Remember Me Forever (Lovely Vicious Book 3)

by Sara Wolf

  “Isis!” Kayla sighs.

  “On accident!” I insist. “My mouth just does that go-fast thing, you know? I didn’t think about it and bam! A second later I called her Hemorrhoid out loud. Thanks, me.”

  “That’s a fairly bad name,” Wren says. “But it’s still no excuse to punch someone this hard. She must have something against you.”

  “Ugh, that girl is awful!” Kayla stomps her foot. “I knew it the second she walked into the coffee shop! I’m telling Jack about this so he can dump her ass—”

  “Don’t!” I stand. Wren eases me back down.

  “Relax,” he says. “We won’t.”

  “We won’t?” Kayla scoffs incredulously. He turns to her.

  “This is between them, Kayla. Not us.”

  “But—”

  “Who is this Jack guy, anyway?” Kieran asks. Kayla inhales, ready to spill everything.

  “He’s Isis’s—”

  “He’s no one,” I say quickly. “Kayla, please, just give me my keys, and let’s go back to the dorms.”

  “But what about—”

  Wren puts an arm gently around her shoulders. “It might be better to get Isis somewhere quieter, don’t you think?”

  Kayla very plainly fights the urge to say more, practically wiggling under his arm. Finally she exhales and hands the keys to him. Wren flashes me a smile.

  “We’ll wait over there. It was nice meeting you, Kieran.”

  “Same to you.” Kieran nods, a grumpy Kayla saying nothing as Wren leads her away. I turn to Kieran.

  “Sorry you had to see all that,” I say. “You should go back in and try to have some fun.”

  “Can’t.” He smirks. “Not while you’re not there.”

  “Try anyway, smooth.”

  “Take care of that cheek, will you?”

  “The next time you see me, I’ll be growing a third arm from it.”

  “Fantastic.” He laughs as he walks back toward the party. I wave.

  The ride home is silent, Wren doing his best to get Kayla to stop pouting. He’s the only person I know to stick that mission out for more than ten minutes. Once Kayla’s in pout mode, she’s there until she’s fallen asleep. Wren and I both know she’ll wake up much happier, but for now we suffer her beautiful mug glaring at us with nary a complaint. When we get back to my dorm, Kayla makes an excuse about the bathroom, and Wren and I wait outside by her car.

  “She’ll get over it,” Wren says as we watch Kayla walk away.

  “I know she will. But I won’t.”

  Wren chuckles. “First time being on the receiving end, huh?”

  I cup my cheek gingerly. “The core of all disputes can be resolved without violence.”

  Wren quirks a brow at me.

  “Fighting is wrong?” I try. “Hate can’t drive out love. Um. Hold on, I learned like seven different famous quotes last week and they’re all mashed up right now, like some awful deep house DJ who also happens to be into protest literature lost total control of his life in my brain.”

  We enjoy the silence for a moment. Well, for as long as one can enjoy something while suffering a broken face, anyway.

  “Your face isn’t broken,” Wren insists without taking his eyes from the starry sky.

  “Build me a castle and give me a rose—I’m a beast.”

  “Build your own castle.”

  “I’m trying!” I throw my hands up, then instantly get tired of doing that. “I’m trying.”

  “We did miss you,” Wren says. “At the party. We thought you forgot about us.”

  “I just—” I flinch. “I didn’t forget. I’d never forget. It was just more like I didn’t want to remember.”

  “Remember what?”

  I tilt my head this way and that and mouth words I can’t say. Wren makes an “oh” face.

  “I brought up Jack. Right,” he muses. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think he was a sensitive topic.”

  “He’s always been a sensitive topic,” I scoff, and Wren laughs, his eyes crinkly behind his glasses.

  “That’s true. But in a different way from Nameless, right?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Wren shrugs. “It just seems like…he’s not on the same level, right? He hasn’t done anything too bad, other than date that Steroid.”

  “Hemorrhoid,” I correct. “And I’m going to be using her real name from now on, which is”—I think hard—“Mildred.”

  Wren and I share a look and bust out laughing.

