I dedicate this to Sianaraiprakash because I missed her birthday. <3 Hope it was a good one!
Five years ago
HANDS IN LAP, she smiled down at the table, everything in its place; from the candlestick in the center of the table, match nearby, to the rose beside her silverware. It was the same one as that night, still crippled and torn. It would be poetic, she briefly thought, if he had brought his rose also.
Either way, everything was falling into place.
Squirming in her seat, she watched the double doors, ready for a new chapter of her life. This was her last chance to be with him, so she was going to make it count. Moments later, though, she'd glance down at her phone, her smile faltering. It was now 6:05 pm; he was late by five minutes.
As soon as the question arose, however, she shrugged it off. Bridger wouldn't be like her father. He wouldn't get drunk before the visit and die in some tragic accident.
Amora clutched her phone and her smile returned. When all was said and done, she'd be thanking her friend, no doubt. If it wasn't for Willow, she wouldn't be at the restaurant, waiting for her future husband. If not for her, she'd likely be at home, dwelling on what could have been.
I like the rain too, Bridger. I always di-
That was when her phone rang.
Her brows knit, Amora read off the unknown number and sighed. If she wasn't in such a splendid mood, she would have ignored it. After testing her voice, she answered. "Hey, uh, I think you've got the wrong number."
"I don't think I do." The deep voice was hoarse. "You're Amora, yeah?"
"Yeah..." Her heart was beginning to pound. "Why?"
"Well, something's happened." Their response was calculated. "Something bad."
"Who are you?" Amora snapped, watching the double doors. He was going to walk in any second.
"I'm his father. He gave us your number," the man mumbled with a sniffle. "I just thought you should know."
"What happened?" she pressed. In the next beat, she was on her feet, marching outside. The evening's chill air greeted her. "Answer me right now."
"Car accident."
She paused, taking it in, then mumbled a goodbye and hung up. As she paced the streets, hugging herself, she shivered in her sleeveless black dress. It was more than she could afford, and now it was completely worthless.
He was supposed to be here by now. He was supposed to have walked in, smiled her way, and had the time of his life. Now, that wasn't going to happen.
That night, she had seen his last smile; his last smirk.
That night, they had planned out the date of his death.
It was all her fault.
As if on cue, her phone chirped to life, and she sniffled, looking down. At the caller ID, she gritted her teeth. No, it's all her fault.
"Amora?" came her friend's chirpy voice. "How's it going? Is he there?"
She could hear her smile. "No, and now he never will," she sneered. "And that's on you."
There was an uneasy silence.
"What are you talking about?" Willow asked sheepishly.
"He's dead."
"No, that's... just stupid." Her voice was barely incoherent. "He can't possibly be dead, Amora. That's just... it's impossible."
"Well, you're wrong, and now you'll have to live with this for the rest of your life," she said, holding back choice words. In the next moment, she had hung up, blocking her number.
In her mind, there was only before and after Bridger; no in-between. And as it suddenly began to pour, she stood in the rain, head lifted to the sky, and closed her eyes. It was then that she realized just how poetic it was.
That was also when she realized it was her final chapter. Without him, she would be purposeless and, more importantly, alone.
What she had thought would be the best decision of her life turned out to be her worst.
-
Arms crossed, Amora was lying horizontally over her bed, head falling over its edge. All the while, she toned out her phone, willing it to stop ringing. After it ended, however, it came again. Then again.
Finally, snapping upright, she dug her phone from her pocket and sighed. It was her, just as all the times before.
She had had enough.
"Hello?" Amora asked, steadying her voice. "What's up?"
"Have you been ignoring me?"
Amora swallowed hard, fidgeting with a loose thread. "No, Faya, why would you think that?"
"Well, I've been trying to call you for the past two days," Faya deadpanned. "In the past, you'd answer me in a heartbeat."
"Well-"
"And Bridger's been ignoring me too."
At this, Amora paused, stumbling for words. "Well, uh, you think he's been... ignoring you?" Her voice faltered. "Why would he do that?"
"That's what I want to know. We broke up two weeks ago, but I wanted to get back together, so I've been calling him," she rambled a little too quickly. "Do you know something I don't?! I figured you would be the person to call. You guys go to the same school, after all, and you were my best friend..."
"Wait," Amora mumbled, "they really didn't tell you? You didn't receive a call?"
"Who, Amora? What are you talking about?" Faya pressed.
"His parents."
There was a long moment of silence.
"His... parents?" Faya asked, taking it in. "Well, I have been receiving some calls from unknown numbers. A lot, actually..." Then she paused, her breaths coming out shaky. "Why?"
"He's been in an accident." A beat passed. "He's dead."
"What?"
