Chapter 59 #2
Laurie swallowed and her eyes grew faintly glassy, then she pulled away and dashed an arm over her face, scrubbing away tears before they could spill.
“I can’t just—” She sucked in a breath, digging the heels of her palms into her eyes.
“You don’t understand, I can’t just forget about her.
It’s—it’s not right. She deserved to live and I failed her. ”
She dropped her hands, fisting them on her knees instead. “I don’t deserve to move on from that. It feels selfish to let myself forget.”
My heart twisted in my chest, aching with the pain that ebbed out of her in waves.
Her aura was no longer a furious tempest, but that grief still hovered like gray mist around her head.
I could understand her hesitance, her inability to let herself move on.
Her memories of her daughter weren’t all bad, they were bittersweet.
In a way that made it worse. It made it impossible to let go.
“Laurie, you’ve punished yourself enough. You have to let yourself move on.” I reached for her hands and brought them up to press a kiss to her knuckles. “Let me help you.”
She looked at our hands, her slim fingers clenched between mine. Her eyes were water-rimmed and her bottom lip was red and raw where she’d bitten it. Her voice came out choked and gasping. “I can’t. I can’t cast aside my memories of her. It would be like she never existed.”
“Then let me carry those memories for you.” The answer was on my tongue before I could wonder if it was even possible to take her memories and carry them myself, rather than misting them away.
But if it was possible, if I could do it, I’d be happy to.
If it meant giving her a future, a life unburdened by grief and guilt.
Laurie stilled in her seat and her eyes slowly lifted to meet mine. “You can do that?”
“I’m not sure.” I tightened my hold on her hands, tilting my head to the side as I thought it over. “But I’m willing to try, if you’ll let me.”
She stared back at me, breath coming slow and stilted as she thought it over. This was the last memory she’d been clinging to, the one that defined her grief. I understood her hesitation. Silence stretched between us and I waited, watching her work through every reason not to relent.
Her lips drew themselves to a thin line and finally, she asked, “Are you sure?”
I didn’t have to contemplate my answer. I knew in my soul that I would go to the ends of the earth for her. If I could follow her into battle I could handle this. I could share the burden. I could be the keeper of the memories she couldn't bear to erase but couldn’t carry herself.
I held her gaze. “I want to help you.”
Laurie’s expression softened the longer I looked into her eyes. There was relief there, like a long exhale. Her voice came out quiet but resolute. “Okay.”
“Great, gimme your face.” I released her hands and reached for her cheeks, squishing them between my palms.
“Wait, you wanna do it here—now?!” Laurie cast frantic eyes around the bar, but her concern was unwarranted. Aside from an elderly patron crumbling to dust in the corner over a frothy pint, we were the only two people in the bar. Even the bartender had pottered off to smoke around the back.
“Sure, why not?” I pecked a kiss to her forehead while she frowned at me. I couldn’t take the scathing expression seriously when I still had her cheeks squished like a chipmunk. “No one’s gonna notice us. We’re just two lovely ladies having a moment at this incredibly average bar.”
Laurie gripped my forearms with an exasperated grimace. “There’s an old guy in the corner—what if he’s, like, homophobic?”
I rolled my eyes skyward with a wry smile. “I’m entering your mind, Laurie, not sticking my tongue down your throat.”
“That’s arguably even more homoerotic,” she mumbled back, but leaned forward to ram her forehead against mine. “Just do it already, this is embarrassing.”
I chuckled as I adjusted in my seat, leaning forward with her face clasped in my hands. Laurie was still looking tense but the teasing had helped slightly, and when I looked into her eyes she smiled back at me. I drew in a breath. “Are you ready?”
She closed her eyes. “I’m ready.”
I let my own lids flutter shut and began my descent into the depth of her mind.
Passing through the layers was easier than it had been when I’d first begun lifting her memories.
Where before it was a struggle to sink, now I sliced through those barriers like a knife through butter.
Laurie opened her mind to me, and I entered her head without triggering any knee-jerk defenses.
Her fingers tightened on my forearm and I brushed my thumb along her jaw.
I sank deeper, spiraling down, down, until I entered that cold, dark space inside her head. That familiar black ocean rolled gently beneath me. I waited, giving Laurie the time she needed to present the memories on her own.
They came slowly, tentatively, tiny shards handed to me one by one. I cradled them like the delicate treasures they were, each memory both beautiful and unbearably poignant. I handled every fragment of Dandelion with care, and I bore witness to the memories Laurie cherished the most:
I experienced the very moment Dandelion drew her first breath, tiny legs kicking and little fists windmilling as she wailed a war cry at the world.
I experienced her slight weight in my tired arms, looking down at her tiny body swaddled in blankets.
Her angry, red face was creased to comical proportions, and when she opened her eyes and blinked up at me, I fell in love.
I felt the soft tufts of her stark white hair under my fingertips, downy and wispy-thin.
I let her grip my pinky with surprising strength, and I counted every perfect, minute fingernail with awe.
She was perfect in every way, from the top of her head to the tip of her nose.
She was worth every ache and pain it took to carry her to term. She meant the world to me—to Laurie.
I watched her grow, slowly, and I witnessed her very first smile, all gummy and pink when she giggled up at me.
