Through Her Eyes

by Ava Harrison

  “That’s why you need to get away. All those dreams we had . . . Travel with me, Ari.” Parker turned me toward him. His eyes were bright, and a full smile covered his face. “Let’s finally do it. You don’t need to be this person. It’s time you be the Ari that Owen loved.” His words hung in the air, like a storm waiting to hit landfall.

  “Don’t bring Owen into this.” I shook my head. “I’m doing this for him.”

  “You’re not doing this for him.” He almost seemed offended. “You’re doing this for them.” He snarled at the mention of my parents. I wasn’t doing this for them. This was what I wanted. Wasn’t it?

  “You don’t know anything.” I wiped the tears from my face and moved back toward the bed. I had made my decision.

  “I might not know anything, but I know you don’t need to kill yourself for your parents’ approval. You’re not Owen. No matter what you do, you will never be him.” Parker paused, and I let his words seep deep inside me. “They might not see you, but I do, I see everything. Be the Ari we both loved.”

  “I don’t even know who that is. Who I ever wanted to be,” I sighed. I had no clue who I was anymore.

  “Don’t think about the past, then. Start from the here and now. Make the change. Everest always says to stay in the present, don’t live in the past. Be strong. Be you. Be you, Ari.” My anger rose. Of course he brought up Everest. Why couldn’t I just have one minute with Parker without Everest being present? What the hell did he know about me anyway?

  “Me? Who the hell is that, Parker? Who do you—or should I say—Everest—think I should be?”

  “Just be who you want.” His fingers ran through his blond hair, pulling as he found his words. “You can be so much more than what they want from you. Come with me,” he blurted, and his gaze softened as it met mine. “Aria, let’s finally do this. Let’s go see the world—together. Let’s find ourselves—together.” It was everything I wanted. Everything I always wanted to do with him.

  “I . . . I can’t.” I bowed my head. I can’t go with you.” I couldn’t think about a life with Parker at the moment. I had to make something of myself first. “I’m not ready, I—” He stepped forward. His hands caressed my cheeks, and soft fingers lifted my eyes to meet his. “I just don’t . . .” I stumbled over my words. My mind ran a mile a minute as my heart slammed against my chest. “I need to do this, I need—”

  “You don’t need those things. You don’t need their approval. They should love you unconditionally.”

  “What do you know? What have you ever had to do for your parents’ love? I have to show them. I have to be—”

  “Have to be what?”

  “I just have to be. I have to succeed. I can’t go off on some whim.”

  “Some whim? We made plans, Aria. We said we would do this.” His shoulders lifted, tensed. On an exhale, he continued. “You think your job will make them love you? It won’t. I love you. You hear me, Aria? I love you, and I want to be with you. I want you to come with me.”

  “You don’t love me, at least not like that.” My arms crossed protectively over my chest.

  “How the hell do you know what I feel?” His brows snapped together. My gaze lowered, and I eyed his Adam’s apple repeatedly bobbing as he tried to regulate his breathing.

  “How can you love me? All these years you treated me like a sister. All the girls, all these years you rejected me, Park.”

  “I know I did, and I’m sorry. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, Ari, and this whole time, the reason none of those girls mattered was because they weren’t you. None of them were you.”

  “You sure it wasn’t because you were out partying with Everest?”

  “What does Everest have to do with this?” Parker began to pace the room.

  “If you don’t know that answer, forget I mentioned it.” Everest had everything to do with it. Anytime I got closer to Parker, there was Everest dragging him off on another adventure. Another mountain that needed fucking climbing. He could show Parker the world but what did I have to show him? Nothing.

  Parker paused in his steps, glanced up at the ceiling, then back down. His brows knit together when his gaze met mine. “Do you love me, Aria?” His words ripped through me. “Do I mean anything to you? Does this mean anything to you?” His eyes pleaded, but I couldn’t find it in me to calm down. How could he do this to me today, when I finally let go of the idea of being with him? When I finally decided to move on. How could he do this to me when I was finally about to make something of myself?

