Do You Still Love Me When We Meet Again? (Aubrey and Damon) novel Chapter 70

Chapter 70

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Meru

At Aubrey’s pleading, Chloe called her mother.

The outcome was Chloe’s mother had taken the cardboard and the tin box downstairs, selling them to a middle–aged man who collected scrap from door to door.

She begged the nearby businesses to let her see their front–door surveillance footage, and from it, she could vaguely make out the man’s figure.

She scoured the city for the scrap collector, a desperate, needle–in–a–haystack search.

After three days, she finally tracked him down.

But he was a blank slate when she questioned him.

With no other option, Aubrey slipped him two hundred dollars, and he finally led her to the cramped, junk–filled yard where he stored his salvaged items.

Under the scorching June sun, in a stifling yard that reeked of decay and refuse, she spent over two grueling hours digging through piles of junk. Finally, her fingers closed around the familiar cold metal of the tin box.

The relief of finding it again, the surge of hope, propelled her to open the box, her hands trembling with anticipation. But in that single instant, her heart plummeted, freezing solid in her chest.

The box was completely empty. Nothing.

Her fingers trembled with panic as she asked, her voice tight with nerves, “Mister, what about the things that were inside my box?”

The man frowned.“What things? I have no idea.”

Aubrey drew in a shaky breath, a wave of nausea washing over her. She forced herself to stay calm, to rein in her rising panic. “It was just a set of keys, a phone case, and a small plush toy.”

The man stared at the tin box, then something clicked.“Oh, right,” he said.“The plushie couldn’t be weighed with the scrap metal. The lady just tossed the contents into the dumpster back then.”

Aubrey’s body went slack, the tin box slipping from her numb fingers and clattering to the ground with an ear–splitting clang. Her eyes, already swimming with unshed tears, instantly welled up, turning bloodshot.“Which dumpster?” she choked out, her voice barely a whisper.

“The one downstairs, by your building. It’s been three days now; it’s already been hauled to the landfill and incinerated.” The man stuffed the two hundred dollars into his pocket, his tone hardening.“You dug through all my junk. I’m not refunding you.”

Aubrey’s mind was a blur as she dragged herself away, her steps heavy and mechanical.

Refusing to give up, she went back to the dumpster downstairs and painstakingly sifted through its contents.

Nothing. Everything was gone.

She called the local waste management company.

The news she received was bleak: all the trash from three days ago had either been incinerated or otherwise disposed of.

In a daze, she made her way to her brother’s house.

She knocked, and Chloe’s mother answered the door.

“Why are you here?” She asked.

Aubrey was seething, her fury a burning weight in her chest with nowhere to go. Afraid her voice would be too loud and wake the baby inside, she forced her anger down and asked softly, “Mrs. Harper, three days ago, you sold my tin box. Why didn’t you tell me then that you’d dumped the contents in the trash? If you had told me that day, I would have found them.”

Chloe’s mother’s face soured. She raised her voice, her tone indignant.“I thought you were looking for the tin box, Aubrey. How was I supposed to know a woman almost thirty would still be looking for a little stuffed animal inside?”

Aubrey scoffed, a bitter, tearful laugh escaping her lips.“What about the set of keys? And the phone case? They were in there!”

“I didn’t notice a key, and besides, phone cases aren’t expensive.” Chloe’s mother, frazzled, fished a wad of bills from her pocket, peeled off a

twenty–dollar bill, and shoved it into Aubrey’s hand. “Go get a new key made. A phone case is only ten, fifteen bucks. The rest will be enough for a small toy.”

< Chapter 70

Aubrey’s chilled fingers slowly lifted, her gaze fixed on the fifty–dollar bill in her palm.

Her heart felt like it was tearing apart.

“You’re a grown woman, still playing with stuffed animals.”

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Her ears picked up Chloe’s mother’s sarcastic mutterings, followed by a deafening bang as the door slammed shut.

A wave of cold and numbness washed over Aubrey, as if a thousand ants were crawling and gnawing under her skin. Her hands trembled so violently they dropped limply to her sides, and the fifty–dollar bill fluttered from her grasp to the floor.

