Remember Me

I staggered into my house and collapsed onto the first chair I could reach. Yawning loudly, I grabbed the half-empty bottle off the floor and swallowed a mouthful of it's contents, the bitter liquid burning the back of my throat. I emptied the bottle and let it fall from my grasp. It smashed on the floor but I didn't care. I hadn't cared about anything since he had died.

"You know, that stuff will wreck your liver."

I looked up to see a figure enter my blurry vision, before passing out.

***

I woke up as usual with a pounding headache and a dry mouth. Struggling to sit up, I realized I wasn't in my usual position on the floor in a pool of my own vomit, but rather on my sofa with a blanket tucked around me and the area around my body puke-free.

"I said it last night and I'll say it again: that stuff will destroy your liver."

I looked up, clutching my head, trying to locate the voice. It had come from the bottom of the sofa, but there was no one there. Figuring I was still a little drunk, I made to get up but what felt like a hand was stopping me.

"Well," the voice sighed, "at least you can hear me. I guess I should be thankful for that."

"I've gone mad," I mumbled, shaking my head, then wincing in agony. "I must have done."

"You're not mad Roger," sad the voice. "You're just closed-minded."

"Who are you?" I snapped, getting irritated by this practical joke.

"Don't you remember me Rog? I'm your friend. Well, I was before I left."

"I don't know you."

"You used to. Can't you remember?"

The voice sounded hurt, as if it's owner was about to cry. I struggled to remember who it was, but I couldn't. It sounded familiar, but I couldn't give it a face or a name.

"Sixteen years," said the voice. I could of sworn it was getting fainter. "Sixteen years, and you're already forgetting me."

"Just tell me who you are!" I cried. "Tell me who you are and I'll remember!"

I stared round the room desperately, waiting for an answer that never came.

***

That night I drank. I drank partly to get rid of my hangover, partly because I wanted to forget, and partly in the hope that I would hear the voice again. I had tried so hard to remember who the voice had belonged to, but I couldn't. I had finally decided that it was a figment of my lonely imagination.

Swallowing another gulp of vodka, I slumped to one side, a grin slowly spreading across my lips as my vision became blurry. The voice would be coming back, I knew it would.

"Where is it?" I asked the empty room. "Where are you?"

I took another swig, looking around the room desperately, my ears strained for a hint of the voice. But there was no sound apart from my own frantic breathing.

I slumped onto the floor, the room spinning, my vision fading to black.

***

Waking up the next day, I groaned and sat up. I was lying on the floor, my shirt soaked in sweat and vodka. Dragging myself up, I made my way into the bathroom to clean myself up, my head throbbing.

"Now, I've told you about what drink does."

I turned my head, trying to locate the voice. "It's you, isn't it?" I asked the empty space. "The voice from yesterday?"

"Is that what I am to you? A voice?"

"Well if you told me who you were I'd be able to call you something else!" I snapped.

"It's not up to be to tell you who I am. You have to remember yourself."

"If you're not going to tell me who you are then fuck off." I stormed off into the bathroom and started to undress. I stopped when I caught sight of myself in the mirror.

I looked terrible. My hair was greasy and tangled, my eyes were bloodshot and had dark circles underneath them and my skin was unnaturally pale. I looked down at my chest and saw that there was hardly any skin covering my ribs.

All in all, I looked ill. I barely looked alive.

There was a knock on the door. "Can I come in?"

I sighed, and unlocked the door, pulling on a semi-clean top.

"Who are are?" I asked the voice.

"I told you yesterday. I'm an old friend."

"I don't have any friends, not anymore. They all left me when I started drinking."

I felt a hand on my shoulder. "And why did you start drinking?"

I cast my gaze downwards. "I lost someone very close to me."

"Do you remember what their name was?"

I closed my eyes, trying to remember, but no mane came. Hell, I couldn't even remember what he looked like.

"That's why you can't see me," the voice said sadly. "You can't remember."

The hand left my shoulder, and I heard footsteps walking away from me.

"Wait!" I called. "Don't leave me!"

An image started to form in my mind. Black hair, brown eyes, a cheeky smile, an overbite. Flamboyant, kind, loving. A faint outline of a body started to form at the top of the stairs.

The figure turned to face me, tears in his eyes. "You did it," he whispered. "You remembered me."

I stood there, staring, my mouth hanging open. "But... but you're dead."

The figure smiled. "I'm alive now that I'm in your memory."

"But... how is this possible?"

"I wanted to say goodbye properly."

I grasped his hand. "You're not leaving already?"

"I must, I don't have that much time left and their still people I need to see."

"Will I ever see you again?"

"I don't know. Will you still remember me?"

"Forever."

He smiled. "Then I'll be back one day."

"You promise?"

"Promise."

Tears filled my eyes. "I can't believe I have to lose you again."

"You haven't lost me. You never did. You never lose those who you hold dear so long as you remember them."

With those parting words, he began to fade.

***

After that day, I stopped drinking. It was hard, and I almost gave in several times. But I didn't want to forget again.

I managed to get back in touch with a few of my other friends. They were pleased to know that I was sober and supported me every step of the way.

I still live in hope that he'll come back. I always take a few minutes out of every day to stop and listen for a voice in my head, and to remember.