Sour Sweet Love

Chapter Twenty Six

Two Years Later

Declan Andrews

*

                I wake up from the strangest dream.

It's weird, because it wasn't really a dream. It was really a repeat of all my memories, starting from day one. Running along the beach with Liam when I was four. Wrestling with our dog, Timber, when I was five, and the sad day when he moved onto heaven when I was six. Having my first crush when I was seven—all those years finally coming back to me.

I slowly try to pry open my eyes but find that it is hard to. Either my eyes are closed, or it's too dark. Then I realize that it's not too dark; in fact, it's too bright. The light blinds my eyes as if they haven't opened in years. The room I'm in is entirely white.

"Am I dead?" I try to mutter. Instead, a pathetic croak comes out. Maybe this is what heaven looks like? All white and empty and so bright that it's blinding?

Suddenly, a loud beeping fills my ears. It completely disturbs me and causes a tepid headache. I wince, when suddenly; the door flies open when people come in. I don't recognize these people at all, and they're all wearing scrubs.

"He's awake!" I hear. "He's awake! He's awake!"

"Damn right I'm awake," I mutter under my breath.

Oh, good. My voice is working somewhat correctly, although it's kind of hoarse. What's with these people? It's not like I've been dead for three days and rose up again like Jesus or something. A middle aged man with glasses comes in among all the frenzy as people poke and prod me, asking me questions that make me crave for a hundred years in solitude—with Avery.

Where was Avery?

"Excuse me, can you tell me your name?" the man asks.

Deciding that there must be a reason for him asking, I answer, "Uh, yeah. Declan Andrews?"

"Good. Declan, where do you live?"

"In New York."

"Can you tell me your father's name?"

"Dexter Andrews."

"Your mother's name?"

"Lannie Andrews."

"How old are you, Declan?"

"I'm seventeen."

The man purses his lips like I got the question wrong. How could I? I scowl. I know how old I am.

"Declan, when's your birthday?"

"January 4th, 1994."

"I see..."

Irritated, I finally burst. "What's going on here?" I wince at the strain my vocal chords feel, as if they haven't been used in ages. "Why are you giving me that look? What am I doing here?"

"Do you really not remember?"

"Is there anything to remember?"

"Think, Declan." The gray eyes of the man pierce mine. "Think hard."

I lean back, growing a little woozy from sitting up straight for so long. It's when I do that that I realize how stiff my body is. And just like that, I'm thrown into a memory: the screech of breaks and untamed tires squealing along the road. An impact so jarring that I feel like my teeth are about to pop out. Glass shattering and the dizziness of being tossed round and round. Red liquid oozing into my eye, and next thing I know, sheer darkness following.