Her face was deathly pale, and tears fell like unstrung beads, tracing paths down her bloodless cheeks, gathering at her chin before finally dropping to

the floor.

Her throat burned, and even swallowing her own saliva was excruciating.

Her emotions lay still and dead, like the bottom of a deep abyss, completely devoid of ripples, yet she couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

It felt as if her entire heart had been hollowed out.

Nothing was left.

Only a heavy shell of herself remained as she numbly got into a rideshare and returned to the home Damon had left for her.

The house was spacious, clean, and tidy, but held none of Damon’s things.

She drew all the curtains, losing all sense of day or night, and lay cloistered away in the darkened room.

Her mind was heavy, her head empty. Day after day, she lay, curled up, or sat, too exhausted to even walk.

Stomachaches called for antacids, insomnia for sleeping pills. Shaking hands and a racing heart demanded antidepressants, and when her emotional pain manifested as agonizing physical aches, she popped painkillers.

Her days revolved around these medications, her only constant companions.

Thirsty, she’d grab ice water. Hungry, she’d order takeout.

She rarely left the house, her life devoid of any glimmer of hope.

She couldn’t find a reason to live, simply lying in bed each day, waiting to die.

For the first two days after she’d returned with her mother’s ashes, Sierra had still come to comfort her.

But Sierra was heavily pregnant, her own family demanding her attention, her life revolving around her husband and soon–to–be baby.

Sierra couldn’t spare the time, and the last thing she wanted was to impose.

She had thought about helping herself, about pulling herself out of this darkness.

But this kind of profound depression, fueled by such pervasive negativity, was too powerful to battle alone.

She couldn’t even summon the will to crawl out of bed. The sun might be blazing outside, but to her, the sky always felt a suffocating, heavy gray.

he didn’t want to go out, didn’t want to work, didn’t want to earn money, didn’t want to eat–nothing held any interest for her anymore.

During her somatization attacks, she felt like she was dying. Her heart would ache fiercely, her whole body would tremble and weaken, cold sweat would bead on her skin, and she’d lie in bed, clutching a pillow and sobbing uncontrollably.

After a torrent of tears, she dragged her shattered body upright, painstakingly reaching for a pen and paper to write her will.

der trembling fingers shakily scrawled the first sentence across the stark white paper,

Damon, I can’t hold on. I truly can’t anymore. I miss you so much, but I can’t come to you…”

A fresh flood of tears spilled onto the paper, blurring the words. She abruptly froze, throwing the pen aside and fiercely crumpling the paper into a ight ball before tossing it into the wastebasket.

‘anic seized her, and she huddled in the corner, curling into a tight ball.

Why would she leave such a suicide note for Damon?

t would disrupt his married life and hurt his relationship with his wife.

She cursed herself silently: Aubrey, you’re such an asshole. Do you really want to drag him down even in death?

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She couldn’t leave a note for Sierra either. Sierra was pregnant, and crying during her recovery would harm her.

So, who else could she leave a suicide note for?

She realized there was no one.

She pushed through the debilitating physical pain, and on one of her clearer days, she went to a law firm. There, she had a meticulously drafted document notarized, ensuring that all the assets Damon had ever gifted her would be returned to him upon her death.

Once her financial affairs were sorted, she headed to the coast.

The secluded coconut grove beach where she and Damon had once camped.

Deep into the night, the sky was utterly devoid of stars.

At low tide, she floated on the ocean, her arms and legs splayed wide like an X, gazing at the inky black sky.

The darkness was absolute, thick enough to swallow her hand whole, yet the quiet was so profound she could hear the ocean breeze whispering.

Her mind replayed, endlessly, the images of walking hand–in–hand with Damon on this very stretch of sand, moments that had been so effortless, so full of pure, unadulterated bliss.

All those memories, once so sweet, now tasted more bitter than gall.

Her nose burned, and her throat ached with a bitter, raw sensation. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears slowly tracing paths from the corners, past her temples, through the hair at her nape, to finally disappear into the damp sand beneath her.

She didn’t know how much time had passed, but eventually, the tide began to roll in.

A weary sigh escaped her. If only she could just fall asleep right then, right there.

Perhaps, when the water finally took her, the suffocating pain wouldn’t feel so profound.

