More Than a Memory (11 page)

“
S
hit
,” I mutter as I stumble and hit my shin on the entryway table. Maybe running until almost muscle failure wasn’t the brightest idea.

I take a calming breath, resisting the need to kick or punch something. Living with Olivia and dealing with her mood swings has been great for my physical health. I haven’t worked out this much during the off season since freshman year in high school when I had something to prove to the varsity team I somehow managed to get on. Emotionally? That’s another story. My mental health is spiraling, but I just can’t let her go. Knowing she’s bringing me down doesn’t stop my need to attempt to lift her up. The hints of happiness and occasional laugh that escapes when she lets go for a minute keeps me trying. The blackest of clouds follow her daily, but the tiny rays of sunshine that break through leave me thirsting for more.

I tap on her door before heading to my room. I don’t want to end the day on such a sour note, and if going to her and begging her to talk it out with me is what it takes, it’s a tiny sacrifice I’m willing to make. I know she’s on the other side of the door, but my attempt to get her to answer doesn’t work.

Hanging my head in resignation, I grab clean clothes from my room and hit the shower. Hot water would soothe my tight, overworked muscles best, but my already heated skin insists on water temps bordering frigid.

I moan and hiss in unison when the first arctic splash hits my chest, fighting the urge to increase the hot output. Exhausted fingers flex against the tile wall as I lean in and let the water flow down my back, only turning up the heat when my teeth begin to chatter.

Toweling off, I dress fully, not needing another half-naked run-in with Olivia in the hallway. I give her door another try on my way into the kitchen for something to eat, but it once again goes unanswered. Hiding out and avoiding each other may have worked when I first got here, but I refuse to let it continue that way. I’ll give her tonight, but I’ll force her to talk to me tomorrow, even if I have to tie her down to get through the conversation.

She offered the sandwich ingredients earlier, so I take her up on it now, opting to use a paper towel rather than a plate so I don’t have to come back and wash it later.

Setting my sandwich on the bedside table, I plug my earbuds in and load my favorite playlist. I crack my neck, reach into my backpack, and pull out the assignments I’ve been dreading for days. I know baseball is my backup plan and school is my number one priority, but I wish I had the talent, or money, for it to be the other way around. School is vital for my future, but I hate it with a passion. I alternate bites of sandwich with paragraphs of text I don’t absorb until the music is interrupted by a text alert.

Liam’s name flashes on the screen and I roll my eyes, knowing he’s going to have some damn excuse about my Economic notes for tomorrow.

I open the text and a video clip appears. Narrowing my eyes to get a better look at the tiny screen, I debate whether to open it. The last thing I need with my already wavering attention span is porn.

Curious, I tap the video and watch, confused.

The camera pans around a baseball diamond, landing on the haggard face of a man who looks about my age as he watches a performance on the field. The bill of a baseball cap doesn’t hide his weak attempt at a smile, but his eyes brighten marginally when a wisp of golden hair flies across his face. A soft, familiar laugh makes its way to my ears, forcing me to look over my shoulder at the wall I share with Olivia. It takes a second before I realize the sound,
her
sound, is coming from the video and not somewhere in the apartment.

I focus back on the video just in time to see Olivia’s face on the other side of the man, love and concern marking her brow and dulling her eyes.

The camera turns back to the dance routine and ends abruptly. My face screws up, wondering why Liam would send me some shit like this. I don’t need to be reminded that she’s taken. She does that herself every damn time her phone goes off. I was made well aware of her relationship status when I heard her fingering her damn self at his command.

Bryson: WTF, dude? I get it, she has a damn boyfriend. Fuck off with that shit.

Watching the tiny text dots appear and disappear for a long moment, I wonder if he’s going to pop off with some asshole bullshit about poaching another guy’s woman, or worse, encourage me to fuck her since her boyfriend is so damn far away—not that I haven’t considered the notion myself.

I don’t get words from him the second time either. Another video clip pops up. It takes forever to load, and I almost refuse to open it when I notice it’s close to twenty minutes long. Apparently, I’m a glutton for punishment. The second it’s fully downloaded, I tap the triangle for it to play, praying to everything that is holy he’s not sending me some sex tape they made—hearing that shit through the wall was bad enough. I consider the possibility since she refuses to leave the apartment. Extreme embarrassment like that would make me question staying in the same town.