"Calls those numbers back, ask the parents. They know more than I do."
"Wait, just sto-"
"I'm sorry." And with that, she hung up, blocking her number. All the while, she rationalized it. Faya did, after all, refer to their relationship in past tense. Maybe this wasn't so bad.
Besides, Amora reminded herself, Faya would only remind her of Bridger; of what could have been.
It was better this way.
-
As she slowly descended the stairs, Amora hugged herself, shaking. That phone call had been just as bad as expected; maybe worse. Even though Bridger had died four days ago, just the mention of his name stung, and she feared it always would.
No, she told herself, I know it'll always hurt.
At the bottom, she sighed but lifted her head. Her mother couldn't see her falling apart over some boy. So, after leaning against the doorway, she smiled into the living room.
From the couch, her mother looked her way, returning the smile. "Hey, hun, how are things going?"
"Great, things are going... great."
For a moment, her mother studied her. In the next, she was on her feet, closing the gap. "I'm terribly sorry about Bridger, you know." Then she set her hands over her shoulders. "You know this?"
Amora gave a stiff nod. "Yeah, I do."
"Good." She gave her forehead a soft kiss, then brushed hair from her face. "Well, I'm off. I need to go to work."
Amora resisted a sniffle. "Okay, Mom. Love you."
"Love you, too." When she made it to the door, however, she retraced her steps. "Have you seen my keys? I'm always forgetting things, it seems."
"No, but I can look around..." As soon as she said this, Amora nodded at the kitchen counter. "There it is!"
"You're a dear," her mother said, chuckling. After retrieving the item, she scurried out the door. "I trust you can take care of yourself! You're a junior, after all."
Amora nodded again.
"Bye, dear."
"Bye, Mom."
As soon as the door shut, she was met by silence and shivered. Slowly, she ascended to her room, contemplating the idea. When the first tear fell, however, she had made up her mind. It was well time.
For a long moment, she stared down at her bed, before kneeling to the ground. A moment more and she was pulling the bottle out.
Amora wiped at her face, paused, then yanked off the cap. Her father had moved away when she was nine, a year after that driving drunk and crashing. He had never come to visit that night, and now he never would.
She took a swing and then a few more. All the while, she assured herself that she was nothing like her father, even if this was his whiskey. In fact, this was just a one-time thing.
But she knew better.
-
Suddenly, there were firm knocks at the door.
Opening an eye, Amora groaned as she came to be. 11:00 am, her clock read; it had been two hours. Despite herself, she nearly dozed off again when the knocking grew more persistent.
"I'm coming!" she bellowed. However, after swinging her legs over the bed, there was a loud clatter. Amora had only drunk two shots worth of whiskey, all the rest spilling over the carpeted floor. At least it's stained already.
Two at a time, Amora stumbled downstairs, then tripped at the last step. In the next beat, nonetheless, she was on her feet, swinging the door wide open.
"Hello?" asked the stranger, taken aback. The man stood tall, easily six feet, his brown hair slicked back. "Are you Amora?"
"No," she mused. "Why do you ask?"
"Well," the man said, scratching his head, "I was gonna ask if she wanted this dog..."
For a moment, Amora lost her voice. "What dog?"
"This is Nara."
As if on cue, sudden barks came from below, small and distant. However, just as with the knocking, they grew more pronounced. When she looked down, tiny grey eyes looked back, ear perked up. The puppy's fur was a short brown, hints of white in its tail.
"Who is this small bundle of fur?" Amora prodded, already stroking the puppy. She was never one to ask for permission when it came to pets. "This thing is adorable!"
"Its name is Nara. I told you this. Now, where is Amora?"
In an instant, she had straightened, eyeing him down. "What did you say?"
"What do you mean?"
"Did... did you just call this thing an 'it'?" she demanded, then kneeled down, covering the puppy's ears. "That just isn't right."
"Yeah, well, you just called it a 'thing'," the man deadpanned. Then he sighed, facepalming. "Okay, so am I at the wrong address, or is there really an Amora here?"
"Well, that would be me."
The man gave her a double-take. "You just said you weren't."
"Yeah, well, just in case you were a Jehovah's Witness or something," she said, then leveled herself again, arms crossed. "Who are you?"
"You know Bridger?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I'm his father. I'm that man on the phone," he said, then sighed. "Nara was his puppy and, truth be told, we never liked her anyway."
Amora paused, collecting her thoughts. "Uh, what about Faya? She was his girlfriend."
"Well, she's allergic."
Hey there! I hope you liked this chapter. If you've got questions, please feel free to ask!
Anyhow, it's time for another question: Writers, do you write to make a career from it or for fun?
Well, I hope everyone's well and God bless! <3