Until You Don't Need Me

Danni was hungover. The pounding in her head reminded her of how much she drank last night, the taste in her mouth full of regret and cheap wine. The sun peeking through the blinds in the dingy apartment window felt like a knife to her eyes, and she curled herself closer into her bed comforter. Blindly, her hand reached around the bed, and with a start, realized there was nothing.

Oh, right. Her jaw clenched, and she remembered why she drank so much, why she downed that cheap bottle like it was water and she had run a marathon. Hell, the reminder of her drinking was sitting on her kitchen table, along with a little, black book that her mother had sent her the other day.

20,000 dollars. A hell of a sum, especially in these times. Danni knew that, had it been another method that she’d gotten the money, she’d be jumping for joy, probably celebrating with-

Don’t. Don’t think of him. Her head throbbed, and with a wince, she sat up, grateful that the nausea was minimal this time. She remembered getting the check from the lawyer, him handing it to her like he’d done it a million times before; though, to be fair, he probably had. She remembered getting back home, opening that stupid wine bottle that someone had sent as a gift, drinking it straight from the bottle as she blared music that she hated, because the music she usually loved hurt too much to listen to, and scribbling in the black book her mother had sent her-

“Oh no,” she whispered. “The book.”

Her mother loved that book. Danni could understand; it had been the last gift that her father had given to her mother before he died. Danni still could remember her mother carrying it around as if it were her bible, the one thing that made her father still alive in her eyes.

And in her drunken stupor, she had written in it, desecrated the gift with a name that she couldn’t even say out loud.

She cursed, shoving off the comforter, ignoring the way her head pounded like a jackhammer as she stumbled to her kitchen, where the worn book lay closed. Tentatively, she grabbed the item, opening the book as the old pages crinkled from her touch.

There it was, the offending name that she had written, a name that she had avoided, even though she knew it was unhealthy to cope this way, that she needed to accept it and move on, but it just hurt too much to go past the denial. In her mind, if she acknowledged it, it would be even more painful. Best to lock it away. She turned.

There was a man sitting on her couch. Specifically, there was a man sitting on her ugly, yellow couch, smiling at Danni like she didn’t look as awful as she felt. Forget the sunlight in her window; his smile was 10 times brighter and warmer than it, making her breath catch in her throat.

“Hi.”

She blinked, slowly, shaking her head, walking to where she kept her cups. She grabbed her aspirin that was always on the kitchen cabinet. Her hand shook as she filled the cup with water, downing the medicine quickly as she shut her eyes.

“Danni?”

She jumped, looking directly at the man, who had moved so silently that she hadn’t heard him as he stood a few feet away from her. She looked down, avoiding his gaze.

“Danni, I know you can hear me.”

Don’t acknowledge. Don’t look. She made her way to her room, and began to fix her bed. She knew he was there, watching her as she spread the stupid comforter around her bed, noting that it was harder to do it alone.

“Danni-”

“Shut up!” She turned to look at the man. His mouth was slightly opened, in either shock or hurt. Most likely the latter, as he stared at her with those doe eyes that she was always crazy about, and it made her heart hurt.

“Sorry,” she said, then winced. “I’m talking to an illusion. I’ve just apologized to an illusion. Damn it.”

“Not an illusion, but I’ll accept your apology.”

“You’re not real!” She snapped, her eyes catching a glimpse of the clock on her wall. “The bank. It’s gonna close soon!” Danni rushed to grab her things, changing quickly out of her pajamas and into something more presentable. She ran to the kitchen, grabbing the check, her eyes falling on the black book, which was open still. She picked it up, brows furrowed at the name, and looked at the man, who stared at her intently.

“When I get back home, you will be gone. You… whatever this is, are a product of my hangover.” With a deep breath, she closed her eyes. 1, 2, 3. Slowly, she peeked through her eyelashes.

Nope. He was still there. With a huff, she tossed the book to the table, then went out, slamming the door shut.

It was at the bank that she got a call. For a brief moment, she considered letting it go to voicemail; instead, she reluctantly answered.

“Hey, mamá.”

She doesn't know why she answered. Deep down, she knew that her mom calling her all the time meant that she cared, but it still never seemed to help. Especially not today.

“Yeah, ma, I’ve just been busy, is all. Yeah, no, I’m ok.” Liar.

“How is your day?” Her mom’s thick accent comforted her slightly, and Danni smiled softly.

“It’s fine. How about you?” She hoped that her mother would take the hint to change the subject, and bless her soul, she did.

Her eyes roved around the bank as she waited in the slow line, her mother’s voice a comforting background sound as she talked about how her neighbors were stealing her lemons from the backyard. She saw a couple walking by, their hands swinging as they chatted happily, their laughter tinkling. Her heart clenched, and she quickly looked away from the scene.

“Danni? Did you hear me?”

