Forget Me Not

by W Winters

  “You’ve always been Jay to me. Always. And I’ve always loved you.”

  “I don’t deserve you,” I tell her simply.

  “It’s not about what we deserve, only about what’s real.”

  “What’s real?” I repeat her words with a sarcastic laugh. “My name’s John.” I talk out loud, but not really talking to Robin, my sweet little bird. Just at the mere thought of her nickname, the sight of her looking up from the floor of my father’s cellar to the small dirty window flashes into my mind.

  “You’ll be alright, I promise you,” she reassures me then cups my chin and kisses me on the lips. I grip her wrists, wanting to push her away. I don’t deserve her love, and she shouldn’t have to deal with this. With how fucked up I am.

  “Hey,” she whispers and tilts my chin slightly so I look her in her eyes. “Now that you know, now that you’re aware, it will be much easier. I promise you.” She licks her lips and stares deep into my eyes, willing me to believe her. “I know everything’s going to be okay. It will take time, but just you knowing and accepting… you have no idea how difficult that is.”

  “It’s because of you,” I tell her. “He used you to make me-” I clear my throat and correct myself. “I used you,” I confess and my heart splinters just admitting it. I can feel the urge to hold her tighter making my hands itch. The memories of my father coming on strong and making me want to cling to her. Everything was better when she was there.

  “You did what you had to do,” she tells me, but there’s no way she can convince me that it’s justified.

  “I don’t care what you think or where we came from,” she says. “John, Jay, it’s just a name. I love you. I’ve loved you for years. All I need to know is whether or not you love me.”

  Of course I do. She’s the only one I’ve ever loved. I don’t even know if it’s possible to love someone else like I love her. She rests her hand against my cheek and my eyes drift to hers. “Do you love me?” she asks me in a whisper of a breath. The fear and insecurity apparent.

  I tell her the truth. What I know to be more real than anything else. “I’ve always loved you, Robin. When I was jealous, when I hated what you represented, when I feared what you could do to me and what power you held over me.” A sob rips from her throat and she covers her mouth with both of her hands as tears leak down her cheeks. I brush them away and put my hand on the nape of her neck, gently but firmly, just how she is with me. With a small push, she falls closer to me and I rest my forehead against hers and lower my hand to her back to rub soothing strokes up and down. “I’ve always loved you, Robin. And I always will.”

  Chapter 31

  Robin

  Two weeks have gone by, and sometimes John forgets. It’s remarkable that he was able to live a relatively normal life before. But I don’t want him to have anything but a full life from this day onward.

  I’ll never leave him again. And he knows better than to pull that shit again.

  The paper crinkles in my hand as I set it back down and then carefully fold it to put it back in the envelope. It’s the report on John’s mother’s death. Margaret. He wanted to know, and I’m doing everything I can to find out every little piece of his history. An overdose.

  The memories he has of his mother are pleasant, but the detailed history of her past isn’t. I don’t know how he’ll take it, but it’s one more piece of information he can digest.

  I hear the tea kettle whistle in the kitchen and it rouses me from my seat at the dining room table. As I make my way in, I nearly stumble over the stack of empty cardboard boxes.

  Thank fuck I still have a few more weeks left of sabbatical leave. Moving is a nightmare and a half. The kettle silences as I pull it off the stove and instantly hear the rumble of John’s truck.

  It’s odd that the most unbelievable thing to me is that Jay’s name was always and has always been John. I’m the only one to have ever called him Jay. A part of me loves it, and a part of me hates it.

  The front door opens as I pour the water into the cup. I watch as the steam rises and the bit of calm normalcy is enough to make me smile as I hear his boots smacking on the hardwood floor.

  I dunk the tea bag in and then again, watching as the light brown water turns darker and the color consumes the inside of the white ceramic tea cup.

  My eyes lift at the sound of John picking up the boxes in the living room. The cardboard rustles as he lets out a heavy sigh.

  “Why is there so much yellow?” he asks me. The question makes me smile into the cup and I nod my head once, recognizing the odd obsession.

  “Yellow makes you happy,” I say simply. “Just seeing the color makes you happier than you were before.” I smile at him, but there’s a sadness in his eyes from the admission.

  He may think he’s the fucked up one, but I needed him too. Desperately.

  “Is this the last of it?” John asks and then leans against the doorway to the kitchen, ignoring my answer. His white shirt has a bit of dust swiped across the bottom which only makes him appear that much more masculine. His muscles flex under the thin fabric, pulled tightly across his broad shoulders and I absently blow across the top of the mug as I nod my head yes.

  Slowly, we’re making this place ours. A complete home. It’s funny how even our décor seems to need each other for balance.

  “Thank you for bringing it all,” I tell him. I almost say Jay, but instead I say nothing.

  It’s odd calling him John, because he’s always been Jay to me. He never told me, but I can understand why. In a lot of ways, we’re learning more about each other, but in other ways, we’re learning who we are ourselves.

