Make me remember (to forget)

Chapter 24

Logan

It's almost two in the morning. 

As I mindlessly press the random buttons of my gaming console, I can't shake the tightness in my chest or the fire in my stomach, swallowing me from the inside out. 

I can't really explain why I'm feeling like shit. Maybe it's because of my earlier conversation with Em. Or it's the smell of weed and the sound of laughter that were coming from her room all night, reminding me that I'm a guest here, that I don't belong. Or it's the loneliness that comes crashing in on random Tuesday nights, making me acutely aware that I'm completely alone on this side of the planet. 

But then again... I was still lonely in New York City; surrounded by people, yes, but still, lonely as fuck. I let out a long exhale, hoping there's some way I can escape my thoughts, even for a fucking second. 

I stare at my phone for a couple of seconds before reaching for it. I haven't spoken to my family since I got here. In other words, it's been three weeks. I know that we're not close, but still... I miss them. 

I take a deep breath as I stare at Noah's phone number. Ever since the terrible accident that happened three years ago, we drifted apart. He estranged himself from all of us, burying himself into schoolwork. And I miss him, goddamn it. I miss my brother. 

We used to role play Pirates of the Caribbean when we were kids all the time. One time, there was this kid named Jimmy who stole my favorite red car. Noah went to his house, scared the shit out of him, and then got it back. We were inseparable. 

But of course, everything changed after that night... That goddamned night.  

My fingers find themselves on the 'Dial' button. I bite my lower lip, trying to stop myself from having any expectations. Still, my heart sinks to my stomach when he doesn't pick up. Of course, he wouldn't pick up. 

I let out another exhale, before trying Mom's phone number. I never thought I'd say this, but I really miss our stupid fights and her whining all the time. 

I place my phone on my desk and I walk back and forth, listening to it ring over and over again as I try Mom, Dad, and Noah. 

I give up after the third time. They're probably busy, as usual. It really shouldn't even surprise me anymore. I leave a message though, asking them to call me back. My heart sinks in my chest as the clock keeps ticking and I don't hear back from anyone. 

 I almost reach out to Mar, but the thought of getting into another fight with her enervates me. I can't bring myself to call her, even though it's moments like these when I need her the most. Because I know that she'll pick up. She always does. 

I can't keep doing this to her, though. I can't, it's not fair. 

Instead, I find myself pulling the bottle of vodka out of my closet and drinking myself to sleep. Because that's obviously the healthy way to deal with things. 

The next morning, I'm hungover as fuck. My head is throbbing and I feel like throwing up. I check my phone, and my stomach tightens when I see that I have no new messages or phone calls. 

 I still force myself to get myself out of bed, shower, and change. 

When I walk inside the kitchen, the strong smell of caffeine hits my nostrils. 

"You look like shit," Emily comments. My eyes meet hers, and I have to gulp back a breath. She looks beautiful, as always. Her long hair falls over her shoulders flawlessly as she drinks her coffee in one hand and flips through a magazine in another.  

She reminds me of Mar, except that she's holding a Sports Magazine and not Vogue. However, I can't find the energy to deal with the turmoil of feelings that comes with Emily. Not today. 

When I don't say anything back, she raises an eyebrow at me. "Are you okay?"

I shrug. "Just tired."

"What's wrong?" Adam asks. 

I shake my head, not bothering to even come up with a lie. 

"You could skip work if you're not feeling well," Em says, avoiding my gaze.

"No, it's fine. I'll go get my bag." I need a distraction from my existential crisis. 

Em drives me to work, as usual, but this time,  the car ride is quiet. No one bothers to turn on the radio. Things are still awkward and tense since yesterday. I'm grateful that she doesn't try to have small talk. 

I plug in my earphones and close my eyes to the sound of music. 

The rest of the day at work is uneventful. I mostly finish some tasks that Josh gave me. Melanie tries to cheer me up by sending me a bunch of memes. I try to laugh it out but the sinking feeling in my stomach returns every time I check my phone.

Sabine buys me a doughnut. I try to eat it but I feel like puking.  

Josh spares me from uploading expense reports. 

I end up taking a break to light a cigarette that I stole from Sabine. The moment I inhale it, I'm reminded of why I fucking hate smoking. 

I still feel like shit. And I know exactly why; no, it's not the cigarettes. It's because it has been more than twenty-four hours since I fucking spammed my family with phone calls - yet no one called back. I keep looking at my phone, waiting for a text, a call, anything. But nothing comes. No one fucking cares. 

And it makes me wonder, what if I was dead? What if someone was calling them to tell them that? Will they find out a week after? A month? Will they care? And it kills me - it kills me knowing that I need them right now, I need them so fucking much but they're not here. They're not here, goddamn it. 

I let out a long exhale, trying to fucking breathe, but my throat is tight and it's too hot in here and my vision is blurry. The more I try, the more suffocated I feel. 

"Logan, through your nose - breathe through your nose," Her gentle voice comes from behind me. 

"I can't," I manage to make out. 

Her soft hands touch my stomach, and I try to focus back on her, but my mind is a tornado of thoughts swirling me in. "Inhale through your nose as if you're filling your stomach. Count to three." Soft, her voice is so, so soft. 

I close my eyes, tightly gripping the cigarette between my fingers. Three. It smells like fucking shit. Two. Em's hand touches mine. One. Her eyes see through my soul. 

"You're okay. Inhale as I count to three with you," She whispers, her face almost touching mine. "One, two, three - Hold it in. Here, feel your stomach?" I gulp,  as her hand places mine on my stomach. All I feel is her touch, her gentleness, her softness. 

"Now let go," She breathes out too, and I follow her lead. "Here you go, you're doing great. We'll do that two more times, okay?"

I nod, finding myself following her lead again. Breathe in, hold, let go. Breathe in, hold, let go.

And slowly, my heart rate slows back to normal. My throat opens up and my chest is slightly lighter. My eyes meet hers, and I search in them for questions, for judgments, for pity. But instead, I find warmth. It makes my heart swell for her. 

"Thank you," I mumble. 

I wait for the shame, the embarrassment, the guilt to come. I wait for her questions to come. But they never do. Nothing does. Almost as if it's okay to lose my mind in front of her. Almost as if she's the only person in the world who would know what I'm going through. 

And so we stay still, standing side by side, shoulders almost touching, as we breathe in and breathe out. And she's close, she's so close that her fingers are inches apart from mine. So close, that I could slightly move my hand so that my skin burns with hers. So close, that it would set my insides on fire for her. So close, that I do it.