Page 47 of Forget Me Not

“Okay, can I help?”

“No.” Her answer is so quick that if I wasn’t aware of how bad I am at any sort of cooking or baking, I’d be offended. “Don’t touch anything.” She pauses, taking the first breath I’ve seen her take since we got home. “You can just sit there. Okay?”

“Okay.” I sit back, watching her carefully as she gets back to it. I’ve seen Demi in a panic more times than I can count, but this is different. This is avoidance. This is what I do.

I think back to the bar and what Kade said to her. I’m pissed the fuck off at him. But I also know the full story of what he went through. I know what he’s thinking. That Demi had it all while he was left with shit. Demi’s never told me the full story of her parents and her homelife, but through comments over the years, I can confidently say it’s not what Kade thinks it was. Regardless, it still doesn’t make it okay for Kade to speak to her that way. But I also remember times I spoke to Lennox much worse.

My phone vibrates from where it sits next to me on the counter, and I know that it’s him. While he didn’t hurt me, and I don’t need any sort of apology from him, he did hurt the girl who has been there for me when nobody else has, even if he didn’t mean to. I saw the regret on his face as we walked out. It was sincere. He cares, even if a part of him doesn’t want to. It’s his job to let her know that, though. I pick up the phone and open the text thread.

Kade: Is she okay?

Me: She will be. You fucked up.

Kade: I’ll fix it.

Me: Good.

I put the phone back down on the counter, knowing there’s nothing left to say. I sit back and watch as Demi works through her mental breakdown with a bowl, spoon, and some batter. She stays quiet the entire time, and so do I. She makes the batter, fills the cupcake pans, and puts them in the oven. Then she focuses on making the frosting as they bake. She starts cleaning up the disaster that our kitchen has become while they cool, and then finally, she frosts them. It’s only when there are two dozen cupcakes, fully baked and decorated, sitting on a large serving plate in front of me that she finally stops and looks up at me.

“He’s wrong,” she whispers. She sounds broken and looking in her eyes, for the first time since I’ve known her, she looks it. “I didn’t have the perfect family he thinks I did.”

“I know, Demi. I know.” I try to keep my voice sympathetic but not pitiful. I know how pity feels in situations like this, and I know Demi well enough to know it’s not what she’d want. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, Dem,” I say softly. She stares at me, and I see the tears fill her eyes before she looks down at the counter, hiding them from me.

“He beat me.” She sounds small as she says it, a complete contrast to the loud and light Demi I’ve always known. “Constantly. And she watched. She told me it was my fault for making him angry. Part of me felt bad for her though, because he hit her too. But then that was also my fault.” Her voice shakes as tears are freely sliding down her face. “She was right. It was my fault. Not because I made him angry but because I took it. I stayed quiet and I let them abuse me for years. I was weak. I am weak.”

“You’re a survivor,” I say, my voice firm. I stand from the barstool, walking around the counter to stand in front of her. I gently grab her hands from the counter, forcing her to look at me. “You were a child. Every single thing they did is a reflection of them, not you. They were supposed to be the two peoplewho loved you the most, and they failed. But you survived and persevered, not because of them, but in spite of them. You are not now and never have been weak, Demi. You are a strong and beautiful survivor.”

She drops her head onto my shoulder as she sobs. I wrap my arms around her and hug her tightly. We stand there for minutes, her tears soaking through my shirt. I just hold her, letting her break down until there’s nothing left. A flashback to Lennox sobbing in my lap directly after the shooting plays through my head, and I clench my jaw to fight back any emotion of my own.

The parallel between the two moments hits me hard. And for just a moment, I hug Demi tighter and imagine she’s Lennox. I imagine a world where my twin is still breathing. A world where she may have been broken down, but she survived. I imagine that my sister is a survivor. I squeeze my eyes shut, wanting to live in a world of pretend for just a moment. But then her crying slows and she pulls away, and it’s Demi standing in front of me, not Lennox. And I remember that my sister isn’t a survivor anymore. She’s a victim.

“You are too, you know?” Demi’s voice brings me back to reality. “A survivor. And you don’t have to feel guilty for that.”

“I don’t,” I lie. Her words feel like a punch in the gut. My stomach sinks at the realization that I don’t hide things as well as I thought I did.

“You do,” she says right back. “I see you, Lo. I watch you read that journal over and over, I’ve watched you deny yourself happiness for years because you don’t think you deserve it, I’ve watched you work yourself ragged to avoid actually living.”

I look away, hating that she’s right about every piece of it.

“Look at me, Logan.” I do. “It is not your fault that they’re gone. It is not your fault.” She emphasizes. I feel wetness rolling down my cheeks, but I don’t wipe it away. I stand there, lettingthe silent tears fall as I let her words sink in, urging myself with everything that I have to believe them. “The world has taken from us, and we’ve survived. But we don’t need to survive anymore, Lo. It’s time for us to live.”

“Okay.” It’s the only word I can manage.

“Okay?”

“Okay.” I take a deep breath, wiping the tears from my face. “Let’s live.”

“Let’s live.” Demi smiles wide and I can’t help but smile with her because I not only said the words, but I mean them. “You look like a raccoon. You know that, right?” She starts laughing, loud and carefree.

“Well, so do you.” I join in with her.

This is what I’ve always wished for me and Lennox. For us to overcome together. I’ve blamed myself for years for it not happening, but with Demi’s words still ringing in my ears, the guilt weighing me down for years lessens. I don’t know if it will ever fully disappear, yet still, I let myself hope. Demi’s laughter slows and I watch her face become serious again.

“You can’t tell Kaden any of this, Lo.” I never would, and I think she knows that, but I understand her need to make sure.

“I would never do that to you, Demi. It’s not my story to tell.” I pause, debating whether I should bite my tongue or not.

“But you think I should.” She says the words for me, and I nod. “I will. Eventually. But I’m not ready yet.” I go to speak, but she cuts me off, knowing me well enough to know what I’m going to say again. “I know that he blames me because he thinks my life looked a lot different than it has. If I told him the truth now, he would just pity me.”

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