Forget Me Not

by Tyler, Q. B.

  “I’d love if you stayed, but…I always want to be near you. I’m selfish like that.” I purse my lips and look nervously at the ground as I try to come up with something to say. The knee jerk reaction is to agree that he’s been selfish, but this definitely wasn’t the time to go down that road. “Don’t be nervous, baby.”

  I snap my gaze up to look at him. “Stop with the baby,” I grit out.

  He winces and nods slowly. “Sorry, force of habit.” I sigh, suddenly feeling like shit for scolding him. It isn’t his fault he doesn’t remember. That his body has shut down and forced him to forget what’s going on between us. It’s almost as if he’s developed amnesia as a way to escape the pain. All he knows is that he loves me and that we’re happy. He doesn’t know this Olivia and Bennett. “Do we…I mean I assume we aren’t living together?”

  “No. I live in our apartment. You moved out.” I tell him, trying my best to keep my voice even.

  A flicker of disappointment washes over his face. “I see. Where do I live?”

  “Upper East Side. It’s closer to your job anyway.” I shrug.

  “Am I still with SPR?”

  I nod.

  Sloane Prime Realty is one of the biggest real estate firms in Manhattan—hell, in all New York—and he’s been one of the highest paid realtors ever since a handful of socialites worked with him. Twenty-somethings with Mommy and Daddy’s money flocked to him because he was young, outgoing and hot. The girls were in love and the guys related to him because he was what they aspired to be. Thirty-something and rich. They flooded Instagram with their posts thanking him for finding them THE BESTTTT APARTMENT EVER!! And thus, Bennett Clarke became the most coveted realtor in all of New York.

  “What about you?” he asks. “What have you been up to?”

  “The same.” I shrug. “Though I’ve been promoted in the past two years. I’m an editorial production director now.” A smile crosses my face as I think about the job that I worked my ass off to get.

  “That’s amazing, congratulations.” He beams. “Still with Conde Nast?”

  “Yep,” I tell him. My finance degree had somehow led me to a life of glamour and working for the most prominent fashion magazine in the world.

  “I’m proud of you, Livi. I knew you’d take the world by storm.”

  I’m proud of you. Those four words used to have the power to turn me into a horny mess, and even now, my sex throbs under his praise. Words of affirmation were my love language and Bennett spoke it fluently.

  “Thank you.”

  “Have I missed anything else…? Besides…?” He shifts uncomfortably and looks at me to fill in the blanks.

  “Wren and Lys got married,” I tell him.

  “Really? When?”

  “About a year ago.” I think about their long courtship and engagement versus Bennett and my whirlwind one.

  “Shit.” He chuckles. “Did I at least bang the maid of honor in a coat closet?” I narrow my gaze and his widen. “If it was you! Was it you? Shit, Lys doesn’t have a sister, does she?”

  “It was me.” I roll my eyes. “And yes, we did.” I blush at the memory of Bennett’s hands roaming all over my burgundy bridesmaid’s dress. Lifting the long chiffon material up around my waist and sliding his hand in my panties and rubbing my wet slit as he whispered dirty words in my ear.

  “You’re blushing.” He smirks. “You’re remembering it.”

  I’m broken from my sexy trip down memory lane by his words and instantly I’m annoyed that I let it show all over my face that I was reliving it. “I’m leaving,” I tell him.

  “No no no!” He chuckles just as I turn around. “I’m sorry, I’m kidding. Cut me some slack here, Livi. The last memory I have of us is fucking you in the shower this morning, yesterday morning…whenever the fuck I showered last.” He rubs his hands over his face. It’s not like I can pinpoint which time he means. When things were good between us, Bennett and I showered together more times than we showered separately. “I’m not going to lie, the idea of us not being together really fucking sucks.”

  Who are you telling?

  “This wasn’t all my doing, Bennett.”

  “I know, I know. I just…fuck.” He lets out a sigh and his head falls back. “I hate that I did this to us.” I don’t say anything even though there’s so much more to the story. Yes, he cheated, but there was a catalyst. A catalyst that I helped form. I’m not giving an excuse for his behavior because I’m still angry and gutted and pissed beyond belief. But I did push him away.