The tide rose to her waist, soaking her entire back and hair.

Suddenly, her phone rang.

Waves crashed onto the shore, one after another, lashing against her body, icy cold. That stubborn phone, submerged in the water, was still ringing insistently.

It rang once. Then again.

It was as if, should she not pick up, the caller would keep ringing, and ringing, until the phone gave out.

God, so annoying. Couldn’t she even drown in peace?

Aubrey weakly reached out, fished into her pocket, and pulled out the soaking wet phone.

The screen showed an unfamiliar number from New Haven City.

It’s from New Haven City?

Water dripped from the phone, landing on her face.

She answered, put it on speaker, and murmured hoarsely, “Who is this?”

From the other end of the line came a woman’s furious voice.“You’re the owner of apartment 302, right? I live in the apartment below you. Did your pipes burst? Water has been constantly leaking and it’s flooded my entire living room!”

“I’m so sorry. Please find a locksmith to open the door, then get someone in there to fix it. Whatever it costs, I’ll cover it immediately.”

“How can you be such an irresponsible homeowner? Your leak has completely ruined my entire ceiling. My home looks like a waterfall inside! And you don’t even want to come deal with it? You expect me to find someone to open your door? And then find someone to fix it myself? What if you turn around and accuse me of something?”

“I won’t screw you over.”

and

my kids–is

“I’m not going to illegally enter your home to make repairs. People are treacherous.” The woman’s voice was a mix of grief and fury, utterly serious. “Our home, the one we worked so hard to save for, is completely ruined. Now our family of six–including my elderly parents crammed into a hotel. You need to come back immediately to fix this, and then we’ll talk about how you’re going to compensate us.” Aubrey slowly sat up, a wave of guilt washing over her.“It’s that bad? Oh god, I’m so sorry! But I’m in Crestview City right now.”

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< Chapter 70

I don’t give a damn where you are. You need to get back here and deal with this. Now.”

“Okay, I’ll book a flight for tomorrow. I’ll get there as fast as I can.”

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Aubrey offered another sincere apology before hanging up. She struggled to get up, shaking her dripping phone.

It was a miracle the phone had worked at all, soaked as it was.

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than the screen went black.

She gasped, pressing the power button frantically. Nothing.

Helpless, she walked toward the beach, the phone a dead weight in her hand.

Maybe those battling depression were only ever cruel to themselves. So kind to others, unwilling to cause anyone harm or burden, only ever hurting themselves.

Even then, even with death a whisper away, her mind was still on that leaky apartment, still agonizing over the damage it would cause to someone else’s home.

That very night, Aubrey had her phone repaired, booked a flight, packed her bags, and with all her documents in hand, headed for New Haven City.

She had no keys.

Using her property deed as proof of ownership, she called a locksmith to open the apartment door.

The downstairs neighbor went in with her to inspect the apartment. They searched everywhere but found no trace of a leak.

The locksmith left, and then the plumber arrived.

After some thorough checking, the source of the leak was pinpointed in the bathroom.

“We’ll have to pry open the tiles to see what’s going on underneath,” the plumber said.

Aubrey nodded.“Okay.”

The plumber got his tools out. The moment he pried open a tile, he froze, staring at the freshly applied cement. “This is clearly new,” he exclaimed. “The mortar underneath is still fresh.”

The downstairs neighbor glared at Aubrey.

Aubrey felt completely wronged. She quickly explained, “I haven’t lived here. This apartment’s been vacant this whole time.”

“No way,” the plumber stated firmly, tapping the cement as he spoke.“I’ve been doing this for over a decade. This was definitely just put

The plumber pried open the tile and dug through the mortar beneath. Suddenly, water burst from the pipe.

“Oh my God!” the repairman muttered, working on the pipe.“This is definitely vandalism. Did you piss someone off?”

Aubrey and the downstairs neighbor exchanged a stunned look.

Once the pipe was fixed, the tiles were relaid.

The apartment downstairs finally stopped leaking.

in.”

The two of them went to the security office to check the surveillance footage, only to discover that a stranger dressed in black had dismantled the hallway camera.

Consequently, nothing further was captured.

Her upstairs neighbor asked, “Was he the one who lived here before you?”