Page 26 of Haunt Me

Raven's coffee mug is probably still sitting beside the sink. The blanket she always stole from me is still folded over the arm of the couch. Her boots are by the front door waiting for someone who isn’t coming home.

"Do whatever you want with it," I say quietly.

Knox still doesn't move. "Sam..."

“She made it a home. It's hers." The words come out before I can stop them.

Not ours.

Hers.

Because every room, every wall, every window, every promise we ever whispered inside that cabin belongs to her.

I can't walk through that door again.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Knox finally reaches out and closes his hand around the key. "I'll keep it safe."

I turn before either of us can pretend today’s anything but goodbye.

The overhead door to the garage rattles as I push it open. The familiar scent is as comforting as it's always been and somehow completely foreign at the same time.

The place is empty. I don't think I could survive another conversation. Another hug. Another person looking at me like they're trying to figure out whether I'll break if they say the wrong thing.

I just want to get in and get out.

My bike sits exactly where I left it, dried mud still clinging to the tires from the last day we were able to ride together. Raven's helmet hangs from the handlebars beside mine, waiting for a ride that never happened.

For one impossible second, I almost wait for her.

I walk over and rest my hand on the grip.

Every ride comes back at once. Every stop for ice cream, every sunset. Every mile on this bike belongs to Raven.

I know, standing there with my palm against the cold metal, that I’ll never ride it again. Not because I can’t. Because I won’t survive doing it without her arms locked around my waist and her helmet knocking against mine when she laughed at something only the two of us understood.

My hand slips away from the grip, and I leave the bike exactly as it is. Then I walk away.

The truck is parked outside. I climb in and start the engine.

I don't tell myself I'm leaving. I don't make any promises about coming back tomorrow.

I just pull onto the road.

At the first stop sign, home is to the left.

I turn right.

Raven

I keep waiting to wake up. Not because I believe this is a dream. Somewhere beneath the confusion and the ache that somehow still exists even though my body no longer does, I know exactly what happened.

I died.

The creek comes back first. Cold water rushing over the rocks. Samuel’s arms around me, holding me so tightly it hurt. As if he believed he could keep me there through sheer force. Then his voice, filled with terror, when he called my name.