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Forgetting August(3)

By:J. L. Berg


“Okay, I’ve got another one, Everly! And I promise, you’re going to love it!” Sarah’s singsong voice seemed to break the spell hovering above us, giving us both a startle. The attendant straightened, turning quickly as I retreated into the corner to grab the satin robe. I’d just fastened it around my waist when she opened the door to let Sarah in.

“Tell me you love me,” Sarah said as she waltzed into the room, holding up a simple ivory colored empire waist gown with a small amount of beading around the neckline and not a single bit of organza or tulle in sight.

“I think I love you,” I said, as my eyes widened at the understated elegance of the dress. Simple and understated. Everything I wanted to be.

“Let’s try it on,” she suggested, handing it to the attendant who motioned for me to come forward.

Nodding, I agreed, knowing it was unnecessary.

It was perfect and as I glanced around the room, I caught a glimpse of that tiny bird on my shoulder. The one too afraid to jump out of her cage and discover the world outside.

Soon, I would be perfect, too.

Or as close as I could be to the word.

* * *



“You are mine, Everly,” he whispered. “Mine and mine alone. I own every part of you, every inch of your body…every breath in your lungs. You. Belong. To. Me.”

“Everly,” another voice murmured. “Everly, wake up. You fell asleep right at the good part again,” Ryan laughed.

My eyes cracked open as the glow of the TV made me turn my head toward the comfort of his warm chest.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he said, pulling me tight against his body. “You’ll never know who the winter soldier is now,” he joked, his head leaning forward just close enough that I felt the heat of his breath against my neck.

“I saw that plot twist ages ago,” I answered, covering a quiet yawn with my palm as I stretched in his arms.

“You always do.”

“I can’t help it. The story lines are always so obvious.”

“And if you had written the story,” he said, pulling back slightly with a boyish grin lighting up his face, “What would you have done differently?”

“I don’t know—I’m not a scriptwriter,” I answered with a shrug.

“Maybe you should be.” His brow arched, challenging me to answer.

“Who’s being the obvious one now, Ryan?” I asked with a huff, rising from my comfortable spot on the couch in order to create some much needed distance. “And seriously? Scriptwriting? Pick something a little less insane next time. When have you ever seen me pick up a pen? Or sit in front of a computer?”

Whenever the subject of where I was going with my life came up, I needed space.

Unfortunately our apartment was only so big, and right now a football field or two didn’t seem large enough.

“I don’t want to start an argument, Ev, but I just want you to think about it.”

“I have been thinking about it,” I answered, stepping into the kitchen as the lights flickered on. I pulled open the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water. Roughly twisting the cap off, I upturned the bottle and chugged half the contents in one gulp. Water was definitely not my first beverage of choice, but right now I didn’t have the patience for anything else.

“And what have you decided?” he asked cautiously, rising from the couch to take a seat at the kitchen island across from me.

“That I’m still deciding.” I held my head high, avoiding his eye contact.

I was not in the wrong here.

He sighed long and slow, and I let the silence settle between us, setting the half-empty bottle down on the counter in front of me. A quick glint of light caught my attention as I turned my head and I swiveled back around toward my left hand, noticing the way the overhead lights reflected on the small diamond centered in the middle of the thin gold band.

Three weeks ago he’d asked me to marry him and I’d said yes.

Despite everything I’d put him through—the cold indifference and the numerous rebuttals to his advances, he’d loved me. When I’d told him there would always be a part of me unavailable…that I just couldn’t share, he’d accepted me. For who I was.

And what I was willing to give him.

“I’ll look at the brochures again,” I said, offering up an olive branch as I stepped forward and held out the rest of my water bottle. His warm smile returned as his fingers encased mine around the plastic.

“I just want to see you succeed. In whatever you chose, Ev. Hell, you can major in basket weaving for all I care. I just want you to feel like you have a purpose in life beyond working at that coffee shop you refuse to quit.”