  “Of course.” I calm down mildly. “Of course he’s not as bad as Nameless. It’s just the only way I know how to put something behind me, you know? Not say it. Not think about it.”

  “I used to do that, too,” Wren agrees softly. “If I worked hard enough at school, I thought I could put the loneliness behind me. The loneliness from losing Jack as a best friend, and Avery and Sophia. All of them were gone from my life after what happened in middle school that summer. My mom and dad were never home, either. And when they were, all they seemed to care about was my report card. And that would just make me try harder. My life was keeping busy so I didn’t have to think about things honestly and seriously.”

  “What changed?” I ask.

  Wren smiles. “I met you. Sophia gave me that math badge from when we were kids. Kayla kissed me for the first time. Slowly, I started to learn what it meant to slow down. To stop being busy and just enjoy the moment. Those are my most important memories now. They’re burned in my mind forever. Maybe they always will be. I hope so, at least.”

  He’s so honest. He always has been. More honest than I’ll ever be. What are my most important memories? My brain flashes with images and scents and feelings just below the surface: eating at the Red Fern with Kayla before we left for college, laughing and trying to be so brave; Sophia hugging me and thanking me for bringing Tallie back to her, her hair soft; Jack’s smell, mint and honey and sleep, and his ice eyes opening groggily, beautifully, in the bed at that hotel and smiling when he saw me.

  I can’t run away from them. They’ll always be here, with me, inside me, making me who I am.

  This time, Wren puts his head on my shoulder.

  “No matter what happens between you and Jack, or you and me, or me and you and Kayla,” he says, “we’re here, right now, together. We could be anywhere else, anytime else, on any other planet in the universe, but we’re right here. If anything at all had changed in our lives, we might not know one another. But we do. And sometimes I can’t help but think that’s a miracle. It’s a miracle I know you. It’s a miracle I’m alive at all.”

  He smiles at me, brighter than the moon.

  “I guess what I’m trying to say is…thank you, Isis.”

  “For what?” I feel my throat tighten, my eyes watering.

  “For being my friend. For being born. For being right here, right now.”

  Wren isn’t Jack—he doesn’t let me cry quietly. He puts his arm around my shoulders, and he asks what’s wrong, over and over, until I manage words through the tears.

  “T-Thank you, too, you big idiot.”

  Kayla sees me crying and jogs over, her pout gone as she demands to know what’s wrong, if my cheek hurts, if she should drive back right now and punch that girl in the esophagus, if a piece of gum might help. We bandage my cheek together with a first-aid kit, Kayla reveling in telling the story to an outraged Yvette. Ever worried, Kayla insists she and Wren stay for the night, and Yvette pulls her mattress down, and I pull mine, and all four of us lay sideways under a pile of blankets, our toes dangling and our words hanging as we interrupt one another, make jokes over one another, finish one another’s sentences.

  One by one, we fall asleep. I’m the last one awake. I watch the dawn light peek through the blinds, over the soft planes of our blankets and skins, and try to make a memory of it.

  Chapter Ten

  3 Years, 51 Weeks, 2 Days

  I cry profusely for approximately two decades after Kayla and Wren leave. And
then I get over it. People are way too dramatic all the time.

  Just look at Hollywood—there’s drama around every corner. And kale. Hollywood really loves kale. And like, babies. God forbid science ever makes a baby out of kale within five hundred miles of Los Angeles, because then it will be war, with Gucci guns and heavily armed limo drivers and I would put all my betting money on Vin Diesel and the Rock, who would obviously team up and become the ultimate kale-baby rescue team, with me as their outfit coordinator–slash–witty sidekick.

  “Isis, I feel the need to inform you that you’re being weird out loud again,” Diana says, picking a daisy and putting it in my hair.

  “Having friends who love you for who you are must be so cool,” I muse. Diana laughs and picks another daisy, weaving together a chain.

  “I’m just glad you’re talking to yourself again. You seemed kind of down the last few weeks. Even Yvette noticed it.”

  “No.” I act shocked. “Our very own blockheaded, emotionally stunted Goth grump? Noticing how I feel? Preposterous.”

