Page 52 of Forget About Me

The explosion of metal, screeching, grinding, spinning. A hot moan of agony. A cold knife of pain. No breath. Tony’s face—draining of life. But somehow still screaming at me.

“What the fuck, man? She’s my little fucking sister, and you’ve been screwing her?”

In the back seat—this is new, some part of me notes—Lucy sits. Ripping letters into tiny pieces and pulling the tape out of a cassette.

The impact again. So dark. Tony’s face, no longer yelling at me. Dead. Gone. Pain. So much pain. And then… nothing.

My ears buzzing, eyes blinking. I can’t see.

Pounding in my head. Pounding on the window. Trying to get out of the car. Trying to get away from Tony.

What was Tony.

Isn’t now.

My best friend.

Gone.

I wake, panting and drenched in sweat, Puck barking from the end of the bed.

Grabbing my pillow, I heave it across the room.

A couple days later we’re into the long tech weekend, which means way too much time to stew in my thoughts. No acting is required, we just have to hit our marks so the designers can do their work. And then sit around and wait.

When I check my watch, I can’t believe it’s only four thirty in the afternoon. It feels like midnight. We’ve been at the theater since ten this morning. There’s still an hour and a half till the dinner break, after which we’ll be here until ten p.m. Puck yawns, and I join him. It’s a long day for man or beast.

It doesn’t help that I can’t stop thinking about Lucy. The only time I’ve spent with her this past week was in her kitchen Sunday—a surreal step back in time—and when she came over in tears the other night. Both times I ached to kiss her again, but both times it felt wrong. At her house I felt like I was a teenager again. At my place, she really just needed my friendship. And it doesn’t feel right to pursue anything else with her until I tell her the whole truth.

I’ve got a monkey brain right now and I’m antsy as hell. I wish I could sneak away for another run, but Launce’s scenes are sprinkled throughout the show and because of the stopping and starting tech rehearsals require, there’s no telling when I’ll be needed next.

I look up when the door leading to the performance space creaks open, thinking it might be Becky looking for me, but it’s Bella. She squats down next to me, and Puck wiggles over my lap to get to her.

She scratches under his chin. “Hello, buddy.”

I stretch up to my feet, yawning again. “Where are we?”

She crosses her long legs and leans back against the wall. “It’s the beginning of Act Three. They’re dealing with the ladder and Valentine’s cloak, so it’ll probably be a while.”

I jump up and down, trying to get my blood moving. “I need a run. Muscle cells are dying.”

“We can’t have that. Girls all over the country will have to go into mourning.”

“Hilarious.” I shove her lightly, and she goes with it, rolling onto her side. Puck takes it as an invitation to play, jumping on top of her. Laughing and fake growling, she mock-wrestles with him until he starts barking. Then she turns her mom voice on him. “Shhh, puppy. You’ll get us in trouble.”

I have to defend my dog. “You started it.”

“Youstarted it.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

We keep this up until Puck starts barking again and we have to call a truce. I check my watch. Four thirty-seven.

Bella nudges me with her toe. “Why don’t you run at the beginning of the dinner break? I’ll watch the pup.”

“Really? That would be great.”

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