Page 45 of Between Then and Now
I remember that day in my living room when Bon was begging me to bring her along. She said she’d be invisible. She’d be a ghost—that I won’t even know she’s here. And she promised she won’t need me at all.
I stop walking and look down at her, still nestled against me. Her vulnerability is palpable, and it hits me right in the chest. “Don’t think about that,” I say, my voice steady but gentle. “Turns out, I like being needed by you.”
After bringing her to the triage tent and ensuring that Bon’s safe to walk and her vitals are stable, I take her to our room and offer her a change of clothes. I give her a pair of my shirt and pajamas because I don’t know how to choose from her pile of confusing clothing. She takes them and goes straight to the bathroom. Just as she’s about to close the door, a wave of concern washes over me.
“Wait!” I say, both of us dripping on the floor of our room. She turns to me with her eyebrows raised. “Can you–are you–do you need help? In there?”
She looks at me, her expression softening as she reads the concern etched on my face. For a moment, she seems to weigh her response, her lips parting as if to say something, then closing again. Finally, she offers a small, reassuring smile, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“I’ll be okay,” she says softly, but there’s a tremor in her voice that betrays her lingering fear. “But... maybe just stay close?”
“I’ll be right outside,” I promise, not entirely convinced that I should let her out of my sight. “If you need anything, just call out.”
I wait anxiously, pacing back and forth until she gets out.
When she does, I can’t help but chuckle despite everything. Bon looks like she’s swallowed by my clothes. The pajama bottoms are rolled at the waist, and the top is rolled at the arms. She also has her hair back into that ponytail, and I smile at the sight of her. Bon smiles back and sits at the foot of her bed.
“I’ll be right back. You should rest.” Bon nods as I go to the bathroom to change my wet clothes. I close the door behind me and close my eyes.
I don’t know how something can be clear and blurry at the same time. It’s clear that I care about Bonbon. It’s clear that she is important to me. It’s clear that I find her attractive. It’s clear that my soul almost left my body when I grabbed her from the ocean.
What’s not clear is how to navigate these emotions. How do I balance the undeniable attraction I feel for her with the deep, platonic bond we’ve always shared? Maybe it’s just that. A simple attraction. Which was fueled by the kiss we shared, then amplified by her accident. I mean, it’s realistic for me to feel this jumble of feelings because of recent events. Yes, if I give thisenough time, it will go away, and Bonbon will go back to being my noisy friend who doesn’t know how to keep her mouth shut. I hope.
But as I change my clothes, I think about earlier. I’ve only ever seen it in films and read it in books, but when someone you care about is at the risk of being taken from you, you fall into a spiral that both replays everything you’ve gone through while also playing a montage of all the things you’re yet to do.
And in the former, my mind conjures a slideshow of Bonbon through the years. I see her as a ten-year-old, with her braces glinting in the sunlight as she teases me about my new haircut. Her laughter, carefree and unrestrained, fills the space between us. I remember her at thirteen, her eyes sparkling with mischief as we hung out at the skating rink every Saturday, part of a tight-knit group of friends. We skated and laughed, and her playful taunts were just as memorable as the exhilaration of speeding across the rink. Then I see her at eighteen, pleading with everyone to call her by a one-syllable nickname, a small but significant detail that spoke to her desire to be treated like an adult. These memories are vivid, almost tangible, and they remind me of how much she has been a part of my life.
In the second mind montage, the scenes drift to a future that feels both distant and surprisingly personal. I see Bon in a wedding dress, walking down the aisle amidst our closest friends and family. The image is so vivid, so striking, it seems almost surreal, like a scene from a dream. I envision myself standing there beside her, my voice trembling as I confess that I can’t imagine my life without her. Her smile is radiant, reaching her eyes and etching tiny lines of joy on her face. The warmth of these images is so intense it’s hard to ignore. I shake my head atthe absurdity of it all. I can’t think like that. I don’t even know why my mind went to that.
I keep telling myself that it must be a reaction to the accident. It makes sense that I’d have these emotional visions after such a close call with losing her. It’s probably just the shock and stress messing with my mind. These feelings—they’re likely just a temporary, exaggerated response to recent events. It’s not a sign of anything deeper. It’s just the aftermath of a traumatic experience, nothing more. Besides, she’s my friend. Of course, I’m worried about her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Ryan
Bon is asleep when I get out of the bathroom, and I am so paranoid that I decide to go over there and check her pulse. I approach her quietly, my steps light as I hover over her. I gently press my fingers to her wrist, feeling for her pulse. I need to reassure myself that she’s still okay, that nothing has changed. Even as I tell myself it’s nothing more than a residual fear, I can’t help but double-check, needing to confirm that she’s truly safe and sound.
I suddenly realize that when Bon wakes up, she’ll obviously be hungry. By the time she’s well-rested, her appetite will surge. After about an hour of catching up on my reading while occasionally checking Bon’s vitals, I decide to prepare food for her.
“Look out for her while I grab some food, okay, bud?” I say to Puppy, who’s on Bon’s bed, snuggling by her feet. He cocks his head to the side in response.
I make my way toward the small restaurant in the inn to get her some soup and a hearty meal. While I’m waiting at the counter, Dr. Fernandez approaches me.
“Hi there, hero of the inn,” she says in a proud tone. “You did great, Dr. Miller.”
“Thank you. It’s what any doctor would’ve done,” I say.
“Yes, any doctor would have performed the standard procedures,” she says as she grabs the tray of her food. “But not any doctor would have jumped into the ocean to pull someone out. That takes a different kind of bravery.”
She leaves before I can respond, but her words linger in the air. She’s right. It’s not a normal thing to brave angry waves.Especially when I’ve been terrified of the ocean my whole life. But Bon and I don’t just have a patient-doctor relationship. We’re friends. And at the moment, it wasn’t just medical duty that fueled me; it was the desperation to save someone I care about. As a friend, obviously.
When the food is ready, I grab the take-out containers and bring them to the room for Bon when she wakes up. I open the door quietly, not wanting to disturb Bon if she’s still asleep. But as I step inside, I see her stirring, her eyes slowly opening. She blinks a few times, adjusting to the light, and then her gaze lands on me.
“Hey,” she murmurs, her voice still hoarse from the ordeal.
“Hey,” I reply, setting the food down on the small table beside the bed. “I brought you something to eat. I figured you’d be hungry when you woke up.” I sit on my bed, facing Bon, as I prepare her food.
She looks at me with an expression that I don’t understand. Her eyes are still tired, her face still pale. But she’s still beautiful. She smiles weakly and says, “Thank you, Ryan. For saving my life.”
