I suffered from nightmares during sporadic moments of each day. Each time I looked in the mirror, it bothered me my face sometimes reminded me of my sister’s. Every room I stood inside of at TJ’s had some sort of memory of her attached to it. The hallway toward the bedrooms even had markings of our heights since we were two years old. His house was my second home, where we celebrated all holidays, birthdays, and random Tuesdays.

Katie lost her first tooth in TJ’s kitchen, and she got scolded for failing her first test in the dining room.

Everything I touched was a reminder of her. The worst thing, though, was crossing paths with my mother. I had Katie’s eyes, but Mom had her eyes and smile. She had her wild, curly hair. She had her heart, her personality, her love.

Everything beautiful about my mother matched my sister’s soul, and it broke my fucked-up heart every time she looked my way.

Not only did I suffer from nightmares during the day, whenever I closed my eyes, I’d fall into dreams that were always covered in shadows. I’d be back in that alleyway, listening to them mock Katie, listening to them abuse her. Sometimes I’d become aware that I was dreaming, but still I couldn’t wake up. I needed to wake up. I couldn’t watch her die again. I couldn’t…

I stumbled to my feet and rushed over to Katie. Her breaths were shallow and her eyes widened, panicked. “Eli,” she murmured, and I wrapped my arms around her.

“It’s okay,” I told her, panicking as I noticed the blood on my fingers from where I’d touched the back of her head. “You’re okay, you’re okay.”

She started to shut her eyes, and I shook her.

No…

“St-stay here, Katie. Stay h-here.”

“Eli,” Katie cried, pulling at my shirt. “Eli…Eli…E—”

I shot up from TJ’s sofa, shaken awake from the dream that was too real. My body was drenched in sweat, my heart rate was through the roof, and I couldn’t pull back the image of Katie dying. She died again in my dream.

She always died in my arms.

“Eli,” a voice whispered, making me turn my head to the left. Jasmine was standing there with wide eyes filled with panic and worry. “You were shouting in your sleep.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head back and forth.

She shifted around and gave me a tight smile. “I came back from work early tonight and realized I left my house keys here. You can head home if you want. I can stay the night.”

I stood up from the sofa and glanced at the time. Midnight. “Okay.”

“Are you…” she started, but she paused, knowing the answer.

No.

I wasn’t all right.

I’d never be all right again.

I headed to Daze. Jason was working behind the bar, and I sat down on a bar stool across from him. The moment he looked my way, he frowned and poured me a glass of whiskey on the rocks.

“Nightmares?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Awake or sleeping?”

I shot back the whiskey. “Both.”

He poured me another glass. “Do you want to talk about it?” He always asked me that.

“Nope.” I always replied that.

He leaned forward against the bar and cocked an eyebrow. “Do you want to listen to me talk about my wedding and how we picked out the flower displays today?”

I snickered and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Yes.”

Jason got a goofy grin and pulled out his cell phone to show me photos, because of course he’d taken photos. “She wanted peonies and buttercups, but I was definitely much more old-fashioned and wanted roses, but not like, red roses, burnt orange roses, with some stephanotis tossed into the mix. I felt like those would read more November, autumn wedding than red roses. We ended up doing the best of both worlds and mixing them all together.” The way his face glowed with excitement was the best thing I’d seen in a long time.

No one was more excited than Jason to become someone’s husband. Kelly was the luckiest girl in the world to have someone like him. Their wedding wasn’t until autumn of next year, but he and Kelly were already planning as if it were next month.

As he continued talking about his wedding day, I was thankful for the break from reality he gave me. Sometimes all your soul needed to rest was whiskey, peonies, and a best friend who loved you, scars and all.

* * *

As weeks went by, TJ had a harder and harder time adjusting to his new situation. He hadn’t meant to become so hard, but life was making it impossible for him to feel strong. He was always the one who cared for others.

He didn’t have it in him to be cared for at all.

“No, no, no!” I heard one evening at TJ’s, making him a snack. I hurried into his music room and found him on the floor, struggling to stand up.

“TJ,” I muttered, rushing to his side to help.

He waved me away, his face stern and grumpy. “No! Don’t touch me,” he said, trying to get himself up. He couldn’t do it, and I ignored his protests as I helped him to a chair.

“What are you doing?” I asked him, confused as to why he was even in the music room.

He shook his head. “I wanted to read music,” he told me. “I just wanted to read my music.” His walls were covered in music books from floor to ceiling, lesson plans he’d used on many students throughout his life, including me. It had been years since he’d taught music, but even when he had retired, he had still been able to play his own tunes—up until now.

“You could’ve asked me to get them,” I told him.

