Until We Are Gone

by Gia Riley

  Smiling, I tell her, “Okay. I’ll use the bathroom and change. Are you sure you don’t want to borrow one of my shirts?”

  She fidgets on the couch and folds her arms a little tighter over her chest. “Maybe a long-sleeved shirt might be nice. If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  Handing her a henley from the closet, one I know she’s had on her body before, I wait to see if she recognizes the fabric. Maybe it’s pathetic, but after I found out she was being treated here, I tried to surround her with as many things from our relationship as I could. Sometimes, the smallest of details can be a game changer.

  Meadow holds the shirt in her hands and says, “It smells like you.”

  I can’t tell you what it does to my brain when she slips it over her head and inhales. The fact that she has a piece of me touching her … well, I’ve never been so jealous of cotton.

  The entire time I’m in the bathroom, changing my own clothes, all I can think about is stripping that shirt off of her like I’m unwrapping a package on Christmas morning.

  Once she was naked, I’d bite each of her nipples with just enough force to make her squirm. She always loved when I did that. And then, once she was good and worked up, I’d push inside her and finish her off.

  Fuck, the rest of this night is going to be painful.

  twenty-two

  MEADOW

  Nolan’s shirt smells so good. I sniff it a few more times while he’s in the bathroom. Imagining him stripping off his suit, revealing every inch of his tan skin, almost has me moaning. If I had any guts at all, I’d open the door and tell him not to bother getting dressed.

  My body’s still tingling so bad from the way he called me gorgeous that, when he comes out, wearing a pair of jeans and a shirt similar to the one he gave me, my breath gets caught in my throat. I appreciate a well-dressed man, and everything about Nolan’s style is my taste.

  His sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, and the little veins on his forearms are accentuated. There’s even some ink peeking out.

  As he walks by me and sits down, I lean over without thinking, grabbing his arm for a better view.

  “Are those wings?” I ask him.

  Hesitating for the briefest of seconds, he then releases his arm from his shirt, and I catch a glimpse of his bare chest. Normally, that’d be enough to make me forget my own name but not today. Though the details are fuzzy, the man in my dreams has that exact same design imprinted on his skin.

  I’ve seen that tattoo before. He’s spanked me with the hand at the end of those wings, and now, I don’t know what to do with myself.

  Since meeting Nolan, I’ve known it all along. The tattoo makes it official. The man in my dreams finally has an identity. A name. Even a profession.

  “Meadow?” Nolan says as he pulls his shirt back down. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

  “No,” I tell him. “You didn’t offend me. Your body is … I’m okay with it.”

  I’m talking in circles, making no sense to anyone but myself. In my head, the entire story is clear. I’ve been with Nolan. I’m probably even in love with him. But what’s harder to grasp is that he’s not my husband. All this time, I’ve tried to want Cash, and now, no amount of trying will make that happen. I’ll never feel for Cash what I feel for Nolan.

  “Will you please say something?” he whispers.

  “Why wings?”

  He licks his lips and says, “I got them for someone special. Someone I thought I’d lost.”

  I want to press him for more information, details about every design choice, so I can figure out whom the tattoo really belongs to. A dead mother, a sister, a wife. But Nolan’s not married. Surely, if he’d lost a child, he’d tell me. And that’s why I think that maybe, just maybe, those wings could have something to do with me.

  “You don’t have to talk about it,” I tell him. “I’m just curious.”

  “Can we save it for another day?”

  “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  I want to know everything about Nolan. From his past relationships to his favorite color.

  “How about the farmhouse? Are you ready to tell me about that?” he asks.

  The farmhouse seems trivial now, but if Nolan wants to know, then I’ll do my best to describe what happened there.

  “I have dreams,” I tell him. “At first, they always involved my grandma. I don’t know if people from the grave can return in dreams, but I felt like that was what she was doing. She’s the only one I remember from my past besides my parents. Dad’s still alive, living in another country. Mom passed away, and we were never close, so I don’t think I’d ever see her in a dream. But Grandma was always there. It seemed the sicker I got, the more meaningful my dreams became.”

  “What do you mean by sicker?” Nolan questions.

  He’s not taking notes like Ms. Lucia would. There’s not even a piece of paper near him, and for that, I’m thankful. It makes me want to continue because I know my words aren’t being recorded.

  “I mean, drunk. The more I drank, the harder I would black out. I was convinced that, if I drank enough, I’d go back to the night I’d died, and my life would be restored.”

  “You have flashbacks of dying?”

  “I had a dream once. I’m told it’s pretty accurate, according to what happened on the way to the hospital. I remember being shocked and how horrible it felt. Floating up to heaven and then being pulled back down. All of it.”

  Nolan runs his hand over his face and exhales. “That’s intense,” he says. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

  There’s no right or wrong thing to say in this instance. Nolan’s response is one I’ve heard many times before. The difference is, he means it. He is sorry. And I believe him.

  “Thank you. Oddly enough, the farmhouse helped me. It’s what kept me going.”

  Hanging on my every word, he says, “Tell me more, Meadow.”

