17.Miles
The last thing I remember before falling asleep was her hand finding mine in the dark.
We'd collapsed onto the couch after a day that had wrung us both dry, physical therapy for me, a twelve-hour shift for her. Some romantic comedy played on the TV, the kind with impossibly beautiful people and apartments no one could actually afford. Neither of us was watching.
"I should go upstairs," I mumbled, but the stairs looked like Mount Everest, and my body had already made the decision for me.
"You should stay right there." Charlotte's voice was soft, already half-asleep. "I'm not leaving you alone down here."
"You don't have to?—"
"I know I don't have to." She curled up on the other end of the sectional, pulling a sheet over her legs. "I want to."
I watched her face go soft in the flickering light from the television. Even exhausted, even in this strange limbo of remembered and forgotten, having her near felt like the only thing holding me together.
"Charlotte?"
"Hmm?"
"Thank you. For staying."
She smiled without opening her eyes. "Always."
My eyelids grew heavy. The medication was pulling me under, warm and insistent. The last thing I felt was her fingers threading through mine, unconscious, instinctive, her body finding mine even in sleep.
Then the dreams came.
Not dreams. Memories.
They didn't arrive gently. They crashed through the darkness like a flood breaking through a dam, and I was drowning in them, gasping, reaching…
Her hand in mine. A gurney rattling beneath me, lights blurring overhead like streaking stars. Pain everywhere, distant and enormous. But her hand—her hand was the only real thing. The only anchor in the chaos.
"Please don't go." Her voice was full of grief and despair. "Don't leave. Don't leave me."
I tried to squeeze her fingers. I tried to tell her I was still here. But my body was sinking deeper, and she was slipping away.
The memory broke open a dam, and suddenly they were everywhere.
The gymnasium. Streamers and terrible music and faces I barely recognized. Scanning the crowd with a restlessness I couldn't name. And then, green. Her eyes. Across the room. Time stopping. The world was narrowing to a single point of light, and I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think, I could only stare at the woman I'd spent fifteen years trying to forget.
The diner booth. Red vinyl cracked in familiar places. Awkward small talk giving way to something real, something meaningful. The tremor in my hand, and then her fingers covering mine, warm and steady, and for one perfect moment, the shaking stopped. The phone call from Dr. Patel. The lie Itold her. The step back in the parking lot that felt like cutting off my own arm.
The doorbell. Irritation. Swinging the door open, ready to send whoever it was away, and there she was. Casserole in hand. That smile. That sunrise smile that undid every wall I'd ever built. The guilty relief of letting her in.
Boxes everywhere. She was sorting through my parents' things with gentle efficiency. The pill bottles were on the counter. My own voice, defensive and exhausted. The shame. And then the staggering relief of not having to hide anymore.
The river. Cold rock beneath us. It laid out my fears like a shroud. Her anger, not pity, not sympathy, but clean, fierce anger. "You don't get to decide what I deserve."
Our fight. Our beautiful, necessary fight. And then her voice, a weapon made of love, "I don't want safe. I want you."
The kitchen. Flour on every surface, the counter, the floor, and somehow the ceiling. Her laugh rang out when I pointed at her cheek. My hand reached up to brush the white streak away. The moment stretched. I leaned in.
The taste of her, of flour, coffee, hope, and finally, finally, finally...
The morning path. Frost sparkling like scattered diamonds. Her voice behind me, teasing, "Let's see what you've got, old man." I turned to look at her. The sun caught her hair, her face flushed from the cold, her smile so bright it hurt to look at. I thought back then,‘This is it. This is what happiness feels like. This is what I almost threw away.’
I jolted awake with a gasp, my heart slamming against my chest like it wanted to escape. The living room swam into focus, dark except for the television's blue glow, shadows pooling in the corners.