  I pushed him away when I needed him.

  I pushed him away when he needed me.

  I did give up.

  On him.

  On myself.

  On us.

  Looking back, I can see how hard he fought. Looking back, I can see how one slip up could have happened. He’d slipped up once. One time.

  It was a random isolated incident. A girl at a bar. A man drunk and alone and hurting over the fact that his wife had shut him out over the struggles in their marriage.

  He’d confessed the next morning.

  I’d walked out that afternoon.

  Somehow after that, the girl and he had formed a friendship or a fuckship or whatever.

  Maybe said friendship wouldn’t have formed if I hadn’t told him I wouldn’t forgive him. If I told him I wanted to work things out, maybe we wouldn’t be here.

  But I couldn’t forgive him.

  Or maybe I could, but I’d never forget. And living with him and the memory of him fucking someone else wasn’t something I was prepared to do while the wounds were so fresh.

  So, I said I wanted out.

  I run a hand through my hair, pulling my wavy tresses over one shoulder as I sit back down in the chair next to him.

  “You used to play with your hair when you wanted my attention.”

  “Excuse me?” I look up at him.

  “When you were anxious and needed me, you’d twist your hair around your finger, or run your hands through it.” He gives me a sad smile. “I assume it doesn’t quite mean the same now.”

  “No, it does not.” Although, I didn’t have a whole lot of control over when I fussed with my hair. It was a subconscious tick I did when I was nervous or bored or…flirting.

  Fuck.

  I can’t wrap my brain around what’s happening. I drop my fingers from my hair and fold them in my lap.

  Things are awkward at best between us and I’m straddling the line of feeling bad and annoyed over the fact that he doesn’t remember.

  He’s the old Bennett, but I’m not the old Olivia.

  He’d broken her in the wake of his betrayal and I had no intention of being her ever again. I wanted to love again. I wanted to move on, and I couldn’t if I let Bennett suck me back in again, no matter the circumstances.

  I had to be strong.

  My thoughts are interrupted by Caroline floating into the room with a Starbucks cup in her hand. This is one of the nicer hospitals in New York, but it wasn’t one that had that particular coffee shop inside. “Did you… leave?” I ask.

  “You didn’t expect me to order a latte from here, did you?” She scrunches her nose. “There was a Starbucks just down the street. Unfortunately, I had to go get it myself.” She rolls her eyes.

  Never in a million years, did I expect her to ask if I wanted something, but I’m also shocked that she left the hospital while her son was getting an MRI. I know I’m doing a horrible job at hiding the judgment on my face, and it’s confirmed when I hear a chuckle from the bed.

  “Olivia’s right Mother, you couldn’t even bring me something?” He puts on his best pout and puts a hand over his chest dramatically.

  My eyes flash to his angrily. “I did not say that.”

  “Your face did.” He smirks at me.

  “Oh sweetheart, do you want something? Olivia, do you mind? I think it was starting to rain when I came in.”

  I flex my hand into a fist and shoot him a look, that thank
fully after all this time he still understands.

  Get rid of her.

  “Okay, Mom. Enough. I’m exhausted, I think I’m going to try and get some sleep. It’s been quite a fucking day.”

  “Of course, sweetheart.” She looks towards me. “Are you going to stay? Someone should stay with him, I think? I can—” she starts.

  “No.” Bennett interrupts. “Just go, I’ll be fine. You both can go. Wren’s here if I need anything.”

  “Hmmm.” Caroline presses a red nail to her lips and then her nose that I’m fairly certain doesn’t look quite the same as the last time I saw her. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.” My eyes trace over his face as he stares her down, and once again, I notice the bags underneath his eyes and how glazed his usually piercing green eyes look.