I still when the video begins and the soft intro music to
My Wish
by Rascal Flatts plays in the background. It seems the video is being recorded on a laptop with the top only partially open.

The lid lifts and a man with sunken cheeks and lifeless eyes faces the camera.

“I’m ready,” he says to someone off screen.

His voice. I recognize it from listening at Olivia’s closed door. It’s the same timbre that comes from Duncan, only weaker, raspier. This is a shell of the man I’d seen just moments ago.

I watch with rapt attention as he reaches for something off screen before popping medicine in his mouth and taking a swig of water from a bottle.

Sad eyes face the camera once again, and I’m immediately drawn to his pain. His illness and long battle is apparent in the deep set lines of his forehead and hollowness of his cheeks. My heart begins to hammer in my chest.

“Five minutes?” he asks, looking away from the computer for a moment.

“Maximum,” a male voice off camera confirms.

“Many will think this is a fucked up way to do this, but a lot of you have been there for me through all of this, and since secobarbital works so quickly, this is the best way I could think of to reach out to everyone and say goodbye. I’m terminal. I have been for a while. While fighting AML day in and day out for years, I’ve prayed I wouldn’t have to exercise the rights provided by the Death with Dignity Act, but here I am.”

Messages begin to flash at the bottom of the video, having been written while the video was still live. Dread and nausea wash over me when I realize this is the fucking video Liam was telling me about. He referred to the guy as Kelly, which I grasp must be Duncan’s last name.

Several messages flash until one name stands out like a beacon.

Olivia Dawson: Please, God, no, Duncan. What did you take? Where are you?

The shrill ring of Duncan’s phone echoes around the room he’s sitting in, but he reaches down to silence it. It has to be her calling, freaking out at what she’s watching.

“Mom, Dad, I know you supported me with this decision, but I didn’t have it in me to watch the pain in your eyes as I took my last breath. I’m doing this here with the help of a medical professional, so you don’t have to suffer any longer. I chose this way to remove your struggle of begging me to fight longer. I’m so tired of fighting, so tired of the pain and inability to help myself. It’s not getting better for me, and there’s nothing that can be done. It’s time.”

Several names I recognize from the team roster flash at the bottom with words of encouragement and goodbyes. Hearts and tear-stained emojis float across the screen.

Olivia Dawson: Don’t leave me, Duncan. I need you.

My throat clogs and my hands begin to tremble, shaking the screen, but I force myself to keep watching.

“Sweet cheeks, my beautiful, precious angel. I’m going to miss you the most. You are my soulmate, my fairy-tale ending. You are my ultimate fantasy and wildest dreams, but I need you to realize I’m not yours. My final chapter, my ever-after, is over, but yours will continue. It has to continue. You have to accept that I’m merely a placeholder for the man who will come in and sweep you off your feet. He’ll love you the deepest and help you forget the pain you’re feeling right now.”

Olivia Dawson: Never! I choose you, Duncan. Please, I choose you!

My heart breaks, and his voice cracks as her message joins the others.

“This is going to hurt for a while, but you have to let
me
go to find
him
. I need you to find him, Ollie. Please, baby. Tell me you’re going to love again. Please. Swear to me you’ll open your heart and live your life to the fullest.”

Olivia Dawson: Duncan…

“I’m at peace with my decision, sweet cheeks. I need to know you’re going to be okay. Swear you’ll eventually be happy. That you’ll move on.”

His eyes cast down, watching the same comments roll so fast, it’s almost too quick to read them fully.

Olivia Dawson: I swear, Duncan.

His eyes meet the camera once more. “That’s my girl. I want you to keep going to school. Make new friends. Laugh when you feel like crying. Never give up on your dreams, Ollie. Have babies and love with every molecule in your body. I’m in your heart, beautiful. Take me everywhere you go.”

His head nods forward and he barely catches it.

“I love you. Chat soon, sweet cheeks.”

Olivia Dawson: Never goodbye.