  “You haven’t been eating a lot.”

  “Debatable. Some very enlightened yoginis consider air food.”

  “You stay up all night.”

  “Studying! For midterms!” I protest. “Unlike you, some of us have to prepare to get our asses kicked.”

  “And you’ve been hanging around with—” Diana frowns. “Well, with people who don’t really seem your type.”

  “Oh pishposh.” I wave. “Heather’s a perfectly nice girl. Except for the part where she started a fight for me.”

  She stares at me expectantly. I throw my hands up.

  “Fine, and the guys! John, and Tyler, and Kieran, and Erik! They’re all nice guys! And it’s just hanging out!”

  Diana frowns. “I just thought…what happened to that guy Yvette told me about? Model McFarter or something. The one we saw you talking with at the concert?”

  “Who?” I ask airily, inspecting my fingernails.

  “You know who.” She glowers. “Dark blond, really neat blue eyes, tall. Made you laugh.”

  “I had a flu in my throat,” I correct. “That was coughing, not laughing. Remind me to never take you to a comedy club.”

  Diana sighs and puts the finished daisy crown on my head. “We’re just worried, that’s all. I mean, if you like going to the frat parties every night, be my guest. More power to you, girl. But…”

  I smile and slap her back. “It’s nice of you to be worried about me. But look at me! I’m a big girl. I’m huge. I can take care of myself.”

  Diana knits her pretty lips together, but before she can say anything Yvette comes up from behind her and pounces, wrapping her arms around Diana’s shoulders.

  “Surprise, motherfuckers!” Yvette crows, then looks around to make sure no one is watching before pecking Diana on the cheek. “Hi, sweet thing.”

  Diana flushes. “Hey, you.”

  I keel over in the grass. Yvette sniffs under her armpits.

  “I don’t smell that bad, do I?”

  “I’m dead,” I rasp hoarsely. “From the cuteness.”

  Yvette goes red. “Shut up! You wouldn’t know cute if it bit you on the ass!”

  “It’s true.” I laugh. “I’m not all that cute!”

  Diana frowns. “You are plenty cute.”

  “Well.” I fluff my hair. “We’ll let the ladies and gentlemen at the Phi Omega house tonight decide that.”

  “You’re going to another party?” Yvette sighs. “Shit. Remember to be safe.”

  “Remember to eat my ass.” I pause thoughtfully. “I take that back. I’m not into that. I don’t even actually know what I’m into yet! But I’m pretty sure eating poop is not one of the things I will be into in the foreseeable future.” I see Yvette glaring and throw my hands up. “Okay! Okay. I’ll be safe. I promise.”

  Hanging with Yvette and Diana is fun, but there always comes a part where they stare into each other’s eyes a little too long or their fingers lace together too tightly, and I instinctively know I should leave. So I make a little excuse about getting ready for the party and wave as I head for my dorm. They are obviously in love. Even Yvette’s paranoia at being found out doesn’t stop them from being publicly and purely in love. Diana seems less paranoid, but is careful just for Yvette’s sake. It’s cute and a little gag-worthy, but most of all, painful. Every second I watch them touch is a second the darkness drills into my head further. No one will ever look at me like that. No one will feel that deeply for me. No one will treat me that tenderly. No one will ever love me like that.

  Ugly.

  Ugly, ugly, ugly.

  Not even Jack.

  Not even the boy who got the closest, the furthest through my bitter shell. Not even the boy who stood in the doorway of my heart could bring himself to take that last step.

  Something made him turn back. Something in me. Something wrong within me. And I’ll never know what it is, because I can never ask him. I don’t even see him often anymore. I catch glimpses of his face in the hall, but that’s all I permit myself to look at, and only for mere seconds. The rumor about Hem—uh, Mildred—and me “fighting over him” circled through campus like a hungry vulture over a corpse. People I don’t even know whisper about it sometimes! Isis Blake caught fighting over a boy? It’s shameful. I want to crawl inside myself forever. I pray to God Jack didn’t hear about it, but knowing what blabbermouths were at the party, he definitely did. So I can only look at him for seconds. Anything else is dangerous. Anything longer would mean a closet, and quiet, and tears, and more darkness, more holes I tear in myself so the darkness can crawl inside and live there like it always has.

