AS THE YEAR WENT on, life was starting to get a little bit easier.

As I threw myself into college and getting myself, my body and my spirits better, I started to listen when people told me that time heals things. I thought it was a load of crap before... but as the days turn to weeks and weeks turn to months, I'm starting to think that maybe they're right.

Sure, I still wake up some nights, screaming at the top of my lungs, covered in sweat, but it's very infrequent. Okay, fine, that one dream in a fortnight is ten times worse, but at least nine nights out of ten, I'm able to sleep. And with that my body has finally been able to heal.

Telling Millie everything helped. And I really did tell her everything. I told her how I spent days crying in my room whilst they were all downstairs. I told her about what happened, every single gritty detail of what happened to Matt and me that day... and I told her about the nightmares. About how I am forced to relive it every night because it was my punishment for doing what I did.

But Millie helped. She held my hand, she told me everything would be okay, and even though the words felt patronising to start with, I think getting them out in the open with someone who knew me really helped. Having someone know who could understand just how much I lost that day helped... and as the days went on, the dreams did finally start to disappear. Having someone who knew everything I went through that day - even if it can't be Tessa anymore - means I am no longer alone. And I think my subconscious is starting to know that.

With a quieter subconscious, there came new friends from college as well, on top of the few friends I've managed to make during my time in physical therapy. I've grown closer to Lara mostly, given she shares my session times, and afterwards I stay and keep her company for a while, talking about anything and everything except what landed us both in such a mess in the first place. Out of the few new friends I had managed to make, she gets me most. She gets that I've been through a lot, and that I don't want to talk about it, and is happy to be there for me until I am ready to talk about it. And that is exactly what I need at the moment.

Since my operations, I'd been in physical therapy for several months now. Today will be my last session this week before Christmas, and I'm only just realising how close to Christmas it really is.

As I walk into the lobby, I finally notice the huge Christmas tree up, decked head to toe in bright, flashing lights, with huge boxes of presents underneath. The nurses and staff are all dressed in reindeer antlers or elf hats, and as I make my way through the corridors towards the private physical therapy ward, I feel a hole open up inside me at the thought of potentually spending Christmas Day alone this year.

Last year I had Millie, and it was just the two of us. It felt strange to be just the two of us given the year before we'd had such a beautiful time with the Grangers. But we made up for it as much as we could, with Millie buying a turkey big enough for fifteen people, which we ate in front of the TV. She stayed for New Year too - we were still just about eating leftovers at that point - and she saw me off on my first day of college in January, which was nice. Weird, but nice. She literally walked me to the administration building as if she was Mum, but I suppose she was just checking I was going.

Today, nearly a year later, I was unsure whether Millie would come. She was supposed to come, or rather she had promised she'd come back in November, but now it all depended on final exams and Greg's final surf competitions of the year, which were over in Australia. A couple of days ago I'd had a text to say it may be New Year rather than Christmas, so I was fully resigned to be eating takeaway in front of the TV by myself this year.

Despite the previous memories I'd had - the good and the bad - the one thing I do absolutely love about New York at Christmas is how excited everybody gets. I feel like the atmosphere changes as soon as Thanksgiving is over, with lights on every lamppost, taxi drivers wearing Santa hats and Christmas messages and decorations everywhere. Once December officially hits, everyone wishes you a Merry Christmas, and as I make my way down the final corridor towards Lara's room, the Merry Christmasses keep on coming. I nod as an acceptance of each one, and sigh with relief at having reached Lara's room without encountering too many.

The thought of not having Millie for Christmas this year being more real has put me in a more melancholy mood today, and that deep hole I'd been repairing all year is threatening to break free again. But when Lara tells me to enter, I plaster the most convincing smile I can on my face before putting my foot over the threshold.

Fake it 'til you make it and all that.

"Back again are we?" she says, not even looking at her as she focusses on the TV screen in the corner of her room.

"You sick of me?" I ask, plopping myself down on the chair next to her bed.

She quickly reshuffles her bedclothes and that's when I notice her leg. Or lack of leg. But when I think about how she'd been patient with me, I decide not to say anything, knowing she'll tell me when she's ready.

"How many of these have you watched?" I ask, pointing towards a huge pile of DVDs she has on her tray table.

"Only one so far."

"Only one?" She nods. "You Grinch! You're supposed to be most of the way through them by now. It's the twenty-third!" I chuckle. Shaking my head, I ask, "Which one?"

I look at the open case next to the TV and I see which one she's watching, and it makes me freeze.

I always find it strange how the smallest things can set you off when it comes to confronting memories. Some people might think it ridiculous that a film like Home Alone could set me off in terms of my emotions, but it's the meaning behind it that makes me freeze. It was Tessa's favourite, one she always made us watch on our last day of school before Andrew would take us home. And right now it's making my insides churn so much I feel like I could be sick.

"Arch?"

Lara's voice pierces through the ringing in my ears and I can just about manage to turn my head in acknowledgement.

I shake myself out of it as I feel Lara's hand touch my arm. "Yeah. I, erm..." I clear my throat. "I just hate that film."

Her eyes widen.

"You can't hate Home Alone. Isn't it against the law to hate Home Alone?" She laughs. "Who's the Grinch now?"

I can't respond for fear of snapping at her. But it seems my attempts are in vain because I snap at her anyway. "Can you fucking turn it off?!" I shout, gripping the sides of my chair so tight my knuckles go white.