It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
I watched her sleeping in her cot, and when I woke up at night, terrified to be so far from her, I went to fetch her.
I held her in my arms and let her sleep on my chest, lulled by the steady beat of my heart.
These memories were Laurie’s, not mine, but they shook me to my core.
I felt the overflow of love imbued in every snapshot, so much so that my heart ached in tandem with hers.
I loved Dandelion like she did, and it brought tears to my eyes.
Laurie’s eyes were watering too; I felt hot tears rolling over my fingers where I gripped her face.
Then came the bad memories, the stressful memories, the memories riddled with tension.
I watched Dandelion taken away by the nurses and I paced the corridors, anxious and terrified for her safety, desperately waiting for them to bring her back.
The moment they did, I gripped her tight, checked her all over for signs of injury despite the nurse reassuring me that all they’d done was give her shots.
She told me nobody was going to hurt my daughter.
I didn’t believe her. I knew it was only a matter of time before they started experimenting on Dandelion too.
Laurie jolted abruptly, nearly forcing me right out of her head before the next memory could play out. Her nails dug into my forearm and I smoothed my hands down her neck, gently gripping her shoulders and whispering reassurance. “It’s okay. I’m here with you. We’ll face this together.”
Her fingers relaxed but she was shaking, and I held her steady in my grasp as the final memory unfolded before my eyes.
I saw smoke, fire. Sirens blared all around me and red lights flickered overhead.
I stumbled from my bed, and Dandelion wasn’t with me.
I had to find her. Something was wrong and I had to find her.
I rushed through the dark, crashing through the stream of bodies that swarmed in the hallway.
Hybrids, doctors, scientists and nurses—everyone was in a panic.
Someone mentioned fire and my heart leapt into my throat.
I made it to the baby room, where Dandelion was sleeping in her cot.
I knew the door code by heart, I’d snuck in so often by then the nurses had given up trying to stop me.
I heard her crying and rushed over to her, scooping her up and wrapping her in my cardigan.
I realized, with a jolt, that this was my one chance to get out of here.
If there was a fire, and everyone was distracted, the two of us could slip out of the facility.
We could escape for good, and the scientists would never get their hands on Dandelion.
We would be free, and Dandelion could have a normal childhood.
So I made a split-second decision and I ran.
Holding her tight to my chest, I made a beeline for the exit.
We would escape and then everything would be okay.
But there was so much smoke. It was too hot. I couldn’t breathe—
Laurie’s sob jolted me out of the memory and I pulled her into my arms. “You’re doing great. It’s almost over, I promise. I’ve got you. I’ve got her. It’s okay.”
She clung to me, rattling out a breath, and with that final exhale, she placed the last memory of her daughter in my hands: Dandelion's very last breath.
Her terrifying, impossible stillness, and the crushing grief that followed.
It filled my heart, squeezed it tight enough I worried it might burst.
The memory ended and I held it all—and I held Laurie too.
I took every fragile shard she’d handed to me, every bittersweet, aching memory of the child she had lost and I sewed it into myself.
I made a space for Dandelion in my heart, and there she would stay.
She would be an ache in my chest, but not a bad one.
I would carry her memory forever, for Laurie’s sake, and like that, she would live on.
Laurie let out a sigh, a long, shaking exhale as the final weight slid from her shoulders.
Tears streamed freely down my cheeks but I had one last task to complete in the confines of her head.
With careful, delicate machinations, I removed Laurie’s memory of our deal, erasing the knowledge that I’d taken her memories in the first place.
I left no gaps, no gaping chasms that could alert her that something was missing.
Then I smoothed over the scars and drifted out of her mind, leaving it lighter than when I’d first entered.
When I sat back, Laurie blinked up at me, slowly emerging from the haze, before confusion crinkled her brow.
She leaned forward to brush a tear from my cheek. “Uh, why are you crying? Wait—” she rubbed her sleeve over her own eyes and looked even more confused when it came away wet. “Why am I crying?”
Then she swayed in place, and I hurriedly coiled my arms around her before she could topple right off her seat.
She slumped against me, murmuring into my shoulder.
“Why am I so tired? What happened? Are you okay?” Her words slurred and her eyes fluttered shut as fatigue rolled over her drooping body.
“Don’t worry about it,” I whispered, stroking her hair and swallowing around the lump in my throat. My chest ached and my body felt heavy, but a rush of relief had me sighing over her shoulder. “It’s over, and you and me are gonna be just fine.”
And just like that it hit me. This was the vision I had seen back then.
The vision that had sent me searching for her in the first place.
I had glimpsed the future, and I’d seen this very moment—the two of us, together in this godawful bar, with Laurie in my arms and me whispering those exact words in her ear.
The odds of it all playing out exactly right had been slim to none, but fate had brought us together, and now we were here. We’d made it.
A sudden thrill shook my body and I gasped.
Like a damn bursting its banks, visions played behind my eyes and suddenly I saw it all: Laurie’s future, clear as day, vibrant and lively, unfolding before me.
I saw the two of us together, happy, fated mates bound from the very beginning.
I was hers and she was mine, and we had a long, wonderful life to look forward to.