What happens when you can't even recognize your own parents, but you're able to identify the most notorious playboy in school? //
Asher Thomas lives in a world where she isn't able to recognize people's faces, including those of her parents and even...
On Wednesday, Chloe stalks up to me. She looks like a snow queen, sauntering over to me with cold eyes and an icy stare. Immediately, as soon as she walks up, people whip out their phones. They're preparing themselves for another outburst, but this time, with Asher Thomas's best friend.
"Don't go to her."
I still. "What?"
Chloe jabs a finger into my chest, fuming. "I said, don't go to her. I know she's in the hospital, I know you went to Heidi yesterday, and I'm warning you now: leave her alone."
That's fair. I should have expected this. I would have done the same for Chris, any day.
She sucks in a breath, continuing: "You hurt her enough. Don't hurt her again with your presence."
The girl casts a glare around her, then stomps away in her Crocs. I think I've always seen her around in six-inch heels, but desperate times do not shine a light on pumps. She must be distraught. She must be planning her next meeting with Asher.
It seems, even if I wanted to, I can't.
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Chris calls me later that night. Being around Chloe so much, he knows every detail about Asher, and lately, he's been giving me updates. She's still awaiting surgery, which is scheduled in a few days. Chloe is distraught.
"You okay?" he asks, concerned.
"No," I say. What's the point in lying?
Chris remains quiet over the line, thinking the situation over. He's not usually a thinker, he mostly says whatever is on his mind. It seems, Asher has changed more than a few others.
"Go see her," Chris urges. "Go to that fucking hospital room and do the cheesiest shit you can think of."
His demand is so absurd that I let out a loud laugh. "Are you listening to yourself?"
"Hell yes. Are you?"
I say 'yes', but I know Asher. The cheesiest thing she can tolerate is a bouquet of roses.
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A few days later, I return home to Mom waiting for me by the door, a piece of paper clutched in one hand. She's frowning, and I know I've got a thunderstorm coming – usually, Mom never strays one inch away from happiness.