The video continues to roll as a man in a white medical coat helps Duncan lean back, situating his weak head on a pillow. It isn’t until Duncan begins to hum along with the video that I realize the same song has been playing on repeat in the background this whole time. The same song Olivia turned off in the truck—a freak out over morbid memories from a horrible time in her life.

Rogue tears spring from my eyes and land on the screen of my phone. Messages continue to stream on the bottom of the video even as the humming ceases and labored breathing takes its place.

Not one more message from Olivia comes across the feed. I can’t even begin to imagine what she went through watching that live.

A ragged final breath echoes in my head and I regret not turning off the video sooner.

I watch with soaked eyes as the doctor steps back up to Duncan. Placing fingers on his neck, he checks his watch, and announces, “Time of death, twelve fifty-two p.m.”

I
clasp
my chest when I open the door to the bathroom and find Bryson leaning against the wall, waiting for me to exit. The apartment had been quiet for a while, giving me the opportunity to dart across the hall for a shower without running into him. I’d hoped it would stay that way, that maybe he had fallen asleep.

“Sorry,” I apologize. “I didn’t know you were waiting. I wouldn’t have taken so long.”

“I don’t need the bathroom, Olivia.” His tone is flat, as if trying to cover some unnamed emotion and struggling to do so.

I do my best to step around him, but his body lines up flush against mine, almost pinning me against the wall.

His eyes search mine, for answers or an explanation, I can’t tell which.

“I’m sorry for how I acted earlier. I shouldn’t have blown up at you like that. You didn’t deserve it. I’m just…” my voice trails off. I’ve said too much already.

“You’re confused about how you feel about me.” I nod, unable to lie. “You want to act on it, but you don’t.”

I drop my head when his eyes shift lower, focusing on my mouth.

He tilts my chin up with the tip of his finger, and my eyes squeeze shut, refusing to meet his eyes. Warmth flows over me as his breath ghosts over my cheek.

“I can’t, Bryson. It’s not fair.”

“To Duncan?” he sighs, but doesn’t pull away. “It’s not fair to Duncan?”

“It’s not fair to you either, Bryson,” I say, finally opening my eyes to face him, showing more courage than I actually feel. I choke on a swallow as my throat tries to close and tears sting the backs of my eyes.

“You love him.” His words are resolute, not a question.

“More than anyone can understand. My mom, my friends—none of them understand.”

“You miss him.”

“Every second of every day,” I confess.

“I’m here, Liv.” He leans in another inch, his breath warming my trembling lips.

I allow the smallest of brushes before I push on his chest. He backs away instantly, rejection clouding his dark eyes.

“I can’t,” I repeat as I step past him into my room.

I lean against the door, trying to calm my panting breath and raging heartbeat. It doesn’t work. I attempt pacing in the small area at the foot of my bed, but resilience still eludes me. When I close my eyes, I feel the whisper of his lips on mine. I hate that I walked away. I know I can’t lead him on, not after begging him to kiss me at my lowest point, but I have nothing left to give. My heart belongs to Duncan, but I can’t keep images of Bryson out of my mind.

I want him on a base, carnal level, but it’s the emotional attachment to Duncan I can’t let go of—the young love I’ve held on to for so long.

Giving in to the pull of my laptop, I scoop it up, place it on my lap, and log in.

After selecting the folder I click more often than I should, I pull up the video I watch every time I catch myself thinking of the man who lives ten feet away. It has nothing to do with Bryson, but a guy my mom tried to set me up with when Duncan found out he was no longer in remission the second time. He began to pull away from me, insisting I would be better if I let go of the idea of us.

“Hey, baby.” Even over a year after the video chat was recorded, I hear the strain in my voice. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, sweet cheeks. How’s school?”

The girl in the smaller window, a shadow of who I once was, shrugs. “I haven’t been this week.”

“It’s Thursday, Ollie. You promised last week you’d make every class. This isn’t healthy. You have to live your life.”

I remain silent, just as recorded Olivia does.

Duncan sighs in frustration.

“Your mom sent me the link to Jacob’s Facebook page. He seems like a pretty decent guy.”

My mouth turns down at the mention of the man my mother thinks is an appropriate replacement for the love of my life. She gave up on Duncan long before his suicide video went viral. Even after all this time, I’m still bitter about her abandonment.

