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Alice Law was still relearning how to forget things.
The skin of her arm where the tattoo had once been was now smooth and unblemished, the Lethe erasing any evidence it ever existed but for her memory of the pain. Sometimes it still stung: the needle digging into her skin, the corpses of guinea pigs and cats, Grimes’s hungry eyes. A phantom pain that reminded her that even the Lethe could not wash away everything.
But Alice relished the newfound freedom in letting herself forget. It was odd, the act of forgetting, after so many years of remembering every breath, every glance, every word. The tomato stayed a tomato, not apple-dodgeball-human heart. Her mental staircase remained stable, her mind grasped the world as it was and let it pass. She was free from the pain and confusion that had constantly gripped her skull.
Still, sometimes a feeling of cold fear clawed at her lungs when she turned her mind over and found it blank. It was like climbing stairs and finding a step missing—her memory hovered, expecting a foothold, and swung into nothing. In the brief fall, a panic gripped her: what if everything else is gone too? What if Peter—?
Alice knew this was an irrational fear. It was not, after all, as if the tattoo’s disappearance had rid her of all her memories, or very many important ones at all, for the matter. Her memory had only returned to what it had been before the experiment, to that of a normal human. She and Peter had tested it after they’d returned to Hell, poked at the holes in her memory, determined she’d lost surprisingly little beyond all of the unused knowledge she’d stuffed into her brain—Linear B and Lacan and Tractatus, collecting dust in the back of her mind. The important things—her favorite Beatles song, Peter’s name, the bakery she went to every month—had remained.
She still delighted in her more-mortal mind, at forgetting what she’d had for breakfast four days ago, at no longer recalling every list she’d ever read. It was only when she reached for something that should be there—an important task, a certain word, the name of a spell—that her new memory capacity suddenly felt alarmingly fallible. After all, how does one return to normal after having transcended human limits?
Alice vaguely remembered her friend in neuroscience talking about the theoretically infinite capacity of the brain’s long term memory, of how the only reason why humans did lose anything was synaptic pruning. Like a spring cleaning, they’d said. To get rid of what’s unneeded. Perhaps that was what the Lethe had done—cut off all the synapses that had refused to be pruned, the small moments that looped over and over in her head.
So, logically, she would not forget Peter. How could she, when he’d always taken up so much space in her mind? Even after they’d grown distant, there’d always been a tangled knot in her chest every time she saw him, the hitch in her breath she couldn’t identify to be affection or jealousy, the burning hate-love-desperation that had attacked her every time she’d seen him. And now, post-Hell, the same knot wove itself around Alice’s heart, this time with a choking, aching fear of losing Peter again. She found herself staring at him, tracing his silhouette, burning those brown eyes into her memory until she was sure he would be the last thing she’d ever forget.
“What are you staring at so intently?” he'd asked her once, noticing her eyes studying the shape of his nose over and over again. She’d caught herself, looking away as an uncharacteristic flush rose to burn her neck and cheeks.
“Nothing. Just lost in thought.” Vulnerability had never been her strong suit, even after coming to terms with her feelings. It was funny how even after literally going through hell and back, her mind still feared a small slip of emotion would be the thing that killed her.
Peter had given her a knowing look, tilting his head—oh, how soft his eyes were, the gentle slope of his neck, the faint furrow in his brows that exposed his concern for her—and leaned toward her. “Yeah?” he’d said softly, giving her a smile. “A penny for your thoughts, Law?”
She’d looked at him, attempted to formulate the thoughts scattered in her brain. I’m scared of forgetting you. I’m scared of losing you again. I’m scared that I’ll keep losing things. I’m scared that I won’t even notice how much I’ve lost until I have nothing left.
Instead, she’d asked, “Sleep with me tonight?”
He’d blinked, cheeks flushing red, and for a moment, Alice wanted nothing more but to lose herself in those eyes, those lips, his beautiful mind. How could she resist a flustered Peter Murdoch, after all? She’d grinned, taken his thin wrist and pulled him a little closer—how wonderfully solid he was, how very real—and clarified, “Like the old days. Just to sleep.”
“To sleep,” he’d repeated, slightly breathless, and god if Alice hadn’t loved hearing him like that. He’d exhaled with a fond smile, nodding as he let his head fall onto her shoulder. “Of course. Anything for you.”
She was still getting used to Peter’s casual declarations of love, his easy confirmation of his devotion. If she loved with her steadfast attention, her memorization of his routines, his likes and dislikes, the way his mind worked, he loved with small shows of affection—his soft, purposeful drawl of her name, the reassuring sweep of his thumb over her knuckles, the passing kisses he planted on her head, her cheek, her fingers, any place he could place his lips upon in simple worship. Peter loved as if he’d been waiting to love her freely his whole life, and Alice almost didn’t know what to do with all of it. But she was learning—she’d been a Grimes student, after all, and she was good at nothing else if not to learn. And how badly she wanted to learn to love this imperfect, messy, wonderful man.
That night, they’d curled up next to each other, and Alice had listened to the steady beat of his heart, trailed her fingers over his ribs and counted every bone underneath his skin, over and over until she was sure she wouldn’t forget.
“Don’t leave me again,” she’d whispered into the night.
“Never,” Peter had replied, arms tightening around her. “Never.”
And Alice thought that maybe, forgetting wasn’t so bad so long as Peter would always stay by her side.