  “Please tell me what you’re thinking, Aria.”

  I wanted to cry. I wanted to tell him the truth. I wanted to tell him I loved him. I wanted that so badly, but my wounded heart wouldn’t let me, and it angered me that he did this to me. That he put this fear there.

  “What am I thinking? God, how can you do this to me now? I’m trying to make something of myself. I can’t just leave. I’m sorry, but you can’t just show up and tell me you love me. How can I believe you after everything that’s happened? You say you love me, but you expect me to change. How is that love?”

  “I know I don’t deserve you after never admitting this. For making you feel like I never saw you, but I’ve always loved you. I’m so sorry I never told you before.”

  He loved me? He loved me! No, I couldn’t let myself believe that. I couldn’t be hurt again. “How could you love me? You rejected me.” My words trailed off as I remembered the near kiss, as I felt the memory of his refusal flood over me. As my heart shattered all over again from only the recollection.

  “At first I didn’t know what I wanted. I was too scared to take a chance, but how can I not? Not one day has gone by without me thinking of you. I think I’ve loved you since the day I met you. I love what you are. I love everything about you. I love your kindness. I love your smile. I love you, Aria. All of you. You’re all I ever think of. Look at me, please. Do you love me?” He exhaled, and his eyes searched mine. Looking for my answer.

  “I can’t. I don’t. You never chose me. It’s always been about—”

  “I’ve always loved you. This feeling has been embedded in my soul. Do you love me, Aria?”

  “I . . . It’s just—” I cover my face. I can’t look at him anymore. His eyes tear me apart.

  “Do you want to be with me?” he asked, and my heart stopped from the pain in his voice. From the pain I’d put there. I’d waited so long to hear those words, but now that they hovered over us I couldn’t. I couldn’t admit the words. Fear held me prisoner.

  “No, Parker. I don’t want to be with you,” I replied. My eyes remained closed. Even as the words left my mouth, I knew they were a lie.

  “Fine, I get it. Now you’re scared,” he exclaimed. My eyes popped open and bore into his. “Do. You. Love. Me?” His words echoed through the room. I didn’t just love him. It was so much more than that. So much more than love. He was my rock, my friend. He was the lifeline that ran through me. But I couldn’t take that chance. I couldn’t give up everything. I just couldn’t. So I lied.

  “No, I don’t love you.”

  I had never felt so helpless.

  I’d destroyed him.

  There was nothing I could say to fix this.

  The look in his eyes would haunt me forever. “Park . . . ”

  “Oh sweetie,” The old woman sitting beside me says to every hateful word I utter. Every lie I spew. Her eyes meet mine with sympathy and understanding. But she doesn’t see. She doesn’t understand that I can never take it back. This is all my fault. Everything is my fault. Everyone leaves me. No one ever stays. “He knows you didn’t mean it. You were hurt, confused. You lashed out. He will forgive you, but you also need to forgive yourself. You made a bad choice, and you can live with the regret for the rest of your life or you can forgive yourself and do something about it.

  “Of course you will make mistakes. But what I’ve learned through my years is that no matter what mistake you make, you can’t change your past, but y
ou can change your present. Accept yourself, faults and all, and move forward. Forgive yourself, because I’m sure he already has.”

  My tears fall, misting my cheeks. If she only knew. There’s no forgiveness for me. There’s no end to this torment. That night everything changed. Everything was taken from me, and nothing I’ll ever do or say will take back what happened.

  I’m not sure how I make it off the plane. I’m not sure how I find the man standing by the baggage claim. I’m not even sure how I find myself in my apartment, washing off the past twenty-four hours. Nothing is clear. I’m lost. I’m alone. That’s all I know.

  THE SPACE IS VACANT of any warmth, cold and sterile. I see him from across the room, and I step closer. His eyes are closed. He doesn’t open them. My heart pounds in my chest. The reality of the situation I’ve been running from crashes into me. Suffocates me. Drowns me.

  There will be no talks of traveling, no pinning locations on an old tattered map. No crooked smile that lights up my day.

