Chapter 93

The One With A Notification

A R I E L L E

As I sit at Hayes’ kitchen island, a familiar scent washes over me, which causes my chest to constrict. It smells like Nate ‘s cologne and I shut my eyes tight as I inhale deeply.

It brings back so many memories of him, of us, that it’s intense enough to make me feel as if he’s here right beside me. However, within maybe thirty seconds, it’s gone and I’m hollow again. I swallow the lump that’s formed in my throat, hating my mind for continually playing tricks on me after all this time.

It’s been nearly three months, why is this still happening to me? It’s like the time I thought he was standing there with a pregnant woman at work. It was all some sick, twisted, fucked up game that my brain won’t let up on.

A month and a half ago, I would’ve likely broken down at the aroma of him. As time has passed, my memories have faded, but not long after the accident, I’d found a bottle of the cologne he wore. It used to sit in a bottle on his dresser and it’s true what they say—scent is the strongest trigger of memory—because I became a fucking addict. It was my own personal hell. I could spray his shirt with some, close my eyes, and pretend he was with me.

But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t just the cologne that smelt like him. Like everyone, he had his own particular smell and it only made me miss him more.

In the past six weeks, I’ve improved substantially. At least, I believe I have. I no longer have daily breakdowns. In fact, I haven’t had a massive flip out since spotting that pregnant woman and I think that’s saying a lot.

I’ve spent lots of time exercising. I think I’ve become rather good at yoga. I find that it helps me to relax, to take any negative emotions I’ve been feeling and to peacefully accept and deal with them. I’ve been walking less, but that’s simply because I’ve been enjoying yoga much more.

“So, what’s new?” Hayes questions, leaning on the counter between us.

“Not a whole lot,” I admit. “I ended up doing some part time work, just to get myself out of the house.”

Lips wrapped around a bottle of beer, he raises his eyebrows. “How’s that going?”

“It was rough at first, but I think I’m used to it now. I made two new friends—Nadia and Jin—and they’ve been showing me the ropes.”

“What are you doing?”

“Just modeling.”

“Like, for photoshoots or?”

“No, at car expos. Don’t think that sort of modeling is my thing.”

He shrugs, “I think you’d be good at it.” I don’t speak on that comment, taking a sip of my beer. “Nadia and Jin—you’re liking them?”

I nod my head, swallowing. “They’re fun. Their friendship reminds me of Chase and myself.”

“That’s good, I’m happy for you. You seem better than the last time we met.”

“I am,” I admit. “I’m still not one hundred percent, though.”

“Don’t rush it,” he quickly states. “It’ll do more harm than good if you start counting out months and figuring out your progress—comparing it, based on the day. Let it come naturally. At your own pace.”

I nod my head, understanding what he’s saying. He once warned me that everyone grieves at their own rate and in their own way. I don’t know how long it took for Hayes to overcome his grief. I remember him spiraling. He became someone I didn’t recognize and I believe he was gone away at the rehabilitation center for a few weeks.

He seems completely himself now, but it’s been at least six months since all of that went down. I’m not exactly sure of the timeline, but that’s simply a guess.

Wanting to change the topic from my mental health, I tell him, “I got a new tattoo.”

He nods towards my face, “I see you pierced your nose, too. It looks good on you. Suits you.”

“Thanks.”

“What’d you get tattooed, if I can ask?”

I stand, lifting my shirt carefully. Luckily, for once, I wore a bra today, so it covers my modesty—even though he’s seen it all and I don’t really care—as I stop the shirt just beneath my breast to show him the butterfly tattooed there, alongside my sternum piece.

“It’s beautiful, Ari.” He leans in closer, studying it. “Is there a meaning behind it?”

“It represents a fresh start,” I tell him, brushing my fingers over the N tattooed in the one wing.

“Is there a reason you’ve only added colour to the daisies on the one wing? Why you made them blue?” I know he believe he’s asking an innocent question. Something that he thinks shows his interest in me and my life, but it’s so much deeper than that. This and my thundercloud tattoo are my most meaningful pieces. Everything else is mostly decorative.

Again, I purposefully follow the letter tattooed in the opposing wing to show him. “It’s done in memory of Nate.”

I sense him shift in my peripheral, but I’m too busy pointing out the blue daisies.

“The last gift he gave me was a bouquet of blue daisies.”

“That’s beautiful, Ari.” He lifts his beer to his mouth, taking a swig.

“I also adopted a cat,” I inform him, lowering my shirt as I readjust myself on my stool. When I meet his eyes, he’s not looking at me. In fact, he’s picking at the label on his bottle.

“Really? That’s cool. What made you decide to adopt?”

With a shrug of my shoulders, I tell him, “He just showed up in my backyard.” I’m unable to wipe the smile from my face. “James and I tried taking him to a shelter, but they asked if we could take him for a week or two while they made space and I ended up deciding to keep him.”

As I state the story of how I brought Storm into my life, I search my phone until I find a photo of him, holding the screen in Hayes’ direction so he can see what the cat looks like.

It’s a picture of him—eyes big as he sits on the edge of my bed, with his favourite sparkly pom pom ball resting in front of him. I only took it a couple days ago. He’s already grown so much in the few weeks I’ve had him and it makes me sad to think of how big he’s getting.

He’s a good cat. He doesn’t get into shit. He hasn’t scratched any of the furniture. He can be loud and curious, but I can’t complain. Chase was worried he’d tear up the couch, but Storm hasn’t touched it.

Storm sleeps with me every night. He’s claimed a spot near my pillow, where he cuddles close to me. He’s actually become rather attached to me—and me to him—because we’ve been spending so much time together. He’s helped me to grieve and move on with my life. Even though I’ve only partially moved on, it still feels like I’ve climbed a fucking mountain.

Hayes leans in closer to get a better look, smile breaking out on his face. “What’d you name him?”