I push through the crowds of people like I’m on autopilot. My blood is pounding in my ears. I feel like I’m in a dream. Or maybe a nightmare. It has to be a nightmare, right? This can’t be real. It can’t be.
How the Hell could I forget what day it is?
Faces turn towards me as I cross the wedding hall and make my way to the exit. There’s a painted wooden sign set up on an easel by the doorway, greeting all the guests as they come in. I stare at it, the letters blurring.
Congratulations!
Rob and Amy Tran
April 5th
How could I forget? The date’s literally everywhere, for God’s sake. It was on the invites. It’s on the signs. It was on the receipt when we booked into the hotel, but I didn’t notice. How? How is that possible?
I know how. Layla.
I’ve spent the last couple of weeks in a Layla-induced haze. She’s filling my brain. Nothing seems to matter when I’m with her. I’ve been so caught up in her, I’ve forgotten the one person who used to matter to me most.
I stride through the hotel lobby. There’s a cluster of people hanging around near the main entrance, clutching their suitcase handles as they wait to check in, so I cast around until I spot the personnel exit, half-hidden behind the lifts. Ignoring the No Entry sign, I push through the white door, stepping out into a small private car park. It’s almost deserted; one of the caterers is leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette. He looks at me cautiously as I practically fall out of the door, panting.
“Christ. You alright, mate?” He blinks. “Uh. I mean. You’re not meant to use that entrance, sir. Do you need directions?”
I open my jacket. “I’ll give you a hundred quid to piss off.”
He stubs out his cig. “Alright, then.”
I grab my wallet, yank out a handful of bills, and shove them at him.
“Thanks!” He pockets them and disappears, the door slamming shut behind him. The sound echoes through the car park.
I slump down onto the stone steps and look up at the sky. Somehow, the afternoon has slipped into evening without me noticing; the bright blue sky is starting to darken at the edges, and I can see a sprinkling of stars directly above me. I take a deep breath, forcing the cool spring air into my lungs, but my chest feels too tight.
April 5th. It’s April 5th. The anniversary of Emily’s death. I’ve never forgotten before.
Every single year since the day she died, I’ve gone to visit her. I’ve brought her flowers and sat with her and talked to her. I know nobody else will do it; all of her other friends have forgotten her, and her mum didn’t even go to her funeral, for God’s sake. The woman started downing a bottle of vodka a day as soon as Em got her diagnosis, and she didn’t stop until it was over. She’s probably at home right now, a couple of bottles in.
I hated her for that. I hated her for choosing to forget her daughter. She should have been there for her, but instead, I was the one skipping class to sit next to Emily’s bed, holding her hair back as she threw up, trying to make her laugh. Soaking in every last second I could spend with her.
A memory blooms in front of my eyes. Emily, lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by beeping machines and plastic tubes. I was sitting next to her, clutching her hand. I knew she wasn’t going to make it through the night. She was already half-gone.
“Don’t leave me,” she murmured. “You’re the only person who cares about me. Don’t leave me alone.” Her eyes were so full of terror I wanted to scream.
The memory used to be as clear as a movie scene, but now it’s watery and blurry. I can’t remember the curve of her cheek, the slant of her eyebrows. I can’t picture the exact shade of her hair. It’s all disappearing. I bunch my hands into fists, breathing hard.
I don’t know how this happened. I promised Em that I wouldn’t forget her, but she’s slowly slipped away from me. It’s only been twelve years, for God’s sake. Twelve years, and I’ve already forgotten the girl I said was the love of my life.
I pull out my phone, checking the time. I’m too late. The graveyard closed an hour ago. I squeeze my eyes shut as a wave of grief rolls over me.
Nobody will have been to see her today. She’s been completely alone for over a year. It only took a decade for everyone to stop noticing that she’s gone.
What am I doing, drinking and dancing and kissing pretty girls on the day she died? What the Hell is wrong with me? I slam my phone down onto the steps and put my head in my hands. Rain starts to fall, soaking into my expensive suit.
I’ve let myself get in way too deep with Layla. It needs to stop.
I can’t do this anymore.
