Let You Go

Chapter 3

I stood in the doorway to our apartment, staring at the life I didn't even recognize anymore. I was frozen, I couldn't make myself walk into the house that was once a home. Where Aimee and I shared more than laughter. We shared stories, we shared tears. We had made ourselves a life, we carved out a little corner of the world and were hell bent on changing it.

She didn't even make it through the night. Sara walked out, holding Aimee's golden locket. Her face was a mess of tears and all she could do was shake her head. She almost fell to the ground, the wall supporting her as her knees buckled.

Ryder had to hold her up as the realization hit us. Aimee was gone. The doctors couldn't save her. I hadn't felt it. Not when it happened, nothing had changed inside my heart. But sitting there, realizing she was gone, I knew my life would change without her in it. She was my best friend, my world. How was I supposed to keep living without her to live with?

She was the one I shared my stories with. The one who laughed and cried at the same movies, the same stupid jokes. We lived in this apartment for two years together. Freshman and sophomore parties were given by us. I had thrown up in a corner, while she held my hair back. 

Every single memory I had she was there beside me in the starring role. How was I supposed to make new ones without her? I didn't want to make new memories, I didn't want to replace her.

"We should probably get to packing," Ryder's voice snapped me back into myself. The room stood in front of me, empty of everything except the furniture we were leaving behind. He had come with me, to help me pack up Aimee's things and mine. The semester was over. I was given a pass on my last exam because of the family tragedy.

Everyone who looked at me had pity in their eyes. I hated it. Poor little Cash, who's best friend couldn't even keep it together and overdosed. They didn't know the truth, the story behind the tragedy. She didn't die from the drugs. I refused to believe my best friend had a secret life I didn't know about. Still she died alone on an operating table at two in the morning, surrounded by strangers.

I moved aside so Ryder could walk into the apartment. He had been here a few times, like when he helped us move in two years ago. He would visit his sister, but lately he came around to see me. He came when Aimee wasn't around and I snuck him in. I let out a slow breath, watching him move with ease through the space I never wanted to see again. My chest hurt. I couldn't remember the last conversation we had had.

Did I tell her that I loved her? Did I tell her I appreciated every night when she would hold me while I cried over any guy who broke my heart? Did she know how much she meant to me? Had I meant as much to her?

The worst part about losing someone isn't letting them go. It's wondering where you stood with them. Wondering if goodbye would've been enough to keep you from falling apart once they were truly gone.

"You coming?" Ryder wasn't cheerful. But he wasn't as sad as I was. The car ride here had been quiet, mostly because I wouldn't answer him when he tried to start a conversation. I didn't break down on him. Which was surprising. But I wouldn't even sing along to the radio.

I felt like I was stuck behind a wall of water. Like I could see my life played out before me, but I didn't have the energy to make a move and live it myself. Without Aimee there didn't seem to be motivation to come back to this apartment. There wasn't a reason for me to want to sing along to the songs we laughed at and loved.

The funeral was tomorrow. They were waiting for the results of a few tests, not that they would mean anything. Aimee was gone, nothing would bring her back. I would never get to tell her I was sorry for avoiding her, sorry for sneaking around when I knew she would've been happy to hear me tell her how I was falling for her brother. I would never get to ask her about the homework or hear her whine about work. All those things, the little things that used to bother me, that never used to matter, were suddenly the only things I could remember.