Promise Me Not

by Meagan Brandy

“Just a little water,” he whispers, erasing the stupid tear that slipped without permission.

That’s the thing about grief and the million other emotions flickering through me, though, right? It messes with my mind in a single blink. It can be a memory or a feeling or a sight. A song, a single word, or even a damn snack. Everything is fine, sometimes better than fine…until it isn’t. Until guilt dirties it, or anger buries it, or fear wraps its vicious claws around and chokes it.

“Just so you know,” he begins. “It’s okay not to be okay…even if it’s not for the reason everyone thinks.”

I used to think I was a model of self-control. I’m not. I’m a mess of self-sustaining tendencies and destroying everything I touch. I’m a damn plague.

Sometimes it’s a hollowness that seems never ending, one that grows, chipping away at the density of my bones, leaving me brittle. Other times it’s like an avalanche, and I go tumbling, buried under mounds and mounds of pressure. Then there are the times when it’s but a tangled web in my mind, memories and moments spun into fear and fate.

“I’m dead serious. I can’t compete with a ghost, so I won’t,” I promise. “He can keep your heart for all eternity. Just let me hold you for all of mine.”