Forever, Kc Wheeler [best fiction books of all time .txt] 📗

Forever

I see his hazel eyes on olive skin.

I see shaggy, brown hair. I see his thick eyebrows, a small scar splitting the right one in two.

He got that scar playing soft ball as a kid.

A single lock of wavy hair veers left over his forehead. He's very attractive. I see his cute, crooked smile.

When I close my eyes, he's always smiling. Even when he was sad, he was always smiling.

His eyes were the only giveaway to the pain he tried so desperately to hide.

Every night before bed I call his mobile. I've heard his voicemail so many times that it repeats through my dreams. “Hi, this is Luke's phone.” His voice so soothing. “Uh...” he mutters. “Leave a message, or send a text or something, and I'll get back to you.”

Every night when I call, I tell him about my day and my life in general. I speak of my highs, and my lows. I tell him how much I love him and how much I miss him. I use to leave a voicemail. Then one day it said, “Inbox full” and hung up. Now I speak after the dial tone, my messages no longer recorded, but lost. So much is lost.

Tomorrow is exactly two years since he left and I have never missed a night to call his phone. I don't know what time he went.

He never told anybody that he was leaving.

His voicemail repetitive in my mind, I eventually drift to sleep, into yet another vivid dream of him. Just like I always do.

It's a bright night, for the moon sits full in the sky. I'm emotionless and I welcome this with open arms. It's so peaceful.

I’m walking slowly through the park in my purple, silk nightgown. The air is still, but a slight chill causes me to pull my nightgown tightly around my body for extra warmth. The short grass sparkles with dew and feels cold and wet beneath my bare feet.

After what feels like forever I reach the swing set. I take a seat and begin to sway backwards and forth, the chain squeaking gently as I swing. Backwards and forth… Then more vigorously; I swing harder and harder, kicking up my legs as my long hair blows behind me. My peace has been replaced with a feeling of utter happiness.

I feel free.

Just as I begin to gather up good height, a voice stops me from enforcing further motion.

“Cara,” it says.

I make my legs be very still, and wait for the swing to slow down. It does this quickly. Slower. Lower.

Lower still.

My feet touch the ground.

Luke sits in the swing beside me, over-whelming me with a sense of relief. “I knew you wouldn't leave me,” I say. “I knew that you were only hiding.”

Luke is smiling. He is always smiling.

But his eyes are sad.

“Cara,” Luke repeats. He gazes into my eyes, and I reach out and gently touch him, his skin warm beneath my fingertips.

“You need to let go.”

“What?” I feel confused.

“Please, let me go.”

“L…Luke?” I stammer, suddenly afraid.

“Let me go,” he repeats, softly this time. Then even softer. “You need to let go.”

He's gone and I'm alone. I'm sitting on the swing in the park. I am no longer happy, nor do I feel free. My peacefulness has been pushed aside by an all too familiar feeling of true, deep sadness.

 

 

 

 

 

I'm lucky in a way. I never wake up straight after a Luke dream. I usually only have one a night, followed by the more bearable, normal dreams; the types of dreams that never make sense. These dreams temporarily cover up the intense emotion Luke's dreams fill me with. Luke’s dreams are however, slowly remembered throughout the next day, panging me with small doses of sadness. My dreams with Luke have usually always made sense down to each little detail. They have always felt more vivid than I use to believe possible. I use to look forward to going to sleep because this is the only way I can see Luke.

The dreams started off carefree and happy. Luke and I did things together in these dreams, the way we did when he was still alive. I dreamed we went swimming at the beach; the waves huge and the sun warm in the sky above us. We were laughing and splashing, being silly like we often were together. Afterwards we each got a double scoop ice-cream. I got hokey pokey and Luke got triple chocolate. We always got those flavours.

I dreamed we were bowling. Admittedly, neither of us found bowling much fun, but the peacefulness of the bowling club with light background chatter, hot chips, and our easy conversation, made us develop a mutual feeling of security. We were happy to just be there, spending time together. There was no pressure.

I dreamed we were at the pub, Guns 'n' Roses playing in the background. We both liked Guns 'n' Roses. Both slightly giddy with alcohol we contentedly held a conversation that should have been a little sad, but wasn't, rising our voices to be heard above the music. I remember the conversation from the dream very clearly. I remember it because the conversation really did happen. Just a week before he left.

But in real life, we held the conversation over two McDonald combos and not at the pub.

“Do you think Axl Rose is depressed?” Luke asked.

I laughed. “I don't know. Why?”

“Some of the lyrics in his songs make him seem depressed.”

I didn't reply right away. Instead I listened carefully to the lyrics that played.

Sick of this life

Not that you'd care

I'm not the only one with

Whom these feelings I share

As I continued to listen, the song became more upbeat. To me, the song showed annoyance and perhaps anger. I didn't think that he sounded depressed.

“The rest of the lyrics don't seem very sad,” I commented.

