Page 150 of Keep Me Never
I can’t even handle it, covering my eyes as I try to make sense of this. As I try to breathe, the world around me goes still.
I sit that way for several moments before I force a full inhale, and my eyes flutter open.
The sight is…overwhelming. Dreamlike, with buttery yellow lights and the soft reflection of lavender.
The walls, once cracked with mildew stains seeping through, are now fresh and painted a bright white, burnished perfectly by the golden lighting spilling from the fixtures above. There’s no more crumbling drywall, no exposed beams, nothing left to remind me of the year of neglect following the storm that hollowed this place.
I flatten my palms on the gorgeous new floors and take a deep breath, my lips tipping up slightly at the crisp scents—the faint trace of wood and polish, something earthy that contrasts with it, and I suddenly need to know where it’s coming from. What it is and where I’ll find it.
I force myself to my feet, tucking my hair behind my ears as I slowly, hesitantly, move farther inside the space.
There are no holes in the ceiling where the pipes had once shown through, no sagging corners threatening to collapse. Instead,everything is tight, firm. The light from the mirrors reflects back at me—new mirrors rimmed with lights, almost blinding me with their warmth. The light fabrics move gently along the windows as if they’re waiting for the rhythm of dance to come back, for the laughter of little kids to fill the room.
There’s a toolbox against the wall, a few empty boxes piled in the corner—remnants of the transformation. There’s a half-built chair resting below the front window and some white slabs with hooks piled on top, like they have a clear purpose that just hasn’t been visualized yet. A little brown bag full of I don’t know what and a half-empty water bottle beside it.
My gaze lifts again, then out of the corner of my eye, I spot something I didn’t even think to look for. My eyes snap right to it, and my hand flies to my chest.
It’s right there, in the exact place I hung it in my desperate moment to feel like I hadn’t lost it all. I took a hammer and a tiny nail and drove it into the crumbling wall. I think it was even a little crooked, but I didn’t care.
It’s not crooked anymore, and the wall behind it is no longer a musty, ruined shade of cream and rotting water.
But it is in the same exact spot, the small shiny frame in the center of a larger one the exact same shade, closing off the large space around it, almost as if to protect the space, to deem it ours—mine and my dad’s—but it’s the 3D white butterflies scattered around it and the calligraphy that matches the font of my logo curved along the top that draw tears to my eyes.
A butterfly’s flight is eternal, carried by the winds of choice…
It’s the final thought my dad wanted to leave me with.
I clench my teeth when my lips start to tremble, the sentiment too much. Too real.
My fingers hover over the frame, and I gently pull it from the wall. The photo is my favorite, from a moment when my dad still looked healthy, even though we already knew he was sick and there would be no getting better. It was Mother’s Day, and Isurprised him with a picnic lunch and movie tickets tied to a Best Mom Ever balloon. My lips curve at the memory. We had a good laugh over that.
My nose stings as tears threaten once more, and I pull the image closer, running my fingers along his face. That’s when I catch the hint of color at the bottom, where the slightly torn water damage ruined this image after the flood.
My brow furrows, and I flip it over, moving the little tabs to pull the back free, and my breath catches in my throat, my hands trembling as I stare down at the picture that should not be there.
It’s the photo of me and Chase, the one that should be sitting on the dresser in my dorm. I pull it free, my heart aching at the sight of his face, at the feelings shining back on it.
He hadn’t even admitted he liked me yet here, but it’s so clear to see where we were headed. He’s looking at me like he wants to show me the world and I’m looking at him like he’s already mine.
And then I flip it over, and a choked sob tears up my throat at the scribble on the back.
I stop breathing. The words hit me like a freight train. It’s almost as if I can’t process them fully, like they don’t belong.
But they do.
I can feel them.
I can feel him…
“Freedom is the soul’s journey, where love transcends time and space. I will always love you, no matter the distance. I will always be yours, no matter the lifetime.Love, like a butterfly, always finds its way home. You are my home, Angel.”I read it aloud, my eyes snapping up to the quote on the wall.
“Of course.” I remember reading the line I once spoke to him.
It was him.
This… My eyes slide across the space.This gorgeous, beyond-my-wildest-dreams space was done by him.
Chase.