“Not going to happen.” The words streaming from the video make me look up to my bedroom door, torn between wishing Bryson would knock like he did earlier and praying he stays away from me.

“Even your mother likes him, Ollie. That’s saying something.” He’s pretending to be okay with me moving on, but there’s a battle in his eyes. I can’t imagine how difficult it was for him to say those words.

“He’s not who I want, Duncan. I want you. I need
you
. Not a stand in.” Tears stream down my cheeks. I’ve watched this video hundreds of times, but the pain hits me in the chest with just as much force as it did when we were chatting in real time.

“You know that’s not going to happen. Don’t cry, sweet cheeks. Your tears slay me.” I shake my head, mimicking the girl in the smaller video window. I hate his parents for forcing me away. They claim they did it to make it easier on me.

“It’ll help in the long run
,” his mother whispered before he got on a plane and headed out of state for treatments from the best doctors in the country. “
Don’t show him how sad you are. He can’t fight if he’s worried about you.”

I squeeze my eyes closed, willing away the heartache. Had we known the experimental, last-ditch-effort treatments were going to do more harm than good, we would have rather spent his last days together. Well, I would have. Duncan started pulling away the minute he boarded the plane, no doubt letting his mother’s words sink into his own head.

“I’ll never recover from this, Duncan.”
I still haven’t.

“You will. I promise. You have to.”
I can’t
. “Everything I’m doing is for you. You have to move on.”

“Fight, Duncan. Fight for me. Fight for
us
.” He fought long and hard, but the leukemia won. A horrible disease took over his body and turned a vibrant, amazing man into a shadow of himself.

“Ollie, I’ve been fighting for us for years. It’s over, baby. You have to accept it.” I didn’t know this then, but he’d already spoken with his doctors. They gave him four months max; he was gone in two.

“I won’t.” I don’t even bother to wipe away the tears falling from my eyes.

“No more video chats, sweet cheeks. I won’t—”

My bedroom door flies open and I slam my laptop closed on instinct, glaring at Bryson in the doorway. As long as he’s been here, he’s never just barged in—except the last time I watched this video.

“What are you doing?” I finally ask when he just stands there, eyes darting from me to my laptop and back again.

“How long?” he asks, holding his hands palm up by his sides.

“Wh-what?” I stammer.

“How long are you planning on lying to me? Fighting what you feel for me? I need a timetable here, Olivia. I can wait as long as you need, but I need you to give me something, anything,” he says with a strained voice, taking a step closer to me.

“I can’t,” I repeat the words from the hallway, lowering my head as I twist my fingers together in my lap. “Duncan—”

“Is gone, Liv. Duncan is gone.” My eyes snap up to his as renewed tears force their way from my tired eyes.

I shake my head, not because I’m denying it—I know full well my beautiful man, my best friend, is gone; I live the pain every day—but the barrier of Bryson not knowing the truth has protected me. I haven’t intentionally lied to him, but when he assumed I had a long distance relationship, I didn’t correct him.

I've been confronted more than once about how I have chosen to grieve. I’ve dealt with frustration, misunderstanding, and criticism for months from people who insist I get over it. Bryson, however, is sad for me, not angry.

I shake my head to ward him off as he steps closer. Undeterred, he squats at the edge of the bed and clasps my shaking hands in his.

“Stop pretending, Liv.”

I’m here.

His words from the hallway rattle in my head. He knew then. He was giving me an opportunity to admit what I’ve been hiding since the day he showed up.

This is more than I can handle. My emotions are all over the place. I’m relieved, yet apprehensive now that he knows. The cocoon I’ve built around myself has split open with the revelation of Duncan’s death. The layer of protection that’s kept him at arm’s length, the only boundary between us, is now gone. My heart aches for my loss, but my brain keeps reminding me Bryson may be able to help ease it somehow. I allow the anger to take over, reacting the same way I have numerous times—what caused my friends and family to walk away and never look back.

I pull my hands from his and shove at his chest. Catching him off guard, his balance sways as he lands on his butt on my carpet. He looks up at me, confusion and dejected pain in his eyes.

I steel my spine and look at him. “I need you to leave.”