“I’m tired of asking people for help!” he barked, which was shocking. TJ was never one to yell. Scold, yes; yell, never. His eyes fell to his left hand, and I watched the shakiness that possessed it. His brows knit together and he sighed, sitting back in his chair. “I’m sorry, it’s just…I can’t play my music anymore,” he murmured.

“Maybe with some physical therapy, you’ll get it back.”

“I’m eighty-one years old and suffered a stroke, Elliott. I can’t even hold up the instrument.” He sounded completed defeated. “I’m never going to be able to play again.”

“Well, that’s okay.”

“What?”

“Music isn’t everything.”

TJ’s face turned slightly red. “What did you just say?”

“I said music isn’t everything.”

“Are you joking?” he asked me. “Music is the only thing.”

There had once been a time I’d believed that, too.

“You know what I see when I close my eyes?” he questioned, shutting his stare. “I see notes, bars, melodies, lyrics. I see music. When I breathe in, I think of jazz. When I breathe out, I crave it, and without being able to play my saxophone…without my music…” A tear rolled down his cheek, and I tried to ignore the way his emotions brought me discomfort. “Without my music, I might as well be dead.”

I choked out a cough. “You don’t mean that. Look, I know it seems hard, but music isn’t everything. I used to play the sax then I gave it up, and I’m okay.”

He opened his eyes and gave me a hard stare. “You had a choice to not play the saxophone. You chose to walk away from it. My music was ripped away from me, stolen away. You and I are not one and the same.”

I lowered my head, feeling guilty at his pain, but I wasn’t certain what to say. He asked me to leave, and I did as he requested. As I walked out of the room, I listened to TJ start to sob uncontrollably. I wouldn’t be able to fix him, because I knew nothing about being fixed. All I knew was how to stay completely broken, so I reached out to a person who was better fit for helping him.

The moment I called Jasmine, she was on her way. It was her day off and she was just sleeping at her house, so it didn’t take her long to arrive. She jumped into the first taxi she could get and was at the house in a flash. “Where is he?” she barked, her eyes wide with worry as she came into the living room to join me.

My eyes danced down her body, noting the fact that her trench coat wasn’t tied. She glanced down at herself, noticing the fact that she was still in tiny shorts and a tight tank top with no bra, exposing her nipples through the fabric. She gasped, quickly tying the coat shut. Her cheeks turned red, and I looked away.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“Sorry,” she replied. “I just rushed out of the house, not thinking.”

“You can borrow some of my clothes if you’d like. I brought workout clothes but haven’t used them yet.”

“That would be great,” she agreed.

I headed off and grabbed the white tank top and black sweatpants. She took them and headed into the bathroom to toss them on. When she came out, a small smile formed on her face, and her smile forced my heart to beat. She looked beautiful. The clothes were way too big, totally ridiculous, and they looked absolutely perfect on her. The band of the sweatpants was rolled down multiple times to sit correctly on her waist, and my eyes moved to her hipbones, which poked out a small bit.

Jesus…

My gut twisted as I tore my stare away. “He’s in the mu-mu-music room,” I stuttered. “He’s been in there the whole time.”

“Thanks,” she said, hurrying in to see him. She closed the door behind her, and I sat down on the sofa, waiting to make sure TJ would be okay.

It took some time, but Jasmine ended up walking TJ to his bedroom and putting him to sleep. When she reemerged, I stood up from the sofa and stared her way.

“He’s okay,” she told me. “He just had a small panic.”

“I didn’t know what to do. He…” I swallowed hard. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“Thanks for calling me.”

“Thanks for coming.”

“Always. I can stay for the rest of the night if you want, since I’m here.”

“Okay, sounds good.”

We stood still for a moment, staring at one another, unable to look away. The right side of her mouth curved up, and the left side of mine did too until I realized what I was doing. Then it curved back down.

She was in my head again.

“Okay, well. goodbye, Jasmine.” I gathered my stuff to leave.

She kept smiling. “Goodbye, Elliott.”

I walked out the front door, and she followed behind me to lock up. Before I stepped off the porch, I turned to her and narrowed my eyes. “What’s wrong with him?” I asked.

“He just feels worthless. His music gave him worth, a purpose, whatnot, and for that to be gone…he’s just lost.”

“How did you c-comfort him? What did you say to him?”

“Nothing.”

“What?” I asked, confused.

“I didn’t say a word. I just sat there with him.”

“You didn’t say anything?”

She shook her head. “No. Sometimes people don’t need words, Elliott. Sometimes they just need the space to feel what they need to feel, with someone present as a reminder that they’re not alone.”