“'November rain' is sad too,” he said. “'Estranged' isn't exactly happy either.”

“I think to write a song you need to be a little bit depressed,” I said thoughtfully. “Music is a way to express emotion I think. At least, it used to be.”

“Very true,” Luke agreed.

“Does Axl Rose even write the lyrics?”

Luke bit his lip and laughed a little. “I actually have no idea.”

 

The dreams went from relaxed, fun-time activities together, to dreams of pure love, lust and desire. In these dreams we kissed, made love and held each other. Like the others, these dreams were quite vivid. There was however, always a sense of not being close enough. The desire to be closer was so strong it hurt me. I wanted him. I wanted all of him.

I still do.

I have never been with anybody else, nor do I plan to. I suppress my frustration because Luke is the only one for me.

Lately, the dreams have been different. In these dreams Luke tells me to let him go. He tells me to move on with my life. I believe it's my unconscious mind encouraging me to move on. I do get on with my daily life, but some say it's like I am on auto-pilot. “It’s like you're here, but you're not,” my older sister, Sandy, said to me the other week.

Too right she is. My body is on Earth, but my mind, heart, and soul are with Luke.

Always.

In a way I feel cheated, because my unconscious mind believes that if Luke tells me to move on, I'll be able to do so with less guilt. I know the truth though. Luke doesn't want me to move on. And anyway, it's not guilt holding me back. It's simply the inability to really be without him. He's my obsession now. Even more than he was before the day he left.

 

 

 

 

 

My flat mate, Sarah, puts her hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze this morning at breakfast.

At work, everybody knows. They tip toe around me like they're walking on egg shells, occasionally glancing at me sympathetically. They don't bring up his name. In fact, they avoid talking to me at all costs. They know I'm stuck two years into the past. I'm a ticking time bomb and they will do all that they can to avoid setting that bomb off.

The day drags by slowly. I manage to bury the pain deep down inside and simply be without being. I’m a good worker and I set my full attention on the job at task. Stacking shelves. I'm just happy not to be on check out today. I can't make small talk. Not today. I fear if I open my mouth just a little, I'll choke on my emotions.

Over time I have managed to stop some silly little things from reminding me of him. When you lose someone you love, every little thing will remind you of them.

Even food.

For the first year I struggled immensely to stack food that he liked without tearing up, making work a very hard place to be. While I overcame this, I couldn't escape this mind frame completely. Just now, just ten minutes before finishing time, Dave Dobbyn's 'Loyal' comes onto the radio, sending me into one of a million treasured memories.

It was my sister's wedding. I was a bridesmaid and wore a pretty, black dress. My sister had encouraged Luke to wear a navy blue suit in which reluctantly he had given in, an embarrassed half-smile on his face.

It was two songs after the Bride and Groom's dance and 'Loyal' started to play. Disco lights bounced over the ceiling of the Church hall. I was feeling happily tipsy on red wine. The atmosphere felt perfect.

“I love this song!” I exclaimed.

Luke was sitting at the table chatting to my brother, a beer in his hand. I replaced his beer with my hand and dragged him to his feet. “Let's dance.”

Luke, far from a dancer, lightly resisted. “I don't dance,” he simply replied.

I grinned at him and dragged him to the centre of the dance floor anyway. Luke, always willing to please, hardly ever said no to me. He stood there awkwardly, looking completely out of his comfort zone.

Still, he smiled. He was always smiling.

Nearly everybody was slow dancing. “Come here then,” he pulled me close.

Forgetting I was supposed to be taking the lead, I fell against him, hypnotized from his touch. He smelled sweetly of chocolate Lynx and after shave. I buried my head to his chest and we danced. Slowly. There was no place else I'd rather be.

“I'll always be loyal,” he murmured into my hair.

For some reason, while I did find this touching, I also found it very funny. It just seemed so cheesy. I pulled away laughing.

He raised an eyebrow, a look of bewilderment on his face. “What's funny?!” he demanded.

But he laughed too.

I smiled. “I'll be loyal to you as well. Always.”

 

My eyes prick with tears and my body trembles. I realize this song has completely caught me out. There is no going back now. I'm going to lose it and people will see me do so.

Panicking, I scramble to my feet and I run, face in my hands, between two aisles and out the front door, forcing a middle-aged man to jump out of my way. “Is she okay?” I hear a women ask. I don't wait around to hear the answer.

Luckily my little, silver Subaru is parked close. I throw open the door and leap inside, sobbing hysterically. I start the car and drive through tear-blurred vision.

My flat isn't far. Sarah isn't home yet and I'm grateful for that. I throw myself face down on the bed. My hair matted to my face, the river continues to flow. I quickly dial his mobile.

“Luke!” I say, not waiting for the voicemail to end. “I c… can't d… do this anymore,” I sob loudly. “I miss you… A… and... I need y... you. I'd do