by S. K. Rose
“We found out later his heart had stopped for three minutes and four seconds before he was revived. Much longer and he would have been brain dead. He got lucky, but the blow to his head caused a traumatic brain injury. He was in a coma for months as his brain fought to heal itself. We didn’t think he was ever going to wake up.” My hands clench into fists, bits of grass I’ve ripped up stick out from between my fingers.
I’m clinging desperately to every word she says, as everything I thought I knew changes.
A trickle of blood runs down my palms where my nails bite into the flesh.
“I visited him every day after school. One afternoon, I was reading him a book I had taken from his nightstand, something silly about a dragon and a princess. I was hardly a few pages in when he opened his eyes. It was a miracle.” Blossom sounds exhausted, telling this tale is taking its toll.
“We were so happy he was awake, Tessa, but he wasn’t exactly the same anymore. Constantly confused and angry, he was unable to recognize simple things, like a pencil or phone. He suffered from mild seizures and mood swings, but worst of all, the majority of his memories had been almost completely wiped clean. He knew who we were, and bits and pieces from our childhood, but everything else was a blank slate. Dad didn’t waste any time moving us to Chicago where Andrew was enrolled in the country's best rehabilitation program. Slowly, his brain began to heal, bit by bit. A good chunk of his memories came back and his seizures became few and far between. The light came back in his eyes, and he was my sweet brother again. There have been some lasting symptoms: stuttering when he’s worked up, bad headaches, and his memories still have huge holes in them, so I guess he’s always going to be a little broken.” She sits up, grabbing me by the shoulders she pulls me up with her.
I broke him, I did that, but. . . he’s still alive. He’s okay.
I cover my face with my hands, heart and soul overwhelmed.
“Yes, his body is a little messed up, but he’s alive, Tessa,” her voice is full of kindness, it’s almost too much to bear. In the distance a bell rings, ending our study hour.
My eyes shut tight, Beth is saying something, but the words don’t make sense anymore.
Inside me there’s a shift, the demon who’s been sinking his claws into my heart is wrenched free as a single thought floats through my mind on a wave of relief.
The words that repeat over and over:
Andrew is alive.
Andrew is alive.
The noise I’d been inadvertently blocking out comes crashing in as I hear Beth’s worried voice ringing in my ear. I can hear students in the distance shouting and laughing, the wind rustles the branches above us, and a bird chirps its happy song.
It feels as if I’m waking up from a long, horrible dream.
The walls that built up in the absence of Andrew and the presence of heartbreak don’t disappear, but a crack in the foundation appears.
I turn to Beth, the burning question on my tongue won’t be held back.
“My Andrew is alive?” I choke out.
She smiles weakly and grabs me into a crushing hug. Her fingers run through my hair as she reassures me that he’s alive and whispers that it’s going to be okay.
For a while she holds me, and for the first time in a year, I cry.
Each tear is the years, hours, minutes, and seconds of pent-up despair from losing my best friend. Eventually I break away, mirroring her reddened eyes and smeared makeup.
“You look like shit,” she croaks out.
I throw my head back and laugh. I don’t just feel different, I sound different—happy or free or some cheesy shit like that.
She smiles in return but there are unsaid words written all over her face. Fear grips me.
“Blossom, what? Tell me what you left out,” I beg, fearing the worst.
She grabs my hand and holds it in hers. “Tessa, the trauma to his brain. . . I don’t think—he doesn’t remember you.” Her grip tightens on my hand preparing for me to lose it.
I close my eyes and fight off the surge of anguish trying to drag me back down into its depths. I can feel the demon scratching and clawing, excited to find its way back to my heart.
“That’s why he didn’t seem to recognize me,” I say, followed by a long exhale.
Yes, you already knew that though, didn’t you?
She nods and releases my hand. “I won’t lie to you, he may never get those memories back, but either way I’m here for you. I know what you had with my brother was special. God only knows what you went through in that house, but he’s alive, and maybe this is the perfect time to start over. Get to know him again. I’m sure you can build a new friendship.” She sounds so sure that a flicker of hope ignites within me.
I can’t seem to completely wrap my head around the fact that he survived. I don’t know how I can possibly be around him after everything, not knowing if he will ever remember me, or forgive me.
He’s broken because of me.
A new fire lights Blossom’s eyes when my shoulders slump in defeat. “Stop whatever you’re thinking about, right now. You are not responsible for what your horrible father did. Maybe at first, I blamed you, but I was young and stupid. You were both just kids and nothing that happened was either of your fault, do you hear me?” Her voice dares me to defy her.
I can’t help but crack a small smile. The conviction in her tone almost has me second-guessing the mountain of blame I’ve carried on my shoulders for so long.
Almost.
“You know we’re missing Art class, right?” I ask after a few minutes of saying nothing, feeling drained as hell.
She nods. “Yeah, I know.”
I lay back down in the soft grass and she does the same.
“Fuck,” is all I can seem to spit out as we lie there in a thick silence until our hour is up.
