okay.” I soothe her as best as I can, gently tapping my hand just above her heart, rocking us back and forth. “Just breathe for me, Princess.” When my voice cracks on the final word, rather than continuing to talk, I simply press my lips against her temple lovingly, tasting the salt of her tears as she weeps.
We sit in this position for what feels like hours—but I know it’s only minutes, seconds—until her rapid heartbeat eventually begins to subside. But still, she doesn’t move. Only shifting momentarily for more comfort within my arms, or to get closer to me. And with every second that passes, I keep the memory of this moment sewn into the very epitheliums of my body.
“How long?” She finally speaks, her voice so quiet I barely hear it at first.
“Baby—”
“Please, Ricky, just tell me.”
I release a heavy sigh—because I know I have to show her—I lift my right arm from around her waist and ruche up the black material of my Henley, displaying for her the multitude of tiny black lines inked onto my skin.
“Two-hundred days, give or take a few. I might have miscounted, but… let’s go with an even number.” She pulls back a cracked sob, swallowing it back as she delicately runs her fingers over the tally marks on my inner forearm. “They’re the only thing that stayed. After the fifth day… I think, I decided to start keeping count. And every day I woke up, the lines remained. Nothing else except that.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t think—”
She turns her head to face me. “Please, I need to know.”
“Do you remember anything at all about that night?” I question, but all she does is shake her head.
“I think… I remember a bright light, and then… nothing. Just… emptiness.”
When I swallow, it feels like razorblades slicing the inside of my throat, cutting away at my skin, urging me to stay quiet. After having to relive this day two-hundred times, you’d think I’d be used to the story by now… but it never gets easier.
No matter how many times I’ve been through it, nothing changes for me. It’s like Groundhog day. The same monotonous words spoken by people around me as I go about my morning ritual, trying to get her to remember me in any way I could. All the same actions, and incident. There’s no variation at all.
“Do you remember how we first met?”
She releases a sad, breathless giggle. “Outside the math building.”
I smile; happy she at least recalls that. “You were trying so frantically to get away from it and play hooky that you almost tripped over your own feet.” I chuckle softly. “I knew then I was infatuated with you.” I sigh.
“Really?” she asks, angling her body slightly for a better look.
“Really, really.” I smile, looking down at her, hoping to God she can see all the love I have for her within my eyes. “You were the most beautiful girl I’d ever laid eyes on.” I watch her cheeks begin to pinken ever so slightly. “Your laugh, even the way strawberry Twizzlers made you smile like they were the most amazing thing in the world to you.”
“They are,” she cuts me off, a smirk playing on her lips.
“The night I lost you, we had already been together six months,” I start. “I was busy with art class, trying to complete this sculpture before the end of the day.” I chuckle.
“I remember that. It was for your final exam, and uh—” She thinks for a second before answering. “It was me, no… my hands,” she corrects herself. “You told me every day if I was the only—”
I lift both her hands in mine, twirling our fingers together. “Woman to ever touch me again—”
“You would die a happy man.”
I nod, bringing one of her hands to my mouth. The moment her soft skin connects with my lips, my heart begins to race as it did the first time I met her.
The way it has every day since.
“I asked you to meet me at the party.” I clear my throat. “I was supposed to pick you up on my bike, but we agreed to you driving here. But—”
