Am I better off dead? Am I better off a quitter?                              

Am I better off now, than I am when I was with her?    --Nothing, The Script

Chapter 8 – Chugging Fest for the Broken Hearts


Her condition was delicate, they said. We mustn’t pressure her to remember things. I knew that. But I just wanted to try for once, to prove it with my own eyes.

I never imagined how it’d devastate me.

Sarah barely looked at my direction. Her eyes kept trailing on the apples sitting on the side table as if she was afraid that someone might take them away. I shifted on my seat, searching her face for any sign that she somehow recognized me.

“You like apples?” I asked with a careful tone. Since talking with Becky last night, Sarah had been crying nonstop. I could tell by the redness all over her eyes.

For a little while, she seemed to think before managing a small hesitant smile. “Not really… As far as I remember,” she murmured. “B-but somehow, I feel like having them around would make everything better. I’m not making any sense, am I?” She looked apprehensive, like she was afraid of me.

I smiled at her. “You don’t have to make sense. Just take it easy.”

Out of the blue, she fidgeted with her hospital gown and bit her lip, unease painting all over her face. “Everyone keeps saying that. Even Winfred.”

“Saying what?”

“T-take it easy. Don’t force yourself. It’s okay…” she said trailing into silence, picking up one of the four apples and staring at it. “But it’s not okay. I want to… I want to remember everything. I want to remember how I found Winfred... I mean, Dad. Or how Jeremiah looked just after he was born. I want to remember school and graduation and maybe how I became friends with Matt and Chuck and Reed. I want to… know what kind of person I had become, if I was happy…” she croaked as tears started to form around her eyes which fixed searchingly at me for answers.

I didn’t answer. Honestly, I couldn’t tell if she’d been happy. Not with all the hurt I caused her. It seemed like no form of reassurance or comforting would suffice the distress in her eyes. As much as I wanted to tell her everything about us, I couldn’t. That’d mean having to let her suffer all the pain me and my family had brought upon her all over again. But I don’t want to lie either. I was tired of that.

She blinked quietly, brushing the tears away before they could fall. “They said it wouldn’t matter if I don’t remember. That I’d just have to focus on my future but…” Her shoulders shook as she hid her face in her hands. I had the urge to rush to her side and wrap my arms around her. But I knew that won’t do any good. “Believe me… I want to remember y-you,” she said unable to meet my eyes.

I nodded, a wrenching feeling slinking its way to my chest. But in a spur of the moment, I just had to ask, “Let’s say that you have someone… special, and that someone comes here, what would you do?” Clenching my hand until my knuckles turned white, I waited patiently for her answer, watching her worry-stricken face become more pallid than usual.

She rubbed her temples and knotted her brows, her breathing becoming ragged. “I… I don’t know. I don’t know,” she mumbled feverishly, letting her head droop on her hands.

“Sarah? Are you okay?” I rushed to her side in panic.

“I don’t know… I’m sorry,” she cried, closing her eyes tightly, her hands clasping on her head, groaning in pain. “I don’t… want this to happen. Please… M-my head… It hurts… Make it stop,” she gasped pleading.

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