Irreversible

by Jennifer Hartmann

“There’s a barrette. I considered using it as a weapon at one point when that awful nurse came in to give me an injection. Thought about jabbing her in the eye.” “There’s a thought.” The visual of Everly scooping out the bitchy nurse’s eyeball is mildly entertaining.

My fingers lift as bubbles churn, and I reach for the dappled light, anxious to breach it. But it’s just another wall.

He pauses. Five more beats until he says the words that break my heart. “But the world hated me first.”

“That guitar pick you have over there. It’s blue, right? Sparkly?” “Yeah.” I picture Everly cradling it in her hands like it’s something priceless. Her favorite memento. One I bought myself, years ago. It was special. Sara even gave it a name. Jewel. “It’s hers.” My sidekick. “I know.” “Take care of it for her, okay? Her answer is no more than a whisper. “Always.”

He slaps the wall, hard. “You still matter.” My breath catches. I squeeze the front of my nightdress as my eyes fall shut. “I just think…I feel like⁠—” “No. Fuck whatever you’re about to say.” Two more slaps. “You. Matter.” “Isaac…” “Your name is Everly Cross, and you fucking matter. Believe it. Own it. And start fighting like you do.”

He came back. Isaac came back for me. And that choice cost him his life.

Once a choice is made, it cannot be undone. And that, I fear, is a fate worse than death.

A tear trickles down my temple as I glance at the spray of pastel flowers resting on the side table, glimmering under the can lights. My throat tightens. I asked Isaac if he would ever get me flowers one day. I wonder if he would have.

October used to be my favorite month, but now it’s just dead leaves, gray skies, and apple cider donuts that taste like dirt. It’s that time of year when my ghosts come out to play, dancing in a graveyard of grief while I howl at the moon. I want to crawl back into my coffin until November. But I worry it’ll just be another October.

When life gives you lemons, make a Tequila Sour. Or three.

Fuck, I hate this new job of hers. Why couldn’t she sit in a lab somewhere and study bugs? If I start beating the shit out of every douchebag who looks at her wrong, it’s going to get out of hand fast.

“Thinking of you in a forensic lab, wearing a little lab coat, all this hair pulled back…fucking sexy.” “There would be corpses.” He hauls me up by the thighs, coiling my legs around his hips. “At least they won’t interrupt.” “Romantic.” I kiss him, biting down on his bottom lip until he groans. “I’ll bring the scalpel, you bring the flowers.” “Thought it was cigarettes and bubble tea.” He smirks through another kiss.

“Maybe it’s time to find another hobby,” I rasp, my voice shaking. “This tired brand of kidnapping is getting old.”

It’s over. But there’s something else here. Someone. No more than a whisper. A presence. Everly lifts her face to the mist. She feels it, too. We’re not alone. In the fog, in the rain, in the blood of our enemy running in watery rivulets down my skin… Somehow, I know⁠— Sara is watching.

“Uh-huh. Do I get to be your best man?” “Do I look like a wedding kind of guy to you?” “Don’t tell me you’re going to string that poor, smoking-hot angel along. There are millions of men who’d snatch that right out from under you in a heartbeat. Wouldn’t even care if your dick was still wet.” My blood pressure rises. “You, my friend, are about five seconds away from needing to run.”

Well, let’s see: five seconds ago, I was thinking I was turned-on, and now I’m back to thinking I want to vomit.

“I was never going to leave tonight,” I whisper into her throat. She hums dreamily, her eyes drifting closed. “Or tomorrow.” My fingers move between her legs, pulling a moan from her. “Or next week.” Or probably… Ever.

Grief is such a complicated thing. It can crash over us like a heavy tide, pulling us under, only to release us with a sharp, cruel breath. Sometimes it’s quiet—an unspoken weight that lingers, subtle but constant. It can scream, or it can whisper, reminding us of what we’ve lost and what we can never reclaim. It doesn’t heal. It teaches.

“I want to try.” Her lips curl into a sad, bittersweet smile. “Then we start here.” It’s not a solution; it’s a beginning. And for the first time in a long while, that feels like enough.

“Do you need furniture? Décor, wall art, kitchenware?” “I think we’re all set.” “What does Isaac like?” I refrain from saying, my vagina.

The smallest smirk ticks up his mouth as he wedges a hip against the Jeep’s rear and folds his arms, watching me from a few yards away. I know that look. There are suspension ropes in the trunk.

Queenie whistles under her breath. Flustered, I reach for my iced coffee and chug half of it. “What?” I say through the swallow. “King Kong is looking at you like he just found his new favorite skyscraper,”

While I’d love to play with the adrenaline rush, I don’t want to play with PTSD.

Bending her knees just enough to lower the groceries to the floor, she keeps the cup held out in front of her. “Can you set this somewhere safe?” “There’s a spider in here, isn’t there?”

“I thought breaking it down would be the accomplishment,” she says, her voice soft, steady. “But it’s this. It’s just…this.” I rest my forehead against hers and smile. “Fuck yes, it is.” She tilts up and kisses me; deep, hard, and unrelenting. And when she pulls away, her gaze lingers on the wreckage behind us. She stares at it like the wall isn’t just broken—it’s gone. And in its place, there’s a door.

Everly would probably like these. Wait… What the hell is happening to me? I drop the flower. Then I think of her smile, and I pick it back up, along with five more.

My whisper is lost in the wind. “See you soon.”

Thanks to Dad’s tools, decades of crusted mud have been cleaned, the intricate engravings now as clear as I imagine they were the day they were carved. Turns out, it doesn’t say FOREVER. It says: FOR EVERLY.