  There he is, my once forever, but forever is no longer.

  He won’t be mine. He will never be mine. The world from here on out will never be the same. I reach out and take his hand. “Please don’t go. I’m afraid of my life without you.”

  But he doesn’t speak.

  “Can you hear me?” I whisper.

  The voices around me break into my subconscious, but I can barely hear their words. My time is limited. They will want to see him soon.

  “I miss you. I miss everything. I miss your voice. Your smell. I thought I could do this but I can’t. I can’t do this without you. I . . . I can’t.” Tears prick at my eyes and then proceed to pour down my cheek. “Every day that I was gone, I missed you more and more. But I’m here now, I’m with you.”

  He’s not my Parker.

  He’s a shell that no longer holds his spirit.

  He’s broken bones.

  And breathing only through a machine.

  He’s not my best friend.

  My best friend left me forty-one days ago.

  Hours had passed. Countless minutes since Parker had stormed out of my apartment after our fight. I held my phone in my hands and dialed, hung up and redialed Parker’s number so many times I lost track. What would I even say? He would never understand, that much was obvious. He loves me? That’s what he said. I loved him, too, but didn’t dare utter the words. How could I? How could I trust what he would do with my love? For all of these years I longed to hear those words, but now they were tainted. Did he really love me? Why hadn’t he loved me before? Why had he rejected me before? I couldn’t stand the idea of opening myself up to him just for him to crush me again. No.

  I placed the phone down. I wouldn’t call him. This would pass. Parker would realize that he didn’t really love me. I would go on with my life as if the confession never happened.

  It’s funny the things you remember and the things you don’t. I remember the outfit I wore the night my life changed, but I don’t remember whether I ate dinner. I remember the way Parker’s eyes shone brighter when he smiled, but I don’t recall how his hand felt when he brushed away my tears. I wish I remembered it. I wish I had memories of everything.

  I pulled a white camisole and a pair of white and black polka dot shorts from my drawer and laid them beside a plaid pleated skirt and black summer cashmere T-shirt. As I was placing a long pearl-knotted necklace on top of the outfit to complete tomorrow’s ensemble, the house phone began to ring.

  It was odd for the house phone to ring that time of night. So odd, as only a handful of people knew that number, and it was past ten p.m.

  I remember the sound of my feet hitting the wood floors, but I don’t remember the feel of the phone cradled in my hand as my world was crushed. I remember the sensation of my chest constricting. The painful dizzying of my pulse accelerating to the point of pain. Most of all I remember . . .

  One phrase.

  Three simple words.

  A moment that would change everything.

  “Parker needs you.”

  I arrived at the hospital after the phone call and I was shocked by the sight that awaited me. I’d expected to walk into the waiting room and be told there was a giant mistake. Parker would come walking out the side door, pull me into a hug, and apologize for scaring the shit out of me. I would laugh through my tears and apologize for being such a brat earlier that morning. He would hold me close, our hearts would beat in tandem, and he would say, “No need to say anything, baby girl. I know how you feel about me. And I love you, too.” That’s how my night was supposed to go down. But instead, none of that happened.

  When I walked inside the waiting room, I was met with both silence and loud violent sobs. Mr. Stone paced the waiting room, his hands running frantically through his gray hair. Mrs. Stone wept in a metal-framed chair with red polyester upholstery. I sat in an empty one adjacent to hers, placed my hand on her back, and let out another wave of tears.

  The lady sitting on my other side was talking non-stop into her phone, arguing about something of no relevance. I wanted to yell at her, but instead I stayed silent and allowed her words to echo through the small space we occupied. She looked up into my dead-feeling eyes. I was barren. My walls were up. Protecting. She shrugged and returned to her mundane existence.

  I gathered my legs into my chest and cocooned myself. Waiting. An array of visitors stopped by. We met cries and frantic questions and prayers to God. Screams came next. Doctors rocketed in and out. They passed like a blustery day. I couldn’t even lift my eyes to meet their gaze. I didn’t even hear them. All I heard was the buzzing sound of fluorescent lights above. All I saw was the flickering causing my eyes to cringe.

