Page 2 of Be Your Forever
Coma.
That word is a dagger straight to the heart. The doctors are hopeful he’ll make a full recovery, but they’re wrong all the time, right? They tell me it’s to reduce swelling so they can operate on him, but my mind attaches to the word ‘coma’ like a tick on a dog. There is no shaking it off.
Everything is different now. I’m different. A familiar, deep, masculine voice sounds from the hallway. My feet carry me before my brain has time to process. That’s when I see him. My heart seeks his like a bee chasing after nectar.
The feel of Asher’s warm, callused hand on my thigh grounds me to the present moment. His soft, blue eyes stare into mine, and a calmness washes over me. I can’t explain it, but I feel safe. As quickly as I look into his eyes, I’m turning away. I don’t want to see his soft expression turn to pity. And I can’t bear to look at the empty chair anymore. I keep my gaze trained forward, focus on breathing through my nose, and continually blink back the tears that threaten to blow my cover.
I somehow manage to get through the ceremony, smiling and laughing like I should. Like I’m supposed to. I’ve successfully dodged my parents like they are the plague. I can’t look into their grief-stricken eyes anymore, knowing I’m the cause for their pain. After everything happened, I hid within the comfort of my own home. For about two weeks, I tried to pretend like everything was fine, when on the inside, I was rotting away. The irony of it all is that my bedroom is a perfect representation of that. I clung to my couch like a barnacle on the side of a ship. I couldn’t look my parents in the eyes and pretend everything was okay. In the comfort of my own home, I could shut out the outside world, crawl into my hole and wallow—something I’ve exceeded expectations on.
On the outside, I’m smiling, shaking hands, and expressing gratitude for being here. On the inside, I’m counting down the hours until I can change into my favorite pair of sweats, crawl under my covers, and pretend life outside the four walls of my bedroom don’t exist.
I’ve been glued to my seat, repeatedly checking my watch.
Twenty more minutes. It’s socially acceptable to stay for twenty more minutes, then you can pull an Irish goodbye and leave.
I glance up, trying to place where Cas and Avery are so that they don’t see me leaving. I don’t want to hurt their feelings. I just…I can’t be here. But instead of finding them, I see a familiar pair of baby blue eyes next to me.Asher.He hasn’t left the table all night. Many people have asked him to dance, and he’s politely declined every time.
“Y-You don’t have to babysit me, Asher. You can go dance and have fun. I’m probably bringing down your vibe.”
Asher’s hand finds my thigh again, squeezing just hard enough that I’m forced to look into his eyes. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than next to you.”
His kindness is something I don’t deserve. I mean, Max is his best friend. I’m just…the sister of said best friend. I nod my head, choosing not to entertain the conversation I don’t have the energy for. After the allotted twenty minutes is up, I make the excuse of needing to pee. If Asher notices that I’m bringing my jacket and purse to the bathroom, he doesn’t comment on it. I call myself an Uber, and within five minutes, I’m hightailing it out of here. Thank you to my driver, Geo, for being two minutes away. Easiest five star rating ever.
I’m so happy for my best friend. She deserves all the good things in life, but I just can’t let her down. I once called her my little Eeyore, but now I’ve taken on that role, and I don’t want her to be dragged down into the pit of darkness I’ve found myself in.
Brianna
Dressed for my funeral
Presentday,April2026
Cold, heavy chains cut into my wrists as I try to break free, but my nightmares hold me captive, forcing me to watch everything in slow motion with an evil smirk written across their faces. Ear-splintering sounds of glass shattering and tires squealing are a broken record in my mind. All my desperate attempts to change the direction of my dreams fall flat.
Tires squeal.
Glass breaks.
People shout.
Max lays lifeless beside me, red blood oozing from the side of his face. My screams and shouts fall silent. No one can hear me. I reach for Max, but I’m yanked from what’s left of my car. My head is pounding, and I assume my face is scratched and bloody from the glass. I watch as they pull Max from the car seconds before it bursts into flames, illuminating the scene in its red-orange glow.
I’ve been living this nightmare for months now, a former shell of myself with zero energy to do the basics like shower or change my clothes. My outfit is falling apart, with random chocolate ice cream stains on my sweats and my pink, oversized hoodie fraying at the hem. A perfectrepresentation of my life. My clothes may be tattered and worn, but they’ve become my home. My safety blanket. They don’t judge me for my lack of energy or personal hygiene. They allow me to hide from the world, but more importantly, they allow me to hide from myself.
I’m dressed for my funeral. Here lies Bri. She was bold, brilliant, outgoing, and charismatic. The girl that everyone once knew and loved is dead. In her place is a zombie. Someone who goes through the motions just to get through the day. Gone are the days of hanging out with friends, getting drunk, and hooking up. Her free spirit has been snuffed out like the last remaining candle in a dark room. Any attempts to reach out and comfort her are half-assed. She doesn't deserve to be happy. She doesn't deserve to live life like nothing happened.
Guilt and I have entered a toxic, codependent relationship. Without Max’s chaotic energy, what’s the point of anything? Why should I carry on with my life the way I used to? I miss the old me, but the old me is the reason Max was in the hospital in the first place. I’m the reason he spent months completely immobilized and helpless in a sterile hospital bed. He may be on the road to recovery, but I'm still trapped in the past, still trapped beneath the rubble of my shame and no energy to remove the excess weight.
Electricity licks and buzzes down my spine, the tiny hairs on my arms standing to attention. My heart beats at a dangerous speed, and no matter how much I gasp for air, I can never get enough. I glance toward my dresser and see the orange bottle with a white cap glaring at me, mocking me.You are useless. You are weak. You can’t do anything right.Mental health medications aren’t something to be ashamed about. My best friend, Avery, takes them for her anxiety. In no way am I calling her weak—in fact, she’s one of the strongest women I know. But I’m learning firsthand that we don’t always practice what we preach. While Avery is strong, brave, and incredible, I’m useless, a failure, and defective.
The panic feels like I’ve become a wolf in one of my shifter romance novels, scratching beneath my skin, hoping to gain control over my body. I frantically shake my hands in a desperate attempt to rid myself of the anxiety while pacing my bedroom floor. My face feels hot. Hot…just like the flames from the accident.
Max lies unconscious on the floor. Blue and red flashing lights. Glass everywhere.
I’m warring with my mind to cling to the present moment. Scenes from the accident flicker across my brain without any warning. I’m blinded by my own images, my mind and body yearning to head in different directions. My brain wants to bully me into replaying what happened on an endless loop. My body is determined to remain in my room.
Focus, Bri. Don’t go back there. Nothing good comes from reliving that experience. You’re not dying. You are in your room, not at the scene of the accident.
I force my gaze to look around the room, a pathetic attempt at regulating my breathing. I see my twinkly lights dangling behind my earthy-brown colored four-poster bed. My blush comforter is soft to the touch, with little wrinkles from another restless sleep. My pillows are scattered throughout my room, ranging in different shades of pink and white. Already, my heart has slowed down immensely, my breathing more regular.