  Love isn’t something we have to learn though. Love was a given from the moment we saw each other. Something in our very souls told us we were meant to be together. Without each other, we wouldn’t have survived what life had planned for us. Not back then when we were only children, and not today or even tomorrow.

  I need him as much as he needs me. It’s the only thing I’m certain of.

  “Thank you for staying with me,” he says easily as he walks across the kitchen and wraps his arms around my waist. I set the cup down on the counter and the ceramic clinks before I look back up to him. I notice how his hands tighten on me as I lift my hands to his shoulders and rise up on my tiptoes to kiss him on the lips. It’s short and chaste, but I want all the kisses from him. Every sort he has for me.

  When I pull away and my heels hit the floor, his eyes are still closed. It’s the raw emotion and truth that drew him to me. And maybe me to him.

  “Tell me what you remember?” he asks me in a whisper and my gaze falls, but I rest my cheek to his chest and nod my head, listening to the steady sound of his heartbeat.

  Together we’ll get through it all. Together and always.

  “I think you loved me when you saw me, didn’t you?” I ask him.

  “Which side of me are you asking?” he lets out an uneasy sigh, avoiding my gaze and the question.

  “Both, neither, it doesn’t matter really. I already know you did,” I speak with feigned confidence. I want to hear him say it. I need to, really. I need to know that he’s always felt this way. I know I have. I’ll never stop loving him and I’m terrified that one day, he’ll stop loving me.

  “He showed me a picture,” he starts to say and then covers his face with his hands. “I… I,” John says. I bite my lip, hating how much pain it causes him when he tries to recall a memory and he reverts. But it’s normal. He has to learn that. He has to accept it.

  “When I saw you, all those years ago, I knew I was to protect you. When I looked at your picture. When I knew I was going to take you and face this… this hell in order to be with you. I looked at your picture and I knew I was going to love you.” He nods his head, closing his eyes and I know it hurts, to merge the memories and meld the scene in his head. The medication helps the present, but the past is hard. Nothing’s going to change that.

  “I love every part of you
, the man who wants to forget and the man who suffered for his father’s sins.” I cup his face in my hand and kiss him on his jaw and then softly on his lips.

  He stares back at me with nothing but pain in his eyes.

  “I don’t know how you can love me,” he says in a whisper.

  “I don’t know how you can think I ever didn’t love you. Even when I ran. I’ve always loved you.” A weak smile forces its way to my face as I struggle to use his name. He doesn’t want me to call him Jay, but he’s always been Jay to me. “My wolf.”

  John stares back at me, confused for a moment. Sometimes it’s like this, when he doesn’t quite remember, but then it clicks.

  “Wolf,” he huffs a sarcastic laugh and shakes his head. “You don’t need a wolf, little bird. You needed another, someone just like you. You needed Jay.”

  I nod my head as my heart splinters. “I need all of you,” I whisper against his lips. I can feel it, the moment Jay comes to the surface, the moment the possessive man inside of him moves his hands to the back of my head and deepens the kiss.

  I pull back and look into his eyes whispering, “Jay?”

  A small smile tugs his lips up, only just and he says quietly, “You can call me whichever name you’d like.” He rests his forehead against mine and it’s then that I realize our past needs to stay where it belongs. “You can call me Jay if you want. I’ll be anyone for you. I’ll do anything for you. I only exist for you.”

  I brush my nose against his, trying to lighten the mood. “Maybe when I’m mad at you I’ll call you Jay,” I tease and try to smile and when he does, my lips turn up easily.

  “I love you, John,” I tell him quietly, brushing my fingers against his lips. “And I love Jay, too. Both sides of you.”

  “I love you, little bird.” He says the words just like he always has, with a hint of teasing and a touch of darkness.

  I lean against him, and he holds me tightly. I wouldn’t have it any other way. We’re both broken from what happened to us. But the love that’s come from it can’t tear us apart. As long as we stay together.

  “Always?” I ask him.

  “Always.”

  * * *

  ***

  * * *

  John

  * * *

  I can hear the shower running as I stop in front of the shower door. The tips of my fingers tap against the wood. She’s waiting for me, and so many times I think I should leave her. As if I’m undeserving of her and hurting her, keeping her back.

  I close my eyes and let out a slow breath. When I inhale, the gentle smell of lavender fills my lungs. It’s what my little bird smells like. And just that little bit makes the memories of holding her come back to me. They flood to me now. The bad ones I try to ignore, but the ones with her, the ones with my little bird, I hold on to them with everything I have.

  It’s why I want to let her go. And why I never will.

  My eyes pop open wide, the selfishness and depravity making me hate the thought. She’s a grown woman though, and she knows who I am in every sense of the word. As long as she wants me, I’m staying with her.

  I push the door open slowly and the steam greets me with warmth and slowly passes behind me.

  The anger surprises me sometimes, but more than that, the fear.

  My father’s dead and burned to ashes, but the fear is very much alive. I always knew the other side of me was filled with a darkness, but I wouldn’t have thought it was fear.

  But that’s what creeps up more than anything. Especially at night.

  Until my wife leans against me, giving me much-needed warmth. Until my hand splays across her belly and we both fall easily to sleep.

