After My Lover Forgot Me, I Let Him Go

The rain had been falling for three hours straight when I heard the knock.

It wasn't really a knock. More like something heavy leaning against the door. A thud, then silence, then another thud. Like someone didn't have the strength to lift their fist but kept trying anyway.

I was sitting on the kitchen counter with a bowl of cereal I wasn't eating, scrolling through headlines on my phone. The same headlines I'd been reading for four days.

HOLDEN ARMSTRONG STILL MISSING AFTER ON-SET EXPLOSION.

A-LIST STAR VANISHES FROM CEDARS-SINAI — SEARCH INTENSIFIES.

WHERE IS HOLDEN ARMSTRONG?

I knew where he wasn't. He wasn't here. He hadn't been here in months, not since his career went supernova and this apartment became something he visited instead of lived in. His toothbrush was still in the cup by the sink. His gray hoodie was still folded in the second drawer. But he wasn't here.

The thud came again.

I put the cereal down and walked to the door. Our apartment — my apartment — was on the second floor of a building in East Hollywood that smelled like old carpet and someone else's cooking. The hallway light had been broken for weeks. I looked through the peephole and saw nothing but dark.

I opened the door.

Holden was standing there. Or not standing, exactly. He was leaning against the doorframe with one hand, his head down, water streaming off his hair and his jacket and pooling around his shoes. He was soaked through. His shirt was plastered to his chest. There was a cut above his left eyebrow, half-healed, and a bruise along his jaw that had turned the color of a storm cloud.

My heart stopped. Then it slammed back so hard I felt it in my teeth.

"Holden."

He lifted his head. And I saw it.

His eyes. They moved over my face the way you'd look at a street sign in a city you've never been to. Searching. Empty. Polite.

He didn't know me.

"I'm sorry," he said. His voice was rough, like he hadn't used it in days. "I don't — I don't know why I'm here. I was walking and my feet just..." He trailed off. Looked down at his shoes. Looked back at me. "Do I know you?"

The rain was loud behind him. I could hear it hitting the metal railing of the stairwell, hitting the roof of the building, hitting everything.

Do I know you.

Three words. They went through me like a blade.

I had a choice. I understood that clearly, even in the moment. I could tell him the truth. I could say, Yes, you know me. You've known me for six years. You used to sleep on the left side of that bed and steal all the blankets. You once made me pancakes at 2 a.m. because I couldn't sleep and you said nobody should be awake and hungry at the same time. You told me you loved me for the