The question broke Danni out of her reverie. “Sorry, mamá. Can you repeat that?”

“I asked if you already got the book. I sent it a little while ago…”

“Yeah, I got the book.”

“You… haven’t written in it, have you?”

Crap. “Why?”

Her mother was quiet, and the silence made Danni feel like a child again, when her mother could tell if she’d misbehaved.

“Mamá, I’m sorry. I-I did,” she stuttered.. “I know dad gave it to you before he-”

“What did you write in it?”

“Ma-”

“What. Did. You. Write?”

Danni felt ashamed as she answered quietly. “His name.”

“What?”

“I wrote his name.” A pause. “I wrote Sam’s name.”

“Oh.” Silence after, long enough that Danni wondered if she had hung up, but her mother spoke again. “Have you… experienced anything?”

“What?” Her mind flashed to earlier, in the apartment. “What’re you talking about?”

“Hey!” A voice behind her shocked her out of the conversation. “You’re holding up the line!” Danni looked, and indeed, she was. In the time apologizing to the people behind her, Danni’s mother had hung up.

It was later, after Danni had put the money into her bank account, and had parked her car in front of her apartment, that she called her mother again. It rang, long enough that Danni nearly hung up, until her mother finally answered with a quiet hello.

Might as well cut to it. “What did you mean, experience anything?”

“Danni-”

“Please, ma. What did you mean?”

It was quiet on the other line, until she heard her mother sigh. “I think… you already know. Just keep an open mind, ok?” And with that, the line went dead.

Danni stayed in the car. Stayed until the sun went down, and stared at her apartment windows.

It felt weird, opening the door to her apartment, like she needed to brace herself. She flicked on the lights, and saw no one in sight. Was it relief that she felt? Disappointment? She didn’t know, and she checked all around her place, finally coming back to the table, where the black book had been tossed. She picked it up, then opened it.

She saw her messy handwriting, traced her finger delicately over the name, over and over, almost reverently. Sam. She turned around.

He was sitting on her couch. Danni gasped.

“Hey,” he said, gently. Doesn’t matter, because her heart was beating a million miles a minute, had her shaking her head like a bad dream.

“No. No, I’m not that hungover anymore. Why are you here?” She hated how her voice cracked, hated how the grief was rising to her throat from her heart.

“Because you-”

“Because I wrote in the book. So what? Why does that mean you’re here?” Her eyes blurred, and she hastily wiped them away.

“Danni-”

“Don’t!” She held her hand out, looking at him as best as she could with her eyes full of tears, and willed herself to not cry.

He looked good. Healthy, in the prime of his life, just before he was taken from her so quickly. It broke her heart, seeing him in the morgue, having to identify his body after a hit-and-run, and she remembered wishing that she could’ve been with him that day, just so he wasn’t alone. She remembered begging him to wake up, to come by her side.

But he didn’t.

“You’re dead.”

“I am.”

“We cremated you. Your ashes are at your mom’s place because I couldn’t handle having to look at your urn and not hold you! Why are you here? Am I crazy? Am I dying?” Her breath had started to come into short, stuttering spurts. “Are you even… you?” Are you my Sam?

He was quiet, then sighed.

“Yes… and no. I’m the Sam that you wrote.” He took a step to her. “I’m the best of him, the version you saw through your eyes.” Another step, and she could see the tiny scar over his lip, his scar. “But, despite all that, it’s still me.”

There was a pause, and she closed the gap between them, standing so close that she could see the flecks of gold on those brown eyes, and she reached a tentative hand to him. Will he shatter if I touch him?

“You can touch me.”

“How? How is this possible?”

“I don’t know. But I’m here.”

And with that, her hand rested on his cheek, feeling the soft skin. A small cry left her lips, and she surged to hug him close, one hand fisting in his dark curls while the other pulled his body to her, burying her face in his neck as they reveled in each other’s touch.

“Am I dreaming?” she whispered.

“No.”

“Good.” She smelled that old book smell that had come from his time working at a library, where she first met him and had her breath stolen away just from glancing at him.

“How long will this last? You, being here?” She pulled away, to look at him. He pursed his lips.

“Until you don’t need me.”

“What if I never stop needing you? I’m always going to love you.” Her voice shook, and already she was terrified of him leaving. Gently, Sam pressed his forehead to hers.

“Love and need are two different things. I know you’ll always love me. But one day,” he cupped her cheek, “You won’t need me, and that’s ok. Until then, I’ll help you. I won’t go.”

She kissed him then, knowing that he was right, knowing that her pretending that not thinking of him wasn’t a healthy way to cope, and although this probably wasn’t either, it was better than earlier.

There would come a time, she didn’t know how soon, that her grief would be manageable. She knew now, though, that despite all of that, she would survive it.

Danni had to. For Sam. For herself.