  “Okay, well get some sleep, darling.” She leans forward and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Olivia, I imagine I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  I fight the urge to curse my bad luck at the idea of spending yet another day in a confined space with Caroline Clarke. I go for sarcasm. “I guess.” I elongate the first word and smile at her, my body almost rejecting the function. I’ve heard of mother-in-laws from hell, but I honestly felt like nothing could compare to what I had to deal with.

  She gives me a fake smile and shoots me two air kisses before she’s gone, making me feel like I need a drink. I’m staring after her, my eyes narrowed into slits and my lips twisted into a snarl when I hear his voice again. “All this time and still nothing?”

  My head snaps towards him. “That woman hates me, Bennett. It was different when we were together; I still wanted her approval. I still wanted her to like me. I don’t give a fuck now. Now I might strangle her.”

  “She doesn’t hate you. She’s just…difficult.”

  Seriously? “Difficult? Bennett—”

  “Wrong word. Sorry.” He puts his hands up in defeat. “I don’t want to argue with you.” He lets out a sigh and his eyes flutter closed. “I am sorry about all this. You really can go, if you need to. I don’t expect you to stay here all night.”

  I look towards the uncomfortable chair. “I…I can stay until you fall asleep.” I pull my charger out of my purse and scan the room for an outlet. I spot one and plug my iPhone in, before setting it gently on the floor. It’s nearing 10 PM, and based on how tired I know he is, he’ll be out in no time.

  “Thank you,” I hear him whisper as soon as I sit down.

  “For what?”

  “Being here. Coming when they called you despite…what’s going on between us. Staying all day. I’m sure you had other things to do. I’m sorry if I fucked up your day.” His voice is sincere just as it always is when he apologizes. Especially when it came to me.

  I blink my eyes at him. “Not important.” I clear my throat, wanting to clarify. “I just mean… I wanted to make sure you were okay. That was more important.”

  He nods and looks to the space right next to me. “I think my stuff is in there. Do you mind grabbing my phone for me?”

  “Oh, right. Yes.” I reach for the clear plastic bag and pull it into my lap, searching for his phone amidst his clothes and personal items when my hand finds a thin chain. I’ve never known Bennett to wear any kind of jewelry so I frown when I tug on it to reveal a simple silver chain.

  “Is that mine? That can’t be…” He chuckles, probably thinking the same thing I am about the necklace when I reach the other end. I blink my eyes several times as a ring I’d know anywhere is attached.

  “It’s your ring.” I clear my throat, trying to remove the emotion as best I can as I realize that my soon to be ex-husband has been wearing his wedding ring on a chain around his neck for God knows how long.

  “I see,” he says quietly. “Where…where are yours?”

  “You have them.”

  “I do?”

  “Yes, I gave them back. It didn’t seem right for me to keep them…I mean…I know women usually do, but they just reminded me of you and us and…I was more hurt than angry by all of this. Keeping my rings and what…selling them for money? That wouldn’t have made me feel better.” I shake my head. “Besides they were too beautiful. I’d never be able to sell them or melt them into something else,” I ramble.

  He nods. “Are yours in there too?”

  I roll my eyes at the thought that he’d be that sentimental to carry my rings along with his and continue searching through the bag when I find his cellphone and his wallet, a black Louis Vuitton bi-fold I’d gotten him for his birthday three years ago.

  “Here’s your wallet. Do you want to make sure everything’s in there?” I hand him his phone and he shakes his head.

  “You’d probably know better than me. Do you have any idea what my passcode is?” For the longest time, it was our anniversary, but maybe he changed it in light of recent events. I shake my head, and he sighs before setting it to sleep. “Well, I guess I won’t be getting into my phone anytime soon.”

  With shaky hands I open his wallet, noting all of the credit cards. I had access to most of these still, and a few of them even had numbers that matched the ones in mine. I spot his license, a bit of cash, but other than that nothing out of the ordinary. I knew he used to keep an emergency credit card behind the rest, so I check to make sure it’s still there when I feel something else resting against it. Before I even pull it out, I know what it is, and my heart sinks feeling the familiar object against my fingertips. I pull it out slowly and stare at the black wrapper with the gold writing.

