Terminal Regression

by Mallory Hill

  “Come in.”

  “Hi, I’m Lau—” I shut my eyes. I was hallucinating. I was actually seeing things. It had only been a matter of time, as crazy as I was.

  “Well, well, well,” he said coming around from his desk. “What have we here?”

  I was literally too shocked to cry. But somehow, this came out.

  “You tell me, officer.”

  Will smiled. It was the biggest, most glorious smile to ever appear on a human face. “Shut the door, Miss Baily.”

  I did by sort of letting it support me as I went weak-kneed. He was healthy. He was strong and in uniform, and I could actually feel things evaporating inside of me I was so warm.

  He came and set his hands on my hips, still grinning that flawless smile. “You know, I don’t think it’s legal to be so gorgeous.”

  Thoroughly entranced by his touch, I lifted a shoulder. “What are you going to do about it?”

  He kissed me right up against the door. And I just do not have words to describe it. Something shot through me, some adrenaline-based mega hormone. I could have flown to the moon and back and not even noticed. There was nothing in the universe but Will, his lips, his body, right there where they belonged.

  He drew away, laughing. “I’ve wanted to do that my whole life.”

  I was still dazed. “Do what?”

  “The whole cop routine. Let me tell you, it did not disappoint. It’s beyond amazing to see you, Laura. I started thinking maybe I’d just dreamed you up one damaged day.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t believe you’re really here. You’re a supervisor?”

  “Yeah, it surprised me too. I guess I’m not a threat anymore.”

  I smiled. “I guess not.”

  He kept his arms around me, and we swayed back and forth, almost dancing. “I saw your mural,” he said. “And I hear your support center’s really taking off. You’ve been busy.”

  “Not busy enough. I’ve missed you like crazy.”

  “I’ve missed you too. I’m going to need one of your classes because I have no idea what to do right now.”

  I laughed a little bit. “Neither do I.”

  “Right? Because part of me knows we’ve been apart for basically our whole lives except for a magical little window last year, but then another part wants me to ask you to marry me, which is, like, insane, right?”

  I blushed and nodded. “Completely.”

  “Because we’ve never even been on a proper date. But I just keep thinking, you pulled me out of the mud, took care of me, shaved my face. You saved my life. I’m not going to find something like this with anyone else, and I wouldn’t want to, so I… I feel compelled to make commitments and promises and just force you to understand that no one will ever be loved more than you are, Laura Baily. No one. Do you know that?”

  There were my tears. It was about time.

  I nodded. “Yes… I do, Will.”

  He wiped those tears away. “Good.”

  We just looked at each other for a long time. He was actually, physically with me. He was safe and free and had his dream job. It was unreal.

  “So,” he awkwardly segued into more normal conversation. “I guess we’re kind of boring now. I have a job, you have a job, I’m not a prisoner, you’re not a suicide. We’re sort of adults now.”

  I nodded. “We sort of are. Are you all settled in? You’ve got somewhere to stay?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got myself a bachelor pad a couple blocks away. I guess that makes me more of an adult than you.”

  I poked his chest. “For now. I’ll catch up.”

  He smiled and took my hand. “I know you will. Especially if you move in with me.” He brought my hand to his lips.

  My stomach started swirling, and I felt myself grinning more than I meant to. “Isn’t that kind of a big step?”

  “It is, but we still have plenty more to take. I want a life with you, Laura. A full, boring, adult life and all it entails. I know you have a thing for saving people, and so I’m probably not that attractive anymore—”

  “You are so!”

  He grinned. “Then move in with me.”

  I was going to. I’d missed him too much not to spend every available second of my life with him. But I couldn’t have all my issues in addition to being overly eager.

  I shrugged. “I’ll think about it.”

  He knew what that meant. “Thank you.”

  He kissed me again, and I could have sworn I was dreaming. There was just no way this was real life.

  And maybe it wasn’t. After all, this isn’t the way these kinds of stories go. Suicides don’t get second chances, much less happy endings. I suppose I can’t speak for what goes on in the afterlife, but the universe seldom ever conspires to solve one person’s problems the way it had for me. So why me? Why my fight? Why let me of all people get my way when so many others like me were defeated?

  I’d never find an answer for that. I’d never understand why forces greater than myself had deemed me worthy of life. But I figured I owed it to those forces to appreciate what I’d been given. I couldn’t waste this gift when there was a chance it was for a reason.

  “Will,” I said. “What am I supposed to do with my life?”

  He couldn’t know. It was one of those unsolvable mysteries of the human condition, purposely beyond the comprehension or control of man.

  He shrugged. “Just live it. Take it one day at a time, same as the rest of us. And when it gets bad, share it. Give a little piece to your family, your friends, your work, a considerable portion to me. We’ll protect it and love it even when you can’t.”

  I smiled. “So that’s it? That’s the secret to life?”

  “That is one billionth of the secret. The Will Noble fraction. If you want the rest, you have two options. Ask everyone in existence the same thing, or figure it out yourself. I guarantee nothing will satisfy you more than the Laura Baily fraction.”

  I wrapped my arms around him and leaned against his chest. “I don’t know. I’ve always found Will Noble very satisfactory.”

  I was always going to be me. Nothing could change that. But I didn’t have to be me alone. I was part of a team, part of a family, part of the ridiculous complexity that is the human race. Things like that are bigger than life and death. They are indelible marks in time, permanent, lasting impressions on a big, blank canvas. A little piece of everything.

  Acknowledgments

  First and foremost, I would like to thank those of you who stuck it out and read this book in its entirety. I sincerely hope you enjoyed it even if only a little bit.

  I’d also like to thank The Story Plant for selecting this odd little piece out of the masses of submissions and giving it the chance to become something great. I will forever be grateful for this opportunity to share my words with the world.

  To my family at Premier Arts, I hope you know just how much each and every one of you means to me. Your friendship and encouragement over the years has made me stronger than I ever could have imagined and given me a place where I can feel comfortable just being me. I can’t thank you enough for that.

  Thanks to the select few I trusted to read some of my very first poorly written stories and to everyone who ever bought me a notebook. I promise you I used it.

  I have to thank God, not to be sappy or clichéd, but because of all those times when I’ve felt hopelessly alone and You were the only one I felt I could turn to. Thanks for that.

  And I think I need to thank Laura for being my inspiration and helping me pull myself together. You’re more than just a character; you’re a little piece of my soul and you have changed my life. I am very sorry for all the horrible things I did to you in this book.

  In short, thanks to all of you who have opened your hearts and minds and bookshelves to me. I can only hope I’ve had half the impac
t on you that you’ve had on me, and I wish you the very best.

  About the Author

  Mallory Hill is an anthropology student at Indiana University. She began writing books at fourteen and hasn’t stopped since. After a long and trying battle with her social ineptitude, she finally decided to transition from a hobby writer to an actual novelist. In addition to writing, Mallory also enjoys singing and musical theatre. Mallory lives in northern Indiana with her parents and four siblings. Terminal Regression is her first novel.