Chapter 21
─────
My head is still spinning when we head to the cafeteria for lunch. I’m trapped in a haze of confusion. I hear Queen Bitch yell something about how Beth and I were both missing from Art class, suggesting that some girl-on-girl action took place, but quickly sets her sights on poor Sally Miles when we are unresponsive. We eat quickly and go our separate ways, her to Geography and mine to Government. Before separating she gives me a quick hug and a solemn promise to talk more after school.
Stepping inside the classroom, I stop dead in my tracks. I can see from across the room that someone is already in my seat even though I’m fifteen minutes early. After three angry stomps forward, I realize I know exactly who is in my seat.
Fucking Blackwells are gonna be the death of me.
I stride up with a little less confidence in each step until I’m standing next to him. He’s busy drawing something and doesn’t seem to notice me. Letting my guard down for a minute, I allow myself to be amazed, that he’s actually here next to me.
Unfortunately, he may be my Andrew, but I’ve been shoved out of his memories, making us virtually strangers. I will treat him just like anyone else, really anything but act like the total spaz I am inside.
I do what any proper lady would do in my situation, and clear my throat. Loudly.
He flips his notebook closed and swivels in my direction. I cross my arms and lightly tap my toe, eyebrows raised I look at him expectantly. He sheepish smile gives me butterflies.
Butterflies? Oh, the irony.
“So, guess I’m sitting in your seat?” He doesn’t even look a little apologetic, just amused.
“Yes, you are. I know you’re new and all, Blackwell, but this is my seat. Skedaddle.” I wave my hand toward the rest of the desks, inviting him to promptly move.
A loud laugh escapes from him. “Did you just say skedaddle? Man, how old are you anyway?” Laughter continues to twinkle in his green eyes.
I try to scowl at him, but fail miserably. “I am not old! Screw you, and move your ass.” Placing my hands on my hips, I continue to wait.
“Looks like the desk right beh
ind you is free. Maybe you should sit your adorably angry self right there.” He nods to the desk next to his.
Clearly not having any intention of moving his stubborn ass out of my chair, I roll my eyes, and take the offered seat in a huff.
I’ll just have to get here even earlier tomorrow, I think with a wicked grin.
Wait, did he just call me adorable?
Before I have time to overanalyze, Andrew slams his fist on the desk. I jerk my head in his direction.
“Oh, my God, are you okay?” he gasps, looking at me with a worried frown.
“No, what? Why? What the hell is wrong?” I check myself all over to make sure I’m not bleeding or growing spots or something. Turning back, his worried frown of lies has transformed into a huge shit-eating grin.
“Because, Tess, I think this is the first time I have ever seen you smile, and I was a little concerned about the state of your health.”
Hearing him shorten my name the way he always did as kids makes me catch my breath. No longer smiling, I stare nervously down at my desk, thankful when I hear the teacher finally start his lesson.
“Alright that was the bell, social hour is over. Starting today, you will be creating an interactive timeline of what you and your partner consider the most progressive aspects of the U.S. government that we have discussed over the last few weeks. Look over to the person next to you, tell them to check their breath before class, because you will be working closely with them over the next month.”
The class chuckles and I glance over to Andrew and see him give me a quick wink before returning his attention to Mr. Wright.
I start to tune out the lecture and begin sneaking glances over at my new government partner. There’s really no way I could keep denying that this wasn’t my Andrew. His eyes, his smile, his silly demeanor. Everything about him is the same just in an older, hotter package.
I inwardly groan at my own inappropriate thoughts. I’ve just had my world flipped inside out by discovering my only childhood friend is, in fact, not dead, but alive and with a fucked-up brain and no memories of me.
But the one fucking thing that continues to resurface in my mind throughout class is just how sexy he’s turned out.
Jesus, I’m the one who’s really fucked up in the head.
A nicely folded up paper suddenly appears on the corner of my desk
Twins, huh? Yeah okay, I see it.
I suppress a smile as I slowly unfold the note.
A picture would last longer :)
To my complete horror, a giggle escapes my lips.
Who even am I at this point, for fuck’s sake?
I hurriedly write my response and flick it over to his desk while Mr. Wright has his back to us.
-insert eye roll here- Are you always this full of yourself, Blackwell?
I see him smirk as he writes his response and returns the note.
Actually, no. There's just something about you I guess
I do roll my eyes this time.
Did that line work at your old school? Gonna have to try a little harder than that here, buddy.
I think I’m up for the challenge
Typical male, aren’t you? Girls aren’t just some video game conquest you know.
Nah - but I sure like pressing your buttons :D
With his last response, I crumble up the note and pretend to focus on what Mr. Wright is saying. The butterflies in my stomach have gone into full-blown panic mode and are crashing around inside me. I don’t let guys have this kind of effect on me, and I’ve certainly never flirted before.
But it’s Andrew. The boy who I spent the best years of my life laughing and playing with, who helped teach me to read, and held me when I cried.
And he’s fucking alive.