  “I don’t know the Bennett that keeps condoms in his wallet,” I whisper. I mean, I suppose at one point I may have known that man, but I’m fairly certain Bennett and I used condoms only twice before we had the talk and decided that we’d only be sleeping with each other and they weren’t needed.

  I can feel his eyes on me and when I look up his green irises are studying me. “It bothers you…”

  I clear my throat and shake my head, sliding the condom back into his wallet. “No. I mean, good for you for being…safe,” I respond weakly. “You’re sleeping with someone else, Bennett.” I brush it off, although the words slither up my spine and into my brain.

  It bothers you.

  He winces and hands me his phone and his fingers skate over mine in the process causing my skin to tingle in the wake of his fingertips. I fight the urge to catch a glimpse at his lock screen, briefly wondering if it’s still the same picture of him and me from years ago. Bennett was a creature of habit, and for the entirety of our relationship, it had been a picture from our first trip together. The picture had made it through two iPhones and a short lived affair with a Samsung before his most recent iPhone.

  Most New Yorker’s first trips together as a couple are to the Hampton’s or maybe Canada to Niagara Falls. But Bennett Clarke proved that he only knew how to do things big. Just two months after we’d been dating, Bennett and I hopped a 747 to Fiji and spent six straight days in carnal fucking bliss. The picture in question that had been his lock screen was one of the few brief moments we’d put on clothes. We’d gone to dinner and had someone take our picture right on the beach as the sun set behind us. I was gloriously sun kissed, slightly drunk—both literally and in love with the man next to me. He’d grabbed my ass and whispered I love you in my ear for the first time, just as the picture was taken.

  I’d gasped out of surprise and shock and lust all the while he had smiled at the camera like he hadn’t just sealed our fates.

  I slide his phone onto the adjacent table so that he can reach it if he wants to take another crack at his code before rummaging through the rest of the bag. “Anything else in there?” He cocks his head to the side and gestures towards the bag.

  I shake my head. “Just your clothes and your keys.” I blink my eyes several times as I just now remember he must have been driving. “Shit, where’s your car?” He gives me a look as if to say how the hell should I know? “Right, of course. But we should look into that. I’m kind of sur
prised you were driving.”

  “Do I not drive often?”

  “You live four blocks from work. Not usually,” I explain, “but maybe you were showing a house outside of the city.”

  “It’s infuriating,” he says after a few moments of silence. “Having to be told about my life. Having you tell me about things I can’t remember.” He’s staring straight ahead at the blank wall in his hospital room as he lets his eyes shut. “You want to know what I do remember? I remember you. You in a yellow dress. It hugged your curves like it was made just for your body. God, you always looked great in yellow. It made you fucking glow. It cinched at the waist and went out slightly and you had on black heels that tied around your ankles. You’d worn your hair up because it was hot as fuck out and just before you left the house, I’d laughed and told you that you looked like a bumblebee. You flipped me off and smiled before kissing me as if you’d never see me again. That’s how we always kissed, like it was somehow a promise of what was to come and also as if it was our last.”

  His eyes open and dart to mine, and I know I’m probably a mess, what with not breathing the entire time he spoke and now suddenly letting out the breath that I desperately needed in my lungs.

  “I…I remember that.”

  “That’s the last thing I remember.” He gives me a sad smile before reaching up behind him to shut off the light, leaving only the emergency lights on and giving the room an ashy glow. “I guess it was our last for me.”

  A hand stroking my shoulder gently pulls me out of sleep and the first thing I feel is a searing pain in my neck. My hand immediately goes to the space and I wince at the stiffness.

  “Why are you sleeping here in the first place?” I hear whispered in a high-pitched judgmental tone I’d know anywhere.

  I blink to see my best friend, Alyssa Hamilton, standing in front of me in pale blue scrubs under a tan Burberry peacoat. Her jet black hair is pulled into a bun at the top of her head, and her pale skin is free of makeup minus a few coats of mascara. She cocks an eyebrow at me and my eyes float to Bennett behind her who is still sleeping soundly.