I can’t stand her not being here. I see her face in my mind, her sweet blue eyes that used to light up whenever she saw me, her tiny nose and pierced lip and blonde, blonde hair streaked with every colour of the rainbow.
It feels like I’ve lost my mind.
I don’t know how much time passes. My fingers search the bedside table for my pills. There should be ten, maybe twelve left. I touch the cool metal of the bracelet I like to keep close as a reminder. I grab it and tuck it in my pocket, before slipping another pill into my mouth. I close my eyes and wait for my mind to stop racing. But the memories are waiting.
I STARTED WAITING TABLES to save up enough cash for a car. It wasn’t the coolest job to have in high school, but money’s money, and I had no friends to judge me for it anyway.
One night a family of six walked in and changed my life. Three guys, a really pretty blonde and two older people I assumed were the parents. The girl was cute; all blue eyes and out-of-control hair. She chewed on strands of her hair while she read through the menu. I had to psych myself up before I walked over.
“Good evening, folks. My name is Damian and I will be your waiter for this evening. Can I get you something to drink?”
Our eyes met for a second and we shared a secret grin, as if she knew that I knew that this was the last place on earth she wanted to be. I have no idea what came over me but I winked at the girl before returning my attention to her mother. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a blush blossom on her cheeks.
“It was my daughter’s birthday over the weekend, so tonight has to be extra special,” her mother said in warning. She was a classy lady in matching beige. The steakhouse seemed a really odd choice.
“I’ll make sure she gets the star treatment.”
I kept my word. I added tiny little extras throughout the meal, like a black straw in her drink when everyone else got the boring see-through kind, gherkins cut out in the shape of stars surrounding her burger, and let’s not forget the sparkler in the brownie. I also spared her the embarrassment of being sung to by the other waiters. My efforts earned me a bright smile, so I knew I was doing something right. Her family, all of them, didn’t notice a thing.
While I was ringing up their bill at the counter, I found myself staring into her big blue eyes.
“Hey there, Birthday Girl.”
“Hey. I uh, just wanted to say thanks for the extra stuff, you know, the straw and everything.”
She twirled a strand of hair around her finger in fast forward. I imagine that she was feeling incredibly shy, making conversation with a random stranger. I hoped she felt the same spark.
“I know what it feels like when no one makes a fuss about your birthday.”
“What makes you think no one made a fuss?”
“Well, you didn’t look stoked when you came in.”
“I guess not, but it’s hard to find places that’ll feed my three constantly hungry brothers on a budget. Monday-night burger specials have saved our lives.”
My eyebrows rose at the mention of brothers. I was hoping the guys at the table were family. I decided to make sure.
“I’m surprised your boyfriend didn’t have anything special planned for tonight.”
“I don’t have one,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Besides, my friends threw me a party on the weekend. It was great.”
The tiniest smile flickered at the corners of her mouth.
“Then I won’t feel bad about asking for your number.”
What followed was one of my rare experiences of the awkward silence.
“Are you being serious or is this you playing the part of charming waiter, trying to make a girl feel special on her birthday?”
I grinned. “Well, at least you think I’m charming. Would you mind if I asked your name?”
“It’s Demi, like the actress. Now answer the question.”
I was acting a lot braver than I felt, but my mind was flying off the adrenalin from talking to this girl.
“I like you,” I said as I wiped the sweat from my brow. This girl was making me nervous. “You’re not like most of the girls who come in here to flirt with me, hoping I’ll serve them beer. You’re real.”
“Lucky for you I hate beer, then.”
“Feisty. I like that.”
She turned to see if her parents were watching. I panicked.
“You still haven’t given me your number.”
She smiled at me and plucked a pen from my top pocket.
She wrote her number on one of the branded serviettes. She even drew a little heart at the end.
Demi wasn’t my first girlfriend, but she was the only one who mattered. She got me. The little firecracker with the childish giggle and the punk-girl fashion sense managed to get under my full-of-shit skin. The funny thing is, I never even looked at girls like her before: the outgoing kind. She changed me. I stopped being a wallflower at parties, stopped pretending that I was better than anyone else because I didn’t follow the crowd.
She was the only girl I ever said “I love you” to. I said it before she did, and that was entirely her doing too. There was urgency inside me to prove that I cared, that I wanted to be with her and no one else, that she was mine and I was hers and that what we had would outlast everyone else who’s ever been in love.
I PUSH at my temples until the memory disappears, my eyes burn with fatigue. I want to sleep. It feels like I’ve been awake for days. My body rocks back and forth. Crazy Damian! That’s what they all think. I saw the look of pity on her friends’ faces at the funeral.
One of Demi’s friends, I think her name is Ashley or something, was the worst. She stared at me during the whole ceremony, shock all over her face. She didn’t even come and offer her condolences like V and Siya did, but hurried off before anyone could speak to her. Why do I care anyway? None of them meant it, not even Siya’s offer to hang out sometime, whatever. It was all just talk.
I didn’t think I would ever see any of them again.
I LIE facing the wall when my door opens and Wolverine pads in. I hear him snuffling around the bed, feel his cold, wet nose in my back. I don’t have any energy to shout for him to get out. How long have I been in bed?
I turn over to see V standing in my doorway, her hands in her pockets like she doesn’t give a damn whether she’s there or not. She’s dressed in black, just like at the funeral. Her dark fringe hangs in her face like a veil. It strikes me that I’m lying half-naked in my bed, but yeah, I don’t give a damn either.
We don’t exchange greetings.
“I just thought I’d tell you that James is alive,” she says. Her voice is cold and even, and her face is emotionless.
The words pound around my head and my fists grab a handful of duvet.
“What do you mean, he’s alive?”
Did her lip just curl into a sneer? I thought it did, but when I look again, her face is blank.
“He’s going to be fine. They say he’s going to be out of the hospital in a day or two.”
My heart starts pumping heart-attack fast. “You visited him?”
“No. The nurse called me after they found him on the train tracks. My number came up the most on his phone, so they assumed we were close. They wanted