Page 81 of Don't Forget Me
“I know.”
“And impulsive.”
“Comes from years of thinking I was going to die.”
“But even this, it’s not like you. You don’t get fan crazy.”
Her tears soaked into Booker’s white coat as she remembered the last time she’d seen Nick awake, how he’d held her as she slipped away. “That’s not what this is.”
“Then, what is it?”
She couldn’t tell him, not this. Instead, she told the biggest lie of her life. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”
30
NICK
Time had no more meaning at the lake house when every day was the same.
Nick slept a lot, ate a little, and tried to drown himself in the lake. Yes, that happened, but only because he hoped it would make him wake in the real world. Instead, fear had frozen him as he realized everything that must have gone through Stephen’s mind when he knew he wouldn’t make it out of those dark waters.
But Nick had a choice. He’d used long strokes to bring himself back to dry land, stripped off his clothes on the way to the house and took a scorching hot shower, letting the steam hide his tears.
Nick couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried this much, the last time he’d felt this much. It was probably when he was a kid, watching his parents sink further into oblivion, forgetting they were parents at all.
Men didn’t cry. That was what the world told people. Real men were strong, they refused to break.
Well, world, Nick Jacobs was officially broken. It wasn’t as simple as telling himself not to cry, that his Y chromosomes wouldn’t let him. Because they would.
Boy, would they let him.
The world got it wrong. Maybe letting himself feel, truly feel everything that had happened to him was the manliest thing to do. And if it wasn’t, well then, he didn’t want to be manly. Not anymore.
He only wanted Liz. He wanted to open his eyes and see her staring down at him in the hospital bed.
The truth was he didn’t even know if she’d made it back, but the alternative wasn’t something he could bear.
Carrying his bowl of cereal—the only food item he’d eaten in the week since Liz left—out onto the deck, Nick jumped off into the high grasses, continuing down to where the dock bobbed on the water. A gust of wind sent a ripple across the surface, and he turned, hoping to see Stephen behind him. But there was no one there. Stephen had only returned the once since Liz left.
Maybe his brother was right, maybe he’d been a creation of Nick’s own mind, not his actual brother.
He lifted his hand, eyeing the worn cover of the bound script he carried with him. He knew every word as if he’d really played the role of Max, the role of his lifetime.
Lowering himself to the dock, he set the book next to him and took a bite of cereal, hardly tasting anything.
“I believe you now, Liz.” He closed his eyes. “I believe you.” Stephen had written a character based on Nick. Not just any character, a hero. But he hadn’t given him a happy ending. Nick sighed at how mad Liz had been about the ending. The characters don’t end up together, and he couldn’t help feeling like it was the story of his own life told before Stephen could have known anything about this.
No longer hungry, he put his bowl aside and dropped his legs over the side of the dock, letting his feet skim the top of the water. Evening had descended, stealing the sun from his sky. It was his because he was the only one in this world, the only person the darkness belonged to now. Maybe that was a metaphor, or maybe Nick only wanted it to be. He wanted this all to mean something because if it didn’t, then it was just sad.
Leaning back on his elbows, he lifted his eyes to the sky. Only a few stars appeared from behind the clouds, and the moon was hidden altogether. Again, another metaphor or a man searching for answers where there were none?
He lay back, resting one hand on the book and the other on his stomach. Closing his eyes, he listened to the silence he knew existed nowhere else. Was that even possible? Listening to silence? Hearing the things that weren’t there? Maybe silence was something that was felt rather than heard.
And he felt it. Every lonely moment of stillness, every unwanted second of peace.
“I miss you,” he whispered, knowing the words would never reach the two people he missed most. Stephen was gone forever, he knew that. But Liz… she was out there somewhere, and he wondered if that hurt even more. Was it worse to be the departed or the one left behind?
The answer was probably both. Either way, people were left shattered.