She sighs. "Arch, I haven't even turned it on yet. Jeez... It's just a film. Just watch it."

As the tightness in my chest threatens an impending panic attack, I decide escape is the best thing for it. Without another word, I get up, grab my bag and storm out of the room, ignoring Lara's calls down the corridor for me to come back.

I suddenly don't feel like it. My enthusiasm for the day is depleted, so instead of taking a left to head towards physical therapy, instead I make a bee-line for the stairs and head towards the exit, my lungs screaming as I try to contain the panic attack that's making its way over me. As I crash open the doors at the bottom of the stairs, I sink into a ball in the alley behind the hospital as sobs wrack through me, making my entire body shake.

Deciding it was best to walk off whatever mood this is, I get back to the apartment about an hour later. And I'm in an even worse mood than I'd been in when I left the hospital.

I get in the apartment and slam the door, trying to stop myself from breaking anything. So I do the only thing I can do, to curtail my mood, and that is to soak myself in the alcohol I have left... and drift off to sleep.

***

MY EYES ARE STINGING when I wake up.

I don't know how long I've been asleep for, but as I focus on my surroundings, the sun has gone down. However, I'm disoriented when I finally do focus properly. When I fell asleep, I was on the sofa. Now I'm in bed, and I'm in my pyjamas. But as look around, nothing seems amiss, so I decide I must have just woken up and got myself into bed.

I lie back on my bed, placing my hands behind my head. My ribs pull slightly, but I ignore it as I sigh, listening to the night outside. But it's as I start to listen, there are small things that make me realise I may still be dreaming.

Usually, even with being on the top floor of this apartment block, I can hear the traffic and the noise of the city below. The sirens and the sounds of life down below are idle... idle enough to make me swing my legs over the side of my bed to investigate.

Despite the cold, I open the balcony door and step out. As soon as the door is open, the noises come at me in full force. The sirens feel like they're right next to me, not forty floors below me, and it makes a tightness build in my chest as the darkness starts to try to take over.

Before it can do that though, I rush back inside and enclose myself in the silence of my apartment, breathing heavily as I try to comprehend whether I'm dreaming or whether this is the drink talking.

I walk to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and whilst I slowly drink two pints of water, I head back to bed, hoping now I'd be able to sleep... or wake up.

"Can't sleep?"

I hear a voice in the darkness. A voice that haunts my dreams... a voice my memory would never allow me to forget... no matter how hard I tried.

I sit up sharply in bed, whipping my head from side to side, trying to see where the voice came from. The sound was as clear as day. It was as if the voice were placed right next to me, but as I check under the covers, beneath the bed and in the ensuite bathroom, I can't see anyone.

"Hello?" I call out, gingerly getting back into bed, worried the voice will pop up next to me again.

Nothing. Silence.

"Is anybody there?"

No one answers, but I feel like there is no way that voice was just in my head. It sounded way too real to be my imagination... so I walk further into the apartment in search of the voice's owner.

"Hello?" I call again, flipping on all the lights in each room.

No one. Each room comes up empty.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" I ask myself, putting a shaky palm to my forehead. I'm sweating, my skin cold and clammy, and my breathing is accelerated, my heartrate heightened.

I go to the bathroom and splash some water on my face before I get back in bed, telling myself to ignore that sinking feeling in the bottom of my stomach. It wasn't the first time I'd heard that voice... nor would it be the last. But after the afternoon I'd had, I really wasn't in the mood to deal with it.

"You okay?" the voice calls again, this time coming from my left, and I feel a whisp of breath on my skin, and I almost fall out of bed when I see someone lying next to me, plain as day, in the bed.

As I move my head, the figure goes in and out of focus, as if she's some kind of mirage... her image changing as the reflection from my lamp hits the window behind her. It's as if I can see directly through her... which is how I finally realise that I am still dreaming.

Tessa is here in front of me. Her body in front of me is becoming clearer and clearer the more I believe she's there, until she's smiling in front of me, her hair almost shimmering against the lamplight of the room.

"Archie?" she asks, shuffling forward on the bed. She moves but none of the bedclothes move with her, giving me more evidence that this is a dream.

As I examine her closer, I see what she's wearing, which is the same as in every dream. She's wearing the outfit she was wearing the last day I saw her, when she left for university: that frayed pair of denim shorts, a long vest shirt and a large maroon hoodie. It's to taunt me, to prolong that final memory I have of her, but I always focus on her beauty instead. Her beauty which has no doubt grown since the last time I saw her.

But she's here. For a few, fleeting moments, she's here with me.

"Are you... real?" I ask, half-wanting to reach out and touch her, although I already know what I'll find. "Are you here?" My voice sounds desperate.

She smiles. "I'm as real as you want me to be," she says, tucking a piece of hair back behind her ear. I used to love doing that. Her hair was always so soft.

"That doesn't quite answer my question," I reply, and her mirage fades slightly as my belief in whether she's real or not falters. I panic and reach out for her on instinct. I'm about to tell her to stay - beg her to stay - but then she leans forward and places a hand on my outstretched forearm, sending a shiver up my arm.

I look down at fix my gaze on the fingers touching my arm. I can see them, I know they're there from the tingling sensation going through me... but I can't actually feel anything