The woman helped me back to the small bedroom where I'd changed my clothes and this time, I took a moment to look around. It had a twin bed in the corner and a dresser against the wall. There were personal knickknacks everywhere—a pink stone that was so smooth it looked like it'd been polished that way, a bird's nest, feathers of all colors and sizes, a basket full of pine cones, even a small, chipped arrowhead . . . things from the forest. "This is Lily's room, isn't it?"
As I walked past her, the woman nodded and inclined her head toward the bed, telling me to get in. I wasn't going to argue. I'd just sleep for a little while and be awake when Lily got back. "Thank you," I murmured, not turning around. "Thank you for helping me." The woman didn't reply. I only heard the click of the door being shut. I undressed quickly and climbed into bed. The pillow smelled like Lily. I fell asleep immediately, only coming to momentarily when I heard hushed arguing on the other side of the door. I could only make out Lily's words.
“You don’t know that. You don't know unless . . .”
“. . . there must be a way.” Quiet weeping.
“I can be. I can be what he needs.”
More weeping.
Lily.
I tried to pull myself fully out of sleep, pull myself toward her, but couldn't.
I dreamed of Ryan. He came to me through the fog, speaking to me, reminding me, telling me his story because I'd forgotten. Oh God, I'd forgotten. No, I hadn't forgotten. I hadn't wanted to hear. I'd shut it out, abandoned him. Abandoned myself. Yes, I'd abandoned myself. Because I'd thought I deserved it.
My best friend held out his hand to me and I gasped, the image becoming clearer and clearer as he moved closer. I wanted to look away in shame and an overwhelming sense of . . . fear. I was going to be lost, alone. But he was smiling, and he looked . . . happy. "Forgive me," I choked.
"There's nothing to forgive. It wasn't your fault. None of it was your fault," he said. "I did what I was meant to do in this life. It's time to let me go now." No, no, no, no.
I woke up with tears on my face and warm arms wrapped around me. "Shh," she crooned. "I'm here. I'm right here."
"Lily," I choked out, burrowing my head into her chest. "Oh God, Lily." She held me as I cried, held me as it all came back. She was my strength as the truth dragged me under. When the final sobs wracked my body, I tipped my head back and looked up into her sweet, gentle face. She brushed the hair back from my forehead and kissed my cheeks tenderly. There was so much understanding in her expression. "Do you know about me? Do you know?" I asked.
She nodded slowly and then kissed me again. "Yes, love."
I moved my eyes over her face, trying to read her expression, trying to understand what she felt for me now that she knew. I didn't know what I felt for me now that I knew.
"It shattered me, Lily. Losing him, it," I took a big shuddery breath, "it shattered me."
"I know, Boy Scout, I know."
And it sounded as if she did. "He was the other half of me."
She shook her head. "No, he was your best friend. You're a whole man. You're not half of anyone."
Her face was so beautiful, so sorrowful, so filled with compassion. It was all too much, too much. I grimaced from the pain in my head. "No, I'm not a whole man. Maybe you don't even know me. Do you feel that way? You must."
"No," she said softly, and then with more force, "no. I know your superpower is flying." She smiled. "And I know you like football, and Star Wars, and jazz music, the old kind." Her fingers skated down my cheek, and I leaned in to them. "I know you like comic books, and museums, and fireworks, and travel. If I cooked for you, I'd make you pancakes even if it was midnight, and then I'd take you to a movie in an empty theater on a Tuesday, in a snowstorm. And then," her voice grew even quieter, "we'd come home, and you'd make love to me so sweetly I'd want to cry and sing at the same time. I know you're kind and good and that you love people with your entire heart and mind. I know that when you love someone, you'll love them forever. Are all those things true, Boy Scout?" Her fingers found the scars on my back and traced them lightly, lovingly, her fingertips finding the small, scattered divots.
"Yes," I breathed. "Yes, Lily," I murmured. It was the only thing in me right then. Only her. Only how much I loved her.
Under the blankets, Lily's hand roamed across my hip, her fingernails raking softly down my outer thigh. I shivered, hardening. Her smell, the soft feel of her was all around me, and I needed her so desperately. I needed her to remind me that I was real.