The Dream and the Dreamer

Nights were the worst, Amir’s scent was starting to disappear just like he had, and most of the time Jake kept himself calm by stuffing his face into the sheets in a failed attempt to fill that ragged hole in his chest, but it usually ended in pained sobs and he fell asleep only when he was finally exhausted. He would wait for hours, praying for the door to open and for Amir to crawl into the bed, muttering incoherent and slurred excuses and apologies. But it was always just the same old rushing sounds of the city, a bitter disappointment.
Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into two months. Sarah and Patrick brought groceries over to Jake’s apartment on the two month mark of Amir’s disappearance. They tried making Jake laugh with fresh jokes and stories as they prepared a dinner for later. They decided on inviting a few people over from work, a forced social setting for Jake in an attempt to distract him in some way. He sat still and silent on his sofa as they worked in the kitchen. Eventually, Sarah put down the knife she was using to cut tomatoes and walked over to Jake, sitting down next to him, swallowing hard. He glanced over to Patrick, who left her gaze to stare at the counter in front of him, a knot in his throat as she started to talk. The police had talked to Amir’s parents and Leron, who contacted Sarah with their new information.
“They think Amir ran away, just got up and left,” she hesitantly spoke, her words drenched in pain. She winced before she continued, “There’s no evidence supporting that he didn’t do this himself,” she waited for another moment, her lips starting to tremble, “There’s nothing you could have done, Jake,” Her voice trailed off, but echoed in his head over and over again. She looked up at Patrick, who had paused in the kitchen to listen, knife clutched in his hand. Jake ran his tongue against the inside of his mouth and he counted to ten in his head.
“He wouldn’t do that,” he strained, shaking his head. Patrick looked up to Sarah, who again looking at him for aid, but the lanky man was just stood there in a sympathetic trance. She placed a hand on Jake’s shoulder tenderly, her fingers twitched with nervousness.
“You changed him a lot, you know,” she murmured, “he grew so much with you,” Patrick shifted in the kitchen, his face flushed and he cleared his throat. Sarah pulled her hand away, letting it fall in her lap. Patrick started to speak, his voice stung with immense regret as if he was giving a eulogy, “You were really good for him,” he mumbled, not daring to look at Jake, “It really isn’t your fault.” Jake could only muster a slight nod, but even that was excruciating. A question burned at the back of his throat, he struggled for the words, trying to push by the fears he held with such a question. The other two were very patient.
“Do you think he’ll ever come back?” he blurted out. Patrick came forward behind the sofa, and tentatively placed a hand on Jake’s shoulder. He looked over at Sarah; they both struggled over a response. In that silence, Jake took a moment to think of years previously, before Amir infected his life. Back when Amir didn’t matter at all. For a split second he wished he didn’t care anymore. He practically begged his mind to forget. That thought in itself made his stomach lurch painfully, though, so he stopped and returned to reality.
Reality was that he was stuck on Amir and it was six years too late to rid himself. Amir could be gone physically, but he’d always with Jake.
And for the first time in weeks, Jake smiled and started to laugh. His friends stared at him, clearly alarmed. Still laughing, Jake shook his head, gesturing that he was fine.
“I just thought of something,” he muttered, still chuckling softly. It was the first time he thought of something good in such a long time, that it was rather funny to him. It was relief, and relief fueled this strange laughter. He was laughing at himself. He was starting to progress and he was proud of himself.