  My mirror makes me look a little taller. It also makes me look like I’m about to cry, and I really don’t need that again. It’s only been a few days, but my bruise from the fight has all but faded. I put a smile on instead and rummage through my closet. I pick a black skirt and long black socks. My fingers glance over the pink blouse, and I pull back like it’s lava.

  The memories are the worst part and the best part, all at once.

  Jack’s smile, his voice saying I was beautiful, the way he wrapped his arms around me in his bed, his breath on my neck. His smell, mint and honey. His rare, sonorous laughter. Our conversations, our fights, the way his hand grabbed mine under the fountain water for the last time—

  I swallow nausea and bury the blouse under a hoodie. I pull on a red shirt instead, and brush out my hair.

  He came so close.

  But in the end, he ran away. Like they all do.

  I pucker my lips, applying pink gloss. It’s my fault, really. I was stupid for thinking Jack was different from any other guy in the world. They want things that are easy. They want girls who are cute and fun and experienced. None of this angry, bitter, sarcastic, virginal nonsense. Who I used to be was just too much work for Jack—for anyone! I don’t blame him at all for turning tail. I certainly wouldn’t want to be faced with the daunting task of loving someone that difficult.

  I check my eyeliner one last time, ignore the fact that my foundation doesn’t cover my dark eye bags entirely, and make sure no tags are sticking out anywhere. I grab my phone and stuff a twenty down my bra just in case I need to bribe someone.

  My phone vibrates, and before I take it out I wish it’s a text message from a certain icy someone.

  But it’s Mom. Calling. I brace myself.

  “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”

  “Hi, sweetie. How are you?”

  “I’m…” I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I’m a bruised skeleton with a bit of meat on her. “I’m fine. How are you doing? How’s work?”

  “It’s just fine! I mean, it’s been slow, but I’ve been going every day. Dr. Torrand gave me these wonderful pills, and they’re doing just the trick. I’m sleeping like a baby again.”

  Relief loosens some knot twisted up deep inside me.

  “That’s…that’s really great. I’m so glad.”


  “What’s wrong, sweetie? You don’t sound too good yourself.”

  “I’m just glad, that’s all. For a while there I thought—” I thought you hated me. “I thought you would get worse. But it’s good. Sleeping is good. Sleeping is the best thing, really.”

  “It is. I’m about to do that right now, actually.”

  “Did you eat dinner?” I ask.

  “Lasagna.” She chuckles. “Although it was nowhere as good as Jack’s. I do miss that boy. Whatever happened between you two?”

  I gnaw the inside of my mouth, a little hurt to distract from the big hurt threatening to swallow me whole.

  “He’s dating someone else,” I force out.

  “Oh, that’s too bad. He was quite the catch, but there are always better fish in the sea, sweetie, and you deserve only the best. Sweet dreams, you. Don’t stay up too late studying.”

  “I won’t. I love you,” I say.

  “Love you, too.”

  I ditch my car to walk instead—the night is too cool and pretty to be stuck in a tin box. Mom is actually wrong—I don’t deserve the best fish. I deserve whichever one will put up with my bullshit the longest. Fish that actually understand and accept and care for me won’t look twice at someone so fucked up. Jack taught me that.

  I hope he’s happy with Mildred, at least a little. Wren reminded me that it’s okay. It’s okay if he isn’t with me, as long as he’s happy and alive. That’s all I wanted earlier this year—I burned to know he was okay, at least. And he is.

  That’s all I can ask for.

  The Phi Omega house is a few blocks from campus. It’s a big blue multilevel house, old as dirt and probably full of history. And corpses. Hopefully both. The music is already booming across the toilet-paper-strewn lawn. I knock, and a familiar boy with dark hair and green eyes grins down at me.

  “Isis! There’s my girl!”

  “Kieran!” I squeal, and punch him in the gut in our customary greeting. He doubles over in mock-pain, and when he lifts his head I peck him on the cheek. “Where’s the booze?”