  “I heard something about you always being right,” I tease and then pull the shirt over my head. She peeks out from the shower curtain with a quip on her lips, something smart no doubt, but instead her eyes fall to my chest and the thought is long gone.

  A deep groan of satisfaction rumbles up my chest and her eyes reach mine as a blush creeps up her chest and she pulls the curtain back into place to hide behind.

  I fucking love it. I love her. And to think, I may have never had her.

  The past can ruin a person forever. They may recover, but they’re never the same. Never what they once were. The scar may be thicker than delicate skin. It may protect you from some things and give you a wall to hide behind.

  But it’s the gentle things that will cut it open and leave you raw and wounded once again.

  Love is gentle and unassuming. It won’t be denied.

  My love saved me in so many ways, my little bird.

  I could forget the pain and burdens.

  I could forget the fear that the monster would return. Or worse, that I would be like him.

  I could forget it all and leave it where it belongs, in the past.

  But I can’t forget Robin or the genuine love I felt for her. I can’t deny that.

  Not when I’m so desperate for her.

  Not when she needs me in return.

  And not when she’s right here, loving me with everything she has and only wanting the same in return.

  My memory destroyed me, but love is so much more.

  You can’t forget love, no matter how hard you try.

  Epilogue

  Robin

  Two years later

  “Toby!” I call as the dog runs from the porch and out into the field. He looks over his shoulder and halts in his path, but I wave him off. He can run if he wants to.

  I sway easily on the porch swing, the chatter from inside muted by the screen door and the faint hum of the water flowing from the creek out back. I love it out here, on this property and in this house that John built.

  Two years we’ve been here. Making steady progress. It may not always be perfect, but we’re safe with each other. And John hasn’t forgotten me and he believes what I tell him about our past. He remembers somethings too which makes days hard here and there, but together we’ll pull through. That’s the most important part. The trust and love between us are strong enough to keep us together.

  Just as my eyes drift shut, the screen door opens with a long groan. I pop them open quickly, pretending like the exhaustion isn’t getting to me.

  “You coming back in?” John asks me. He’s got a smile on his face and I know he loves this. “After all, the celebration is all for you,” he says and his eyes drift to my swollen belly.

  “It’s not for me,” I say with my eyes closed as the little one kicks my hip again. My feet slip across the porch floor as I shift on the swing and try to get more comfortable.

  John lets the screen door shut and crosses the porch to sit with me. The swing dips when he sits and wraps his arm around me to pull me closer to him.

  “They're here for you,” John whispers into my ear and splays his hand over my belly. I love it when he does that. When his eyes light up with hope. We didn’t plan this little one, but I’m so grateful and happy. And so is John.

  I kiss him, feeling a rush of warmth flow through me. I would never have guessed our lives would turn out like this. It’s nearly picture perfect.

  At the sound of the door opening again, I pull away, feeling the heat of a blush on my cheeks. John just smiles as he stands and helps me to my feet. The wooden swing gently hits the back of my legs as I get my balance and say goodbye to a group of my coworkers.

  “We’re heading out,” Karen says as she waves her hand, the other occupied by a paper plate covered with aluminum foil. A young woman who must be in her early forties, or maybe late thirties walks out with the group. She’s in her gardening clothes and in an instant, I know she’s one of our new neighbors. They live down the road and closer to John’s shop. The closest neighbors we have.

  “I really appreciate the invitation,” she says as she stops in front of us. I’ve only had a few conversations with her, but she’s a sweet woman, alone out here for the most part.

  “Of course,” I answer her. “I’m so happy you ca
me.” I can’t help the smile on my face or the small yawn that comes after it as John makes small talk with her. I watch him as he talks. It’s night and day from where he was just two short years ago. He’s not perfect, but neither am I. Together though, we’ve gotten through everything. One thing that the memory can always hold on to, is love. There’s never a doubt in either of us that the other person doesn’t truly love them. That’s rare and special and I can’t get over how powerful it is.

  “How did you two meet?” our new neighbor asks as she grips her drink in both of her hands. She looks between the two of us with a smile on her face. “You’re such a good-looking couple,” she says. I wish the smile that wants to come to the surface were genuine, but it’s not.

  She’s not the first to ask.

  And a part of me deep down is terrified that they’ll all find out the truth. Another part wants to scream it out loud and tell everyone what we’ve gone through. Together.

  I keep the smile on my face as my husband wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer to him. A lie slips so easily from his lips. It’s a struggle every time, to listen to words that are false, meant to hide the truth.

  No one wants to hear our story. The real story. When they ask how we met, no one would expect the harsh reality of our pasts. No one would be able to understand. They would judge us. And they’d never forget it.

  I sure as fuck won’t.

  It’s dark and twisted.

  But that doesn’t make it any less of what it is.

  A love story. Our love story.

  * * *

  And I’m so grateful we got a happily ever after. Stories like ours aren’t meant to end like this. It’s only because we stayed together. Only because our love was stronger than our pain.

  * * *

  The End