Page 13 of Forget Me Not

Even long after she’d drifted off and I’d made my way back to my own bed, sleep was never on the agenda for me. The sound of Lennox’s screams combined with those of my classmates were enough to keep me up at night. I went to therapy following the shooting, the same therapist that Lennox had been seeing. But it never helped me.

Talking about my issues made me more uncomfortable than not talking about them at all. So, when I told my mom I was fine and I didn’t need to go anymore, she believed me. Most of her attention was on Lennox at this point since she was the one who was so outwardly struggling.

As time went on, sleep came a little easier and I was eventually able to sleep normally through the night. I figured after that, time really must fix all wounds. It’s been eight years, I was wrong.

Pulling myself out from under the covers, I set the journal back in the night table drawer and make my way to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, the girl who stares back at me seems like a washed-up version of my past self.

My eyes are red, although I know no tears escaped. It’s been a long time since I’ve really cried. Another thing I try to avoid. But it’s not the color that concerns me, it’s the emptiness. There was a time that my eyes constantly shined with laughter. That my whole demeanor radiated joy. There was a time when I lost that but began to get it back little by little until it was brutally ripped from me again. Now, I just don’t see the point.

It’s like when people say they don’t want to get their hopes up only to be let down. Why allow myself to be happy when I know how much the world likes to ruin it for me every time that I am. It’s also the fact that there’s still a part of me deep down that doesn’t believe I deserve happiness.

It’s not that I haven’t experienced the emotion throughout the years. There are things that make me happy, people that make me smile and laugh. It just never lasts. As soon as I realize that it’s happening, an alarm goes off in my brain reminding me of all the reasons why it shouldn’t be.

Pulling my gaze away from the mirror, I splash some water on my face before heading back to my bedroom. I climb back into bed, ignoring the journal in my night table and this time grab my Kindle.

I know now that I’ve started reading the entries again, my mind won’t let me rest until I get through them all. Besides the last one that is. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to read that one. As for the others, I know I need to pace myself. Reading too much of Lennox’s words at a time is a recipe for disaster I learned the hard way the first time I binge-read the journal.

For now, I pick up my Kindle, turn off the light, and get lost inside the fictional world I originally intended to.

After the mental exhaustion from reading Lennox’s journal entry, sleep wasn’t hard to come by last night. Even with waking up early to get to my eight a.m. shift on time, I felt energized. It could also have to do with the two cups of coffee I drank, but I still think the sleep contributed.

Work was long and seemed never ending even though I was only on a nine-hour shift. It seemed like one major accident after the next came in and I barely had a second to breathe. By the time I get home, any energy I have is down the drain and I’m ready to sleep for an eternity. Unfortunately, that’s not in the cards for me.

Walking into my apartment, I hear pots and pans clanging along with Demi’s muffled cursing. I take a deep breath to prepare myself for whatever disaster I’m about to walk into and then make my way into the kitchen.

“Thank fuck you’re here,” Demi says, frantically walking toward me with a spoonful of what looks like some sort of sauce. “Try this.” She shoves the spoon in my mouth before I have a chance to respond. She looks at me expectantly as she begins to pace.

“It’s really good, Dem,” I say calmly, and I’m not lying. Demi may be a mess in every other aspect of her life, but her food isinsanely delicious. I grab her shoulders to stop her and force her to look at me.

“Are you sure?” she asks. “It’s not too salty? It doesn’t need more butter?” I walk over to the pan where the sauce is, dip a new spoon in and bring it back over to her as she continues her rant. “Is it creamy enough, do you thi—”

I shove the spoon in her mouth, effectively cutting her off and her shoulders relax as she tastes her own brilliance. “Believe me now?”

“Okay, fine. It’s good, you’re right, I’m insane,” she says, walking back over to the stove to continue what she was doing before I got home. “It’s just you know my parents don’t exactly approve of my career choices, and well, I really want my brother to support me.”

“How could he not support you, Dem? You’re incredible and are going to be the most amazing chef one day. To me, you already are.” I smile at her. “Plus, doesn’t he hate your parents? If anything, he’ll support you out of spite.” I laugh as she throws an oven mitt at me. “I’m kidding, he’s going to love it. I promise.”

“Thanks, Lo.” She smiles back at me, seemingly more relaxed since I walked in. “Now, get out of my kitchen, shower and get ready, you got home late.” She shoos me off and I listen, knowing my crazy shift led to me getting home almost half an hour later than I normally would.

It takes me longer than I anticipated showering, not wanting to step out from under the warm spray that seems to wash away all my problems. Almost forty minutes later, I am showered, my hair blow-dried straight, and dressed in leggings with a baby-yellow crop T-shirt. I don’t bother with makeup other than a few quick swipes of mascara. The dinner may be fancy food, but Demi made it clear that the company is casual.

I walk back out to the kitchen to find Demi with her head in the oven and the kitchen looking a million times cleaner than itdid when I first got home. She also changed into leggings and a bright-pink T-shirt that says, “culinary legend.”

“Need any help?” I say, plopping down in the chair at the kitchen counter. She startles as if just realizing I’m here and I laugh.

“No, I think I’m okay. The vegetables and mashed potatoes are done and covered to stay warm, the chicken is in the oven and should be done in ten minutes or so, and the sauce should be done in a few,” she says as she continues to stir the pan the said sauce is in.

“Sounds good. It looks and smells amazing, you did good, Dem.”

She smiles at me, her posture relaxes as she stirs until there’s a knock.

“It’s six-forty.” She looks at me, eyes bulging out of their sockets. “Who the fuck shows up twenty minutes early? Whatever happened to being fashionably late?”

“Demi, relax. The food is almost done anyway, it’s good they’re here before it gets cold,” I say. “I’ll grab the door.”

“No, wait, let me get it. I don’t want to seem like a bad host.” She rushes past me, handing me the spoon she was stirring with in the process. “You stir.”

I follow her commands, walking over to the stovetop. I hear the door open and voices as people enter the apartment, continuing to stir the sauce as I was told. I pay attention to the sauce knowing Demi wouldn’t hesitate to murder me for ruining her food. The voices get closer as they come around the corner and as they enter the kitchen, I hear Demi say, “…and this is my roommate, Lo.”

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