For Fox Sake

Chapter 24

Jake

“Come on Jake, we have to go.”

“We don’t have to do anything.”

Aria flips onto her side to face me. “I heard Taylor talking to Tiffany and she said anyone and everyone will be there. That means we have to be there.”

My stomach churns with dread. “We can’t go.”

Aria pokes me in the side. “Jake.”

“No.”

She pokes me again. “Jaaaaake,” she sing-songs.

“It’s a bad idea.”

“Uh, actually it’s the best idea we’ve had.”

“You’ve had.”

“You, me, we, it’s all the same.” She lifts a hand, gesturing between us.

Her eyes scan over me, dark and almond shaped, just like mine. Her nose, a petite replica of my own, scrunches in thought.

She flops back on the bed, her long hair spreading out on the black and white bedspread. The scent of her hair, the jasmine shampoo she loves, hits me right in the gut. Why does my whole body hurt?

Her hand reaches for mine. “It wasn’t your fault, Jake.”

A high-pitched ringing reverberates in my ears. “What?”

It’s like I’ve been shoved into a glass jar and someone’s banging on the lid.

My fifteen-year-old self dissipates like smoke, and memories rush back in.

This memory, and all that followed.

Terror

Loss.

Grief.

Guilt.

And the pain. The all-consuming pain.

My vision goes black. A faint beep echoes in the distance. What is that?

I blink. No. I have to stay here with her. She can’t go. I can’t go. Not yet.

“Aria?”

Her hand squeezes mine.

The sensation pulls me back into her room. The heat of her fingers. The soft pads pressing onto the back of my hand. The familiarity.

I blink harder, and my vision clears.

I’m still in Aria’s room, on her bed. Everything exactly as it was the week before she died.

“Am I really talking to you, or is this just my subconscious talking to itself?”

Her head tilts toward me. “Does it matter?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

I can’t stop staring at her. This is so real. She looks exactly as I remember, down to the freckle on her neck. I miss her so much that the pain nearly takes my breath away.

“I don’t want to forget you.”

She shrugs. “Then don’t.”

I try to swallow, but my throat is sore. “It’s so hard to remember.”

She sighs. “Because you are so focused on forgetting. Stop it. You have to forgive yourself.”

“It’s not that simple.”

She frowns at me. “If you had died, and I had lived, would you want me to be miserable?”

“Of course not.”

She snaps her fingers. “I’ve got it. What if I forgive you? Right here, right now.”

“But this is my dream. Wouldn’t that be the same as me forgiving myself?”

“Is there really a difference?”

I am so confused. “I don’t know.”

“You have to surrender.”

I don’t understand. “To what?”

She lifts a hand. “Everything. Let go of the guilt, so you can hold on to the memories. The good things. I want you to keep those close and release the dark things that no longer matter.”

“How? It’s so hard.”

“You just have to choose to do it, every day, decide to let it go until it becomes second nature.”

This sounds familiar. “One day at a time.”

Her eyes lock with mine. “It won’t be perfect. You’ll fail, sometimes. It’s all right. It took you twelve years to walk into the forest. It’s going to take some time and effort to walk out.”

My body aches. The room dims, then brightens again. “How do you just surrender and release it? I can’t. If I drop that rope, I’m dropping you along with it.”

“The opposite is true.”

My vision goes hazy. My heart is a drumbeat in my ears, my head throbbing. “I don’t know if I can let go of the guilt. You were just a child.”

“Jake.” She reaches over, shaking my shoulder. “You were just a child too. Remember?” She points between the two of us. “Twins.”

The room is getting darker again, her face blurring in front of me. “Don’t go.”

“I’m always here, Jake. I never went anywhere.” Her voice is fading. “Forgive yourself. Think of all the good we had. Jake, remember me.”

The room disappears in a blink.

I open my eyes.