|**| Forget |**|

Nick looked out the window of his bedroom. It was raining, but it seemed to Nick that the rain was parallel to his mood: dreary, ugly, dark, but most of all, lonely. Nick sighed, and walked to the bathroom adjoining his room. He turned on the water, and turned on the radio while he was waiting for it to get hot. Shania Twain's "From This Moment On" was on. Nick groaned.

Any song but that.

That song reminded him of her. It was their song. He smiled. Granted, it was a small, even infinitesimal, half smile, but it was still a smile nevertheless. No matter how depressed or lonely he felt at the time, the memory, either good or bad, of her was enough to make him smile.

She was his first true love. His only true love.

He stepped into the shower and let the steady stream of hot water run down his back. He reached for the soap and closed his eyes. That was when he thought about her. He couldn't help it; the song had made him remember. She, who he had tried countless times to forget. He rarely succeeded, and when he did, it was when he was so wasted and high on whatever drug he could find that he couldn't even remember who he was, much less remember her. But there was always that dull ache in his chest. In his heart. It never went away, even when he wasn't thinking of her. Even when he wasn't remembering.

He could still see the way her long, brown hair moved when she walked. He could still remember how soft her hair felt when he ran his fingers through it, releasing the strawberry scent of her favorite shampoo. And, if he closed his eyes and blocked out the rest of the world, he could still see her eyes—those big, brown eyes that he always got lost in. The eyes that he could see her soul in. The eyes that he fell in love with.

He could still trace the outline of her lips with his finger—of course, when he traced the outline now, he was tracing air. He remembered everything about her. Every detail, right down to the tiny white scar on her ankle she had acquired when she was 10 years old. Sometimes he would close his eyes and sit there for hours on end, just picturing her. Imagining her. And, if he imagined for long enough, it almost felt like she was there.

That's when he knew it was time to stop thinking all together. That's when he decided let himself be pulled into the abyss of oblivious bliss that drinking brought him.

The song wasn't helping.

He reluctantly let his mind drift back to that day.

They had been dating for 4 or 5 months. Not long really, when one considers the love that was shared between them. He had left to do some recording with his band mates. She had decided to stay at the hotel and spend the day napping and tanning by the pool. As usual, he kissed her, and they exchanged the, now normal, 'I love you', before he headed off.

The day had passed on as usual, with no major events. That was, until Nick went back to the hotel.

He first walked by the area the pool was enclosed in, hoping to see her there. She wasn't, so he headed back up to the room, figuring that she probably went to take a shower, or something.

He searched the entire room when he arrived upstairs. No one. He glanced towards the bed and saw a piece of paper lying on the comforter. He walked over to it and picked it up, reading it carefully.

Nick: I ran into my old friend, Rachel, by the pool. Turns out she's here on vacation with her parents. We decided we'd both rather go shopping than stay at the pool all day, so I'll be back in time for dinner, k? I've got my cell if you need to call me.

Love you,

Ashley

Nick glanced at his watch. 6:00 pm. Shouldn't she be done by now? He picked up the phone and dialed the number to her cell phone. He held it to his ear, and listened to the ringing. One ring. Two. Three. Four. Voice mail.

"Hey baby...I got your note. Just calling to see if you're almost done. It's 6:00 already, and I figured we could have a nice dinner for two, so you best be getting your cute little ass in gear!" Nick laughed into the phone. "Anyways, I'll talk to you later. Love you." Nick hung up the phone and sat on the bed. He'd just wait for her, then.

He turned on the T.V. Music videos? No. Sports highlights? No. News? Nick had his finger on the button to change the channel, but the local news station was showing a story on some huge car crash on Kiltern Street. He stayed on that channel, now intrigued.

"Police aren't giving out very much information as of now, but we do know that the crash was caused when the driver of a greyhound bus fell asleep at the wheel. The bus apparently had no passengers at the time." The cheerless voice of the newscaster played over the footage.

"It appears that the bus collided with a yellow SUV, instantly killing the 2 passengers inside."

Nick was no longer listening. He was staring at the yellow SUV. The license plate on the yellow SUV. Ashley's yellow SUV. Ashley's yellow SUV that had been crushed, and smashed, until it no longer resembled a car, but some yellow heap of metal. He was watching the footage of the paramedics, wheeling two stretchers away. One that, Nick was almost positive, contained Ashley's broken, bleeding, and lifeless body.

After getting over most of the initial shock, Nick had ran out of the hotel room and raced to the hospital that the news said the victims were being taken to. And he had learned that the body on one of those stretchers, the body in one of those terrible looking body bags, the body that he later had to identify, was Ashley's.

Nick shook his head, as if to get rid of the memories of that terrible day. He didn't seem to notice he was crying. The tears were blending in with the water from the shower. He finally turned off the water, and dried himself off. He walked back into his bedroom, and dressed himself in his "clubbing clothes". He walked over to the dresser and opened the top drawer. He pushed the wrinkled, torn piece of paper with Ashley's familiar handwriting on it aside. He pulled out his wallet, with his I.D, and a box of condoms. He took out a handful and shoved them in his pocket. He grabbed his keys off the nightstand, and left.

Left to go have another night of partying. Drinking. Groupies. Another night of trying to forget Ashley.

God, that SUCKED! Take me HOME!
Wow, I loved it! I want more!