  The night was like every other. I’d been rocking in my chair, looking at the photo albums like I always did, dwelling over people and places I couldn’t remember. Guilt ate me alive because I forgot Cash.

  He’d beg me to remember. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to remember. I did. Every ounce of my being told me that, if I worked hard enough and did exactly what the doctors told me, my life would get back to normal.

  But, when that didn’t happen, I relied on wine to get through the day. It didn’t take long to build up a tolerance, and once that happened, I started looking for something stronger. Vodka won, and once I had that, it was easy to spend the entire day wasted.

  When the dreams started, I drank even more. At first, it was so they’d go away, but then Grandma showed me something new. She told me about this farmhouse, one like hers, on the other side of the corn. The field was about a mile from my house, and I could get there on my own.

  I wasn’t supposed to go outside during the day, especially alone. The neighbors would talk, and I didn’t want any trouble.

  Nighttime was my safest option, and though the house I was staying in had surveillance cameras, for my own protection, I found a way out. The laundry room had a tiny window above the utility sink. If I stepped inside the sink, I could easily slide the glass open.

  Since the basement was at ground level, I didn’t have to climb or jump. I just slithered my way through the grass until I was far enough away from the house that the cameras couldn’t see me.

  After I was free, I ran alongside the road, careful not to fall into the ditch or twist my ankle.

  Grandma gave me very specific directions in the dream. I counted telephone poles, and when I got to the eighth one, I parted the stalks and headed straight down the row.

  It was so dark. I couldn’t see an inch in front of my face, and I was worried that, if I got lost, I wouldn’t find my way back out. But I remembered Grandma’s warning. If I stayed in that row and didn’t venture anywhere else, I’d come out on the other side to an open field. />
  She couldn’t have made her directions any easier, and she was right. The field was there along with a gorgeous farmhouse.

  It hadn’t seen a lawnmower or a coat of paint in what looked like forever. Even at night, I could tell it was abandoned. But, on the front porch, just like she’d promised, was a claw-foot tub for me to sit inside.

  The rust and cobwebs didn’t scare me. I cleaned them out the best I could and climbed inside. Once I sat down, it was like she was giving me the biggest hug I’d ever felt.

  I was back at her house, safe and happy. Where we’d bake in the mornings before the temperatures rose and the house got too hot to have the oven on. And then we’d drink lemonade on the porch to cool off. After we had dinner and dessert, we would catch lightning bugs in jars and then release them.

  The best part of my life was back, and I didn’t want to let it go. I knew I had to get back home though, before the sun rose, or I’d get in trouble.

  I crawled across the lawn, back through the window, and into the laundry room sink. Then, I ran back upstairs to my chair or the bed. Some nights, if I was about to get caught, I’d pretend I’d passed out in the hallway and try not to look as out of breath as I felt.

  It was all one big game. A game that made me happy and kept me alive.

  I’d drink until I passed out. Dream. Wake up and discover whatever Grandma had wanted me to. And then repeat.

  “That was no way to live,” I tell Nolan. “I know that. It’d have made a lot more sense to go to therapy and follow their instructions. But I didn’t want to give up my nights at the farmhouse, and I’m still not convinced I ever will—at least, not as long as I’m stuck living at that house.”

  “What if you could live someplace else?” he questions.

  “I guess it all depends on if I get my memory back or not.” And if I can be with you.

  “Do you want to drink, Meadow?”

  “No, Nolan,” I whisper. “I don’t want to drink my life away. That was never the goal. But I drank because it was the only way I knew how to survive with what I had left. Pathetic, huh?”

  “Nothing about you is pathetic. Only gorgeous, remember?”

  “I remember.”

  For the first time in so long, I can say those words and mean them.

  twenty-three

  MEADOW

  Nolan sits up and takes a deep breath. I wait for him to give me his worst—about how sneaking out and running through fields late at night is about the most dangerous thing I could have done.

  But he surprises me when he says, “What you described, Meadow, is completely normal. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

  He can’t be serious.

  “If it’s normal, then why does everyone act like I’m crazy?”

  “Because of the drinking. Needing alcohol to live is an addiction, Meadow.”

  “The drinking is kind of the point,” I explain. “At first, it made me feel better, but like I told you, the dreams only happened when I was drunk. And, if that was the only way I could see Grandma, then of course, I wasn’t going to lay off the vodka. Nobody understands that.”

  “I do,” he says. “That’s why Ms. Lucia called me. You can have your dreams without vodka. And I can give them to you while you’re still awake.”

  “Hypnosis.” It’s going to keep coming back to that.

  “Yes, hypnosis,” he says.

  “I don’t know, Nolan. My gut tells me that I can trust you, but I’m still so scared.”

  “And my gut tells me not to give up until I convince you.”

  That right there is probably why I trust him. Usually, I just get yelled at or backed into a corner until I give in. Though Nolan continues to nudge me toward hypnotherapy, he’s still giving me the ultimate choice.

  “Let me in, Meadow,” he begs as he reaches for my hand.

  “I am,” I whisper. “This is more than I’ve given anyone.”

  I want to tell him about the rest of my dreams, about the ones that started after I found the farmhouse. Up until that point, the field of corn and the abandoned house were the best presents Grandma could have given me, and I didn’t expect anything else.

