The Forgotten Wound || Audra Burwell

Frigid droplets of rain pour from the sky, cascading like tears from a heartbroken god. I rush through the downpour, using my school binder as a shield from the elements. Ahead of me lies the computer lab, a massive sage-green building with a substantial overhang, sheltering a set of two lonely benches. A sigh of relief escapes my lips as I reach the canopy. There is no one else in the vicinity except a long-haired, blue-eyed boy to my right. We are alone together in the storm. 

I remember the moment we first met with surreal clarity. You were the transfer student, the new kid, the mysterious enigma. You had no previous school listed on your transcript, no record. A drifter without a future or past. Only later would I learn that you were a runaway, hiding from authorities who would eventually drag you back to your destructive and malignant family. The adrenaline rushing through my veins that day was the sweetest poison I have ever felt. The danger made me crave you more. 

“Hi, I’m David. I don’t think we’ve met officially,” you extend your hand toward me.

I tentatively slip my fingers through yours, feeling a strange comfort. Why did you have to choose me? 

“I’m Audra. I’ve been here a long time. Where do you hail from?” 

“Oh, everywhere, really. Mostly Sacramento.” You lean close, elbows braced on the bench. “Hey, can you give me your phone real quick? I need to look something up, and all I’ve got is a slider.” 

I don’t know what compelled me to hand you my phone, but I did. Your eyes remain downcast and demure as you scroll, one corner of your lip raising, the first hint of a smirk. After a couple of minutes, you hand it back. 

“Off to class,” you mumble almost imperceptibly, slinging your backpack over one broad shoulder, “See ya later.” 

I clutch my phone, too dazed to respond. Your presence was magnetizing and overwhelming. When you looked at me, I felt as if I was being seen for the very first time. No one else had ever made me feel beautiful in that way. Later that afternoon, I checked my contacts. Sure enough, your name rests at the top of my recently added list. I typed out a quick message. 

This is Audra from earlier. You put your number in my phone, so I felt it’s only fair I share mine. 

A wavering text bubble with three dots appears. 

Oh hi! Miss you already. You’re super cute. Wanna hang sometime?

I’m kinda off-and-on right now with someone, I text. This isn’t the truth. 

Your message comes back at lightning speed, sending a bolt of anxiety through my stomach. I gulp audibly, reading the words over and over. 

That’s ok. I have a girlfriend. I don’t mind.

I should have walked away then and there, saving myself years of heartache. But I think a part of me needed you as much as you needed me. Our demise was written by the hands of fate, but that did not stop us from trying. 

And so began my journey as “the other woman,” or “your dirty little secret.” However, our relationship was anything but a secret. Everyone on campus could tell from the way you would smile knowingly at me in the halls to the intimate moments they witnessed in the parking lot. We were the gossip that kept them busy for the duration of high school. 

During Math Lab, I could always feel a malevolent gaze boring into the back of my skull from your girlfriend, Rebecca. Her hatred for me transcended human capacity. I never blamed her for it, though, even after the death threats and nasty letters she sent. I understood the pain and betrayal she must have felt. It is truly agonizing to only be given a small fragment of someone to love while the rest of them belong to another. 

You were my vice for nearly seven years, my freedom and my curse. Those late-night phone calls breathed life into me, a little girl who had been sheltered from the world for her entire existence, who was a slave to ignorance. You taught me what desire was and what hope could feel like. 

It nearly broke me when your father summoned you home, back to Sacramento. However, by some miracle, our unorthodox relationship survived both time and distance. Rebecca soon became a name of the past, one replaced by new women, your desperate need for attachment and comfort overpowering logic. Alone in the world again, I launched my series of trysts and flings, searching for you in every single one of them, yet coming up empty. I could not drown my pain through mere flesh.

Who would have thought your dying mother would bring us together once more? Pancreatic cancer, they said. Terminal. When I heard that you were back in town after nearly four years, I was hesitant. The flame of teenage infatuation had burnt past the wick and was now replaced by seeds of bitterness. My love for you had changed, and so had the way I saw you. We were nearly adults now and had somehow become strangers. 

Together, we learned to feel again. I stood by your side as you attempted med school, changed IVs, and administered shots. I would cook and clean for your brother and stepfather as I watched you nurse your mother back to health. I had never seen this side of you. So caring, so gentle.

I learned countless secrets about your family in those years, like how your mother was legally insane. 

The night she threw a burning log through your window and threatened you with murder, I let you stay with me. The week that followed was pure bliss. Wrapped in each other’s arms, we reminisced on our innocence, on days past, nostalgia enveloping us in white sheets. On my birthday, we made love for the last time. Somehow, we knew it was the end. 

  “We could have been great, you know,” I whisper as I brush the back of my hand over your protruding stubble. It is nearly midnight. A sky full of stars shines through my parted blinds, white orbs casting shadows on the wall. 

You kiss my palm gently, peering up from the mattress. “I know. But it wasn’t meant to be. I hope you’re able to find happiness. You deserve it.” In your eyes, I see nearly a decade of sadness and regret. I also see longing. Rolling over, I guide your arm around my chest, and together, we drift into a restless and fitful slumber. 

In the morning, you are gone. 

  It took a long time to heal the wound you left in my heart, but when it eventually stitched itself closed, we resumed communication. I no longer viewed you as a mysterious and electrifying stranger nor as a lover. You had become nothing more and nothing less than a friend. Our shared history evolved into a mutual understanding. We both did find happiness outside of each other, you with Nadia and me with Arturo. Any spiteful words we shared have been long since forgiven. 

Looking back, one of my greatest accomplishments was finally letting you go.