My brain struggles back and forth with these new pieces of information, but I come to the frustrating conclusion that all I can do is take it one day at a time.
The biggest drawback is the stab to my heart I now feel every time he looks at me with no recognition in his eyes. All I see is kindness and curiosity. He doesn’t know who I am, and he most likely never will. I muddle deep inside my head trying to sort through these unnerving thoughts for the rest of the period.
When it’s finally time to leave, I hop up and practically run out of the classroom refusing to look back at him. I’m not sure I can act calm and collected anymore today. He’s alive and I need to jump, or scream, or laugh, or cry.
Basically, I need to be alone because I’m positive I’ll look certifiably insane if I end up doing all those things at once.
Chapter 22
─────
Andrew
“Kids! Breakfast is ready in twenty, move your butts!”
I wake up to Mom’s voice blaring at me from the kitchen. After rolling out of bed, I head to the bathroom. As I shamble down the hallway, I see Beth eyeballing me as we move toward the same destination. I’m usually up long before this and finished with my shower by now, but I slept in a bit.
I pick up my pace.
So does she.
We begin running until we both crash into the bathroom door with a loud thud and start howling with laughter.
“Don’t be breaking my house, ya monsters!” Mom screams at us from downstairs.
After giving each other the twin look, we muster up sweet angelic voices and in unison reply, “Yes, Mother Dear!”
Heh, she hates that.
Sure enough, we hear her grumbling about ungrateful children who may or may not be getting any breakfast this morning. We snicker, but stay pinned to the door, neither willing to let the other one in the bathroom.
Being twins and all, you could say we have a pretty special bond, although I’ve never experienced any of this “I hurt if she hurts” nonsense they spout about in the movies. It’s nothing supernatural, we’ve just always stuck together and have each other's back. We talk about everything, and even with my scattered memories, I know this has always been the case.
“C’mon, Andrew, I told Tessa I would be there early to finish up our Art project. Let me shower first.” She gives me the biggest doe-eyed pout she can manage, usually reserved only for Dad. Ugh, the tiny brat’s cute, I’ll give her that, besides I’m not in any rush. I raise part of my lip in a little snarl, but step out of the way.
She mouths a thank-you and slips inside, slamming the door behind her.
Just hearing her name has an odd effect on me. I feel a little dizzy—or maybe I’m just tired. Yeah, that must be it.
I lean my back against the door to steady myself. Closing my eyes, I think back to my interesting first week of school.
After moving back to Alder Grove, the town Marybeth and I were born in, I was allowed an extra few weeks to adjust to all the changes. I know my parents just want me to take it easy, but I haven’t had a seizure in months, and even that one was mild, but they still worry like crazy. I can’t really blame them, the whole situation must have been scary as hell for them, even if it’s not something I remember.
I know that I can’t imagine having to sit by while Marybeth had her head busted open and then fell into a coma, never knowing if she would wake up again. I shiver at the thought of anything like that happening to my twin. Even though she is technically my older sister, and only by a hair, I still want to protect her from everything bad in the world. I struggled watching her be lonely at our old school in Chicago. I’m grateful she’s already made such a close friend.
Tess, the sad, beautiful girl Marybeth befriended. Tessa, I correct myself. Why the hell do I keep wanting to give her a nickname? It came off my tongue so natural yesterday, like I’ve known her all my life. Since our disastrous introduction, I find myself replaying our first meeting over and over in my head, trying to puzzle out exactly what happened.
I introduced myself to her, she grabbed something from her locker, her chocolate brown hair flew through the air as she turned to look at me, where I was met with piercing blue eyes.
Then, wham! E
verything went ballistic.
My heart began pounding in my chest as rapid-fire images sped through my mind. It was over as quickly as it started. No matter how hard I tried, the only image I could hold onto was this warped memory of a tree that was growing photographs. Yeah, like instead of budding flowers or leaves it had little pictures growing off the branches.
Because that makes so much sense. Not.
Each photograph held the smiling faces of a little boy and girl. . . well I’m pretty sure that’s what was on them. It’s all fuzzy now, so damn frustrating to try to retain anything with this damaged brain.
I’m honestly not even sure why she triggered any type of memories, if that’s in fact what they were. No stranger, not even an extremely attractive one like her, has ever caused that before.
When I looked into her beautiful blue eyes, I felt as if I was peering into the depths of an ocean, a place where I could lose myself in its mysteries. All the air was sucked out of the room and I forgot anyone else even existed.
Man, I sound like a cheesy romantic from those stupid movies Marybeth likes.
Oh, God. I sound just like Mom.
Now the weirdest thing about it all, was that I know for a fact she felt something too. Just dehydration? Nah. She was shaking like a leaf and all the color drained out of her face as if she’d seen a ghost. Then, right before she passed out, I saw her wide eyes were full of fear but also something else. Hope maybe?
No, that’s stupid, I dunno. What really solidified my suspicions is that the last words she uttered before passing out was my name. I heard it clear as day, she said “my Andrew.” Crazy.