  But Grandma wasn’t finished yet, not until she sent me Nolan. And, as thankful as I am for that gift, I have no explanation for why it happened.

  Grandma’s always been a huge part of my life, so Nolan wouldn’t think those dreams were strange. But what happens when I tell him that he’s been in my dreams, too? How could either one of us explain that?

  We can’t.

  There’s only so much crazy one doctor can fix, especially once he becomes part of the treatment plan.

  Nolan clears his throat and says, “If you’re not ready, that’s okay. I’ll wait as long as you need me to, but I don’t want to give up. I wouldn’t press you if I didn’t think it could work.”

  “Don’t you have a bunch of other patients to treat? You’re wasting all of your time and energy on me.”

  “You’re not a waste, Meadow. Not everyone in rehab can benefit from what I do. Though I wish I could, I can’t fix every patient who walks through our doors. And I don’t pretend that I can.”

  “So, you only hound the ones you can help, so you don’t get bored or fired?” I joke.

  “Exactly,” he says with a smile.

  “Do I get a prize for figuring you out so fast?”

  I watch him swallow and take a deep breath in through his nose. When he releases it, he squeezes my hand a little harder, and I’ve never wanted a reward as much as I do right now.

  “Can I ask you one more thing?” he says.

  My heart hammers inside my chest, and I bite my lip to keep from jumping into his lap. “You can ask me anything, Nolan.”

  “You haven’t had a drink in nearly three months. How badly do you want one?”

  That wasn’t what I was hoping he’d ask me, but I answer him as truthfully as I can, “I don’t think it’s the alcohol I really want. It’s the dreams and the connections.”

  My revelation is rewarded with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on Nolan’s face.

  “Bingo,” he says. “And that’s why you’re ready for me.”

  “For you?” I ask. Because I know I’m ready for him. I’ve been ready.

  “For hypnosis,” he clarifies like he can read my filthy mind.

  God, what if he can?

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure,” he says.

  “Do you have special powers or abilities?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Do you know what I’m thinking right now?”

  Laughing, he says, “I wish I did, but no, Meadow, I’m not psychic. That doesn’t go hand in hand with what I do.”

  I didn’t think it did, but I had to find out, just in case he’s inside my brain. If he were, I think he’d be exhausted. Not from treating me, but from my fantasies.

  “Now that we’ve covered that, I don’t want to find you trying to break into the supply closet again, okay? I want you to find me instead.”

  “So, Nolan Slater is my real-life superhero?”

  “I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

  If he only knew what he was saying.

  Because, if he was whatever I wanted him to be, then he’d be mine. That’s why I’m so scared about letting him hypnotize me. With as strong as my feelings are for him, I could get lost in the moment, revealing every dirty deed he’d done to me. And then what? What would Gretchen do? She’d have to record it all. Ms. Lucia would find out, and Nolan wouldn’t be allowed to see me anymore, let alone treat me. I can’t risk him losing his job.

  Until I figure out a way to suppress Nolan, I can’t be hypnotized.

  I might have needed alcohol to see Grandma, but Nolan visits me nearly every night I lay my head on my pillow; sometimes, I’m not even asleep.

  “I think I just need a little more time,” I tell him.

  “Then, I’ll try again tomorrow, Meadow. Because I won’t gi
ve up on you.”

  Please don’t.

  twenty-four

  MEADOW

  Nolan lets go of my hand and stands from the couch. He peers through the mini blinds and then glances at his watch. His shoulders slump, and when he turns back around, his hopeful expression is gone.

  “I have to get you back to your room before the morning shift arrives,” he says.

  Now, I know why he seems disappointed. I’m not ready for this night to end either.

  “It’s six o’clock already?”

  “Almost. You know how the saying goes; time flies when you’re having fun.”

  There’s not an ounce of sarcasm in his voice. He means it. Spending time with me wasn’t a chore, like it was to Cash. And I can’t even explain how good that makes me feel. For once in my life, I’m not a burden. And, despite staying up all night, I’m not the least bit tired. How could I be when Nolan makes me feel so alive?

  “I’m sorry you didn’t get any sleep,” I tell him.

  “Don’t be,” he says. “Pulling an all-nighter was worth it.”

  I couldn’t agree more.

  “When’s your first appointment?”

  I realize I’m being nosy. He doesn’t owe me any explanations, but I like knowing where he is. It’s stupid really because he’s not mine, but I feel better when he’s in the building, just because that means he’s close. And not with someone else.

  “My schedule’s clear until nine, so after I walk you to your room, I’ll head home, shower, and check on my neighbor. She’s up in age and not in the best of health. But she always has strong coffee.”

  “I was a nurse,” I tell him.

  He pauses and gives me an odd look. I’m sure that he’s read over the files Ms. Lucia gave him, so he knew that already. So, I’m not sure why he’s acting like this is the first time he’s heard about my career. Not everything revolves around the accident or alcohol.

  “That’s right,” he says. “We’ll have to talk about that next time.”

  Next time. I love that I have a next time to look forward to. It’ll probably be a fraction of tonight, but I don’t care.