  Flick

  Flick

  Flick

  It was an out of body experience.

  Waiting, watching . . . nothing.

  Then after hours, a tall man wearing rumpled scrubs stepped into the room, and we all went erect as he approached Parker’s parents. Mr. Stone held his wife up. He was trying to give her strength, to protect her from the reality we all knew was coming. Her body began to shake as the doctor started talking. Falling to the ground, she broke. I watched as Parker’s father lifted her into his arms, and I then I saw her face, and I broke. She was vacant. Her eyes robbed of all life. She was dead inside.

  “What did he say?” I asked, but I didn’t recognize my own voice. It was as if someone had jumped inside me and was taking over my basic impulses. Mrs. Stone couldn’t speak. She opened her mouth, but it merely trembled. Mr. Stone spoke instead, cradling her to his chest as he gently stroked her hair.

  “Parker’s injuries are extensive. They don’t know if he’ll make it.”

  Police came to speak to us. Words like ‘over the legal limit’ were thrown out, and I knew. I knew at that very moment that this was all my fault. I had killed my brother and now my best friend was fighting for his life because of me.

  As the days passed, I sat by his bedside. My head rested on the hard mattress as the doctors spoke with his parents.

  “Parker, suffered from a traumatic brain injury. He has a subarachnoid hemorrhage. He’s currently in a medically induced coma, until we can perform an EEG.” A screaming sob broke out from Mrs. Stone’s mouth as her body fell into her husbands for support. It was a primal sound that made my body feel like it was being shredded from the inside out. Mr. Stone held her tightly his own tears cascading down his cheeks.

  “When?” he choked out.

  “Tomorrow,” the doctor replied and I gasped for air. Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow. The words continued to echo throughout the day and well into the night until the time had finally come and all we could do was wait and hope and . . . pray. As the results came in, all my hopes and prayers were extinguished.

  No brain function. But we demanded a second opinion . . . and then a third.

  All tests reconfirming the original prognosis . . .

  No brain activity.

  “Oh God . . . What do
we do?” Mr. Stone cried out and the doctor stepped toward him, compassion in his eyes.

  “This is ultimately your decision if you would like to keep him on the ventilator, but you need to understand according to the menial standards we live by, he’s dead. There is no hope of recovery.” Parker’s body was here, but he was a vacant shell of what he once was. He would never recover. My heart screamed, that was Parker, my Parker. Not a lifeless body in a bed. It was Parker! But he would not breathe—nor open his eyes—on his own again.

  “I won’t kill my baby,” Parker’s mother collapsed onto the floor, her husband beside her.

  My chest tightens at the memory. Parker went to a bar after our altercation and, according to witnesses, drank multiple shots, had a few beers, and left. He walked out the door saying he was going to grab a cab back to his place. No one knew why he decided to go back to his parents’ house in Westchester that night, instead of grabbing a cab like he said he would. The questions poured in. Why was he coming home? Why was he drinking? But I knew the answer. It was all because of me.

  He went out because of me. He grabbed his car to escape because of me . . . and then never made it. He hadn’t even made it out of the city before colliding straight into a pole. Head on collision.

  Sadness engulfs me as I remember that night. My breathing shallows. Everything is fuzzy. I feel dizzy. My hand reaches out toward him. To touch him. I fear I’ll pass out from the racing of my heart. It hammers to the point of pain as my small hand makes contact with the soft curve of his jaw.

  Even if he’s lying here, I know he died the moment he walked out my door. And although I didn’t put the bottle to his mouth, and even though I didn’t put him behind the wheel and didn’t make him wrap his car around a street pole, I was guilty of his death.

  The sound of the machine breathing for him echoes in my ears. It drums like a freight train. The sound of life . . . the sound of death. An involuntary sob tears through my chest. Perhaps if I scream, the anguish inside me will subside, but I have no energy, and it still won’t change that my best friend is dying.