Page 36 of Forgotten
I spend the afternoon on the very orange, very comfortable couch, avoiding any attempt to remember the past two years. It’s nearly impossible.
Ash leaves me alone but I want nothing more than his company. When it gets dark, he makes me tea just the way I like it—black, one sugar, no milk—and then he sits next to me.
“Don’t know where to start, huh?”
Shaking my head, I close my eyes. “I can’t remember anything.” I hate how defeated and lost my voice sounds. It doesn’t matter, I gave up trying to play it cool in front of Ash long ago.
“I know.” Ash moves and for a second, I wish he would grab my hand. Instead, he sits perfectly still again, legs tucked underneath him.
“I’m sorry.” I mutter, and finally, I ask, “Why here?”
With a small smile, Ash shrugs. “I wanted to move. You liked this house.”
It’s that simple. It reminds me of what Ash had said in the hospital just a few days ago:I’d do anything for you, Ford.
This time, I don’t hesitate and stretch an arm out, holding my palm up on Ash’s thigh.
The speed with which Ash intertwines his fingers with mine should scare me, but it doesn’t. Holding his hand was my choice and it’s familiar. “My dad’s here?” I ask instead.
“He’s been staying in town,” Ash says, casually.
I hear what he’s not saying anyway: he’s been helping. Helping with Winnie and helping Ash survive this.
“You don’t think I can handle seeing them?”
“This is not about that.”
“It is though.”
Ash is silent for a moment. “It’s hard enough for me. I don’t want to put Winnie through this. Push my stress onto her.”
My heart skips a beat and there’s nothing else I can do but squeeze Ash’s hand tighter in mine.
???
That night I fall asleep in a beige bed.
I don’t dream. Karma is not even giving me that luxury. There’s too many thoughts, too many questions, too many overwhelming unknowns that I wish I knew. But I still keep on taking deep breaths and it’s nearly 2:00 a.m. when I come to a painful conclusion. There’s something I need to know.
So I get up. I walk down the hallway and stop by Ash’s room—our room—and knock gently. Just once, I promise myself. If Ash’s sleeping, I will go back and forget about my stupid need to know things in the middle of the night.
“Come in.”
And so I do.
The room is dark but I can see the shape of Ash’s body, facing the door. The moon is high in the sky and in its light, the room is almost too bright to sleep. TypicalAsh, never drawing the curtains. He’s wearing a green shirt and matching shorts and he looks so soft, so handsome.
My mouth hangs open and no words come out. Right, what am I doing there? I don’t have time to find my reasons before I hear Ash patting his hand on the empty space on the bed. A moment later, I’m lying next to him.
“Can’t sleep?” Ash asks.
I shake my head. It’s safer than speaking. I can’t stand the way Ash’s blue eyes look smaller in the darkness, how the shadows are cutting his face deeper. I want to take the edges of Ash’s lips and curve them upwards with my fingers. I want to wipe away the sadness and leave only the happiest version of my friend here.
“So, how was our first time?” I say, hoping my voice won’t betray me. If there’s something I know how to do it’s make Ash laugh. Saying the most unfiltered shit always does the trick.
Ash smacks my arm, a chuckle escaping his lips. “Stop.”
I shrug, and Ash’s fingers start tracing an invisible pattern on my naked forearm. It sends goose bumps up to my shoulder.
