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The leaves are changing, but summer won’t let go of her. She won’t let go of summer, either, because she has memories of them, sunburned and laughing and trimmed in gold.
They’re gone now, and she’s trying to move forward, but it’s hard when they are everywhere. Most of their personal items were packed away, but she kept a few of them, too. Bobbi’s sweater, Hunter’s scarf, and an overcoat passed back and forth so many times she doesn’t know who it originally belonged to. They’re all begging her to join the real world, to accept the crisp morning air and the breezes that will make her shiver. When she does have to go out, she wears them like armor - like they’ll protect her from the seasons changing, from having to admit they’re gone.
Melinda knows this isn’t healthy. She doesn’t need the pitying looks when she goes to bed alone to know everyone’s worried about her, but she’s fine. She’s as fine as she can be, at least, and this time she’s not going to run away. She’s going to stay because even though the memories of them hurt, she’d rather languish in this circle of hell than another one. She’d rather be here than any place where she’ll feel the loneliness even worse.
Summer won’t let go of her, and when she’s half-awake in the mornings, she can almost feel the sweat-slicked bodies next to her. Shoving three people in a bed made for one had never been comfortable, but it was even less so when the air conditioners were trying their hardest but still failed to cool the room appropriately. Waking up covered in sweat had never been fun, but it had given her an excuse to shower as soon as she woke up, and it had given Bobbi and Hunter an excuse to follow her.
Now she wakes up cold, and even she stands under the hot spray of her morning shower, she can’t quite conjure them up. Even when she tries to touch herself the way they touched her, even when she sobs their names against the cold tile wall, she can’t make them appear. Her memories are already starting to fray at the edges, and she’s terrified because she hasn’t even lost them for a season and they’re already evaporating.
How can two people touch every part of her, and then just disappear ? How can they slide their fingers around her heart and then just leave ?
Why doesn’t anybody stay?
She lets go of summer because she has to, not because she wants to. It gets colder and colder, and if she tries to hold on to them for much longer, she’ll freeze. A picture of them, laughing in mid-July, sits vigil on her nightstand, warning her not to forget.
Eventually, though, she has to.
She has to forget because remembering hurts too much. She has to forget so she can move on because they’re still fucking everywhere and if she remembers she gets distracted. When she gets distracted, people get hurt, and people die. Bobbi and Hunter wouldn’t have wanted that. They wouldn’t have wanted her to be miserable. They wouldn’t have wanted her to cry through autumn and into winter. They wouldn’t have wanted her to cry at all - except maybe Hunter. He was always telling her expressing emotions was healthy.
(Melinda and Bobbi had always laughed at that. Showing their weaknesses wasn’t something they did easily.)
She keeps the scarf and the sweater and the overcoat, but tucks them into a drawer she doesn’t open. She keeps the photo on the nightstand, but places it face down, so they don’t watch her when she sleeps.
She’s not sure she’s going to be okay, but she has to try.
She looks for things they didn’t touch, parts of her that aren’t marked by them.
There aren’t any, but at least she looked.
She takes long drives, to stores and to missions and everywhere in between. She asks the pavement and the traffic lights and even God if she’s ever going to be okay. They don’t answer.
And this is her life now: talking to empty air. She’s done it before, but she doesn’t like to think about that time. Back then, she had talked to empty air because she was trying desperately to forget. Now she’s talking to empty air because she’s already forgotten, but she wants to remember again - but the right way. The way that makes her feel warm instead of cold.
It’s hard.
It’s really hard.
But one day, she turns the photo face-up again, and their smiles aren’t judging her.
And they’ve still touched her -
they’ve still made her better -
they’re still gone -
she’s still walked through hell -
but she’s okay.