Page 114 of Whispered Promises

Unravelling a bit of tape again, she shrugs. “I can’t truly understand how you feel, but there was a time when I felt adrift. As if I were just existing, not really living. Then you all came into my life, and I feel anchored. Present. For the first time in years.” She inhales another lungful of air; my chest squeezes over her words and her obvious pain.

“I’m unsure what you need to feel anchored, but I’m here. If you ever need it,” she promises.

I don’t know who reaches out first, but our pinkie fingers curl around each other.

“Thank you.” The rest of my words are lost as my mind spins with her offer. Is that really something we can be to one another as just friends?

Fuck, I don’t know.

Would it be so bad to try to be something more?

Distancing myself from her is too hard, and being around her still isn’t enough. I want every weekend to be like this: me helping her, making her smile, and listening to her share all her weird, adorable thoughts with me.

“Max? You need to push the post in,” she prompts.

I draw back from the mental nosedive I was in, and notice she’s crouched slightly, ready to wind the tape into position. I glance at her face, and my breath stutters. With her chin tilted up, I can imagine cupping my hand beneath it, and as her eyes lift to mine, I can imagine them fluttering closed as I press my mouth to hers. She’d gasp a little in surprise, the inhale sucking my breath into hers before she’d whimper sweetly. Her mouth would be warm, wet as my tongue flicks out to⁠—

“Max?” Rosy pokes me in the side.

“Ouch, you have some next-level strength in your tiny finger. Do you even need my measly assistance?” I shove the post into the ground, still a little unnerved over where my thoughts were going.

We’re friends.

Friends.

Friends.

“Not if it takes you so long to get the job done, I don’t,” she fires back, the sass I love coming out as she strides ahead of me. “Come on. We need to get this finished so we can start feeding everyone their dinner.”

“Yes, mistress!” I holler, following and doing my best not to get distracted by the view.

FORTY-SIX

ROSY

All the manual work we did on the fencing yesterday should’ve tired me out enough to sleep better than this, but I’m drifting between awareness and the light sleep I can’t seem to sink deeper into.

The dreams—memories—that always flood me on this day ease something inside me, though. Every one brings me back to a comfort I can’t describe, then they fade away, no matter how hard I fight to cling on to them. And I want to, so badly. The never-ending grief doesn’t exist there like it does in my waking moments.

Then the pain hits tenfold. A cruel reminder of the loss. It’s not as constant as it used to be. Now it lurks in the dark parts of my mind. Then without warning, it claws, slicing painfully through my body. Images, scents, and sounds replaying and taunting me with the loss. A choked sob cuts through the night’s silence, and I muffle it with my hand, not wanting to wake up Steph.

I don’t want people to try to ease my wounds with empty words. I don’t want their pity. I want to cry. I want to be sad. I don’t want to be told to move on, that the pain will fade. I just need to be allowed this.

Even if it hurts.

Fuck, I hate this day.

Tears fall in continuous tracks down my cheeks; as soon as one falls, another follows immediately after. Curling my body in on itself, I swallow another sob that threatens to leave. The bed dips as Moshi pads closer, not enough to touch but enough for me to feel his silent presence. His paws fold in as he forms the loaf position, watching over me. My eyes slowly droop, sleep tugging me back under, to another memory, for however long it lasts.

As I hear Steph finally leave, I roll onto my back with a huff. Blinking my eyes open, I struggle to adjust to the light in my room. Hands rising to my face, I press my palms against my eyes, trying to ease the tension throbbing around my brain.

Sleep continued to be restless as I drifted from one dream to the next. Each one slightly different, but all focused around the same theme.

Nanna.

A pang of grief hits my chest as I think of her.

I roll onto my side, hoping I can ease the phantom pain inside me, but a flutter of surprise has me pausing. My furry little bed companion is still there, watching me.