2.6 | Forget Me Not ✓

+1 || helianthus

IMPORTANT

Welcome to FORGET ME NOT! If you're an old reader, please note that this story has been rewritten—only about 20% of the original story remains. I hope you enjoy this story just as much, or even more than the original! If you're a new reader, then, well, glad to have you here!

This is story #2.6. There are 5 stories preceding this—you'll find the list of stories in the chapter before this, but you'll also notice that a lot of stories in this series are missing from my profile. That's because they were posted way back in 2012/2013, and due to plagiarism issues I had to take them down. I have no intentions to bring any of them back right now, but who's to say about the future?

That being said, this story can be read as a stand-alone, so you shouldn't have any problems following it. There will, however, be a few fun references here and there to other stories in the universe, see if you can catch them!

Happy reading!

x Noelle

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+ 1

h e l i a n t h u s

For longevity.

(now: +1)

COLD SPRING AIR creeps in through the gap between the windows, and outside, the sun has only just begun to set. But time seems to have stopped for her, because her world has shifted off its axis.

It starts with the shrill ring of the phone, and then a voice choked with desperation. "Emma, there's been an accident," the person on the other end of the line says. "It's Dylan, he's—"

She doesn't hear anything more after that. It's as though an invisible force has sucker-punched her right in the gut, and dragged the oxygen out of her lungs. She pulls in a deep breath for air that refuses to come, and squeezes her eyes shut. There's a roaring in her ears, louder than anything she's ever heard before, and all she can think is: please not him, not him, not him, nothim, nothimnothimnothim...

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registers that the jumbled words sound a lot like 'nothing'.

It's seconds, maybe minutes—but it feels like an eternity, before she pulls herself together. Her phone flashes with a new text from Dylan's sister, Morgan, with the address of the hospital and his room number. Her hands and feet move on autopilot. Grab her bag, shoes, jacket, phone, car keys. Shut the door. Down the elevator; into the car. Key in the ignition; check the rearview mirror.

It's all these little things that keep her afloat while her mind feels like it's drowning. With only the headlights to guide her, she feels a lot like a sailor lost at sea with a lighthouse as her sole lifeline. But how can a light save a sailor, if the waves are already too big?

By the time she arrives at the hospital, the sun has already set. She rushes towards room 602, and stops when she sees a small group of people gathered in the hallway. His parents are there, his little sister, as well as several nurses. There's even a policeman or two—she recognises them by their uniforms. Her heart pounds wildly in her chest as she struggles to catch her breath.

"How is he?" she manages to ask.

His family immediately turns, and while his dad only gives her a watery smile, his mum rushes up to her. "Emma, I'm so sorry," the older woman says, as she pulls Emma into a tight hug.

Emma's heart drops. "Is he—?"

"No, he's not!" Morgan rolls her eyes and lets out an exasperated sigh. "Damn it, Mum, don't scare her like that!"

"But he hasn't woken up yet, and the doctors say that he's very badly injured," his dad explains. Despite his calm voice, Emma can sense a hint of urgency and knows he's just as worried as they all are. He pulls Dylan's mum aside and wraps an arm around her. "We're all hoping for the best."

Emma nods and moves closer to where they are. Taking a deep breath, she looks into the room. She could prepare herself a dozen times for this, but nothing will ever be enough for this moment.

He looks...broken.

That's the only word she can think of. Bandages and tubes are wrapped around him, like a maze he can't get out of. Her breath catches in her throat. He's so bruised and pale, that he seems almost lifeless.

Wake up, she thinks, as she presses a palm against the window. Once, he used to joke about how they knew each other so well that they might as well be telepathic. She'd just laughed it off then, but she hopes desperately that it's true now. She wonders if they can do it. Please wake up.

"Are you the patient's girlfriend?" She turns at the unfamiliar voice, only to find one of the policemen headed towards her. When she nods, the man continues, "Do you have any idea where Mr Torres was driving to?"

"He was headed home, I think," she says quietly. "He texted that he had to work overtime, and that we'd go out later for dinner."

"Is this your address?" The cop holds out a slip of paper, with her address scrawled across it. She nods, surprised, and he points to Dylan's parents, who've been taken aside by the doctors. "We asked them for your address to check his destination. Based on the route he was taking, though, it seems like he wasn't headed towards your home."

"What?"

"He was driving in the opposite direction." The cop places a sealed bag into her arms. "Here are the things he had on him when the paramedics pulled him out of the wreck. These are all his, correct?"

One quick glance and she nods. They're all Dylan's. His phone, his jacket, his wallet. Their keys. To their home. That he apparently wasn't driving to.

"One more thing," says the policeman. "Do you know what this is?"

He holds up another slip of paper, barely the size of a post-it note. And in brisk, sharp handwriting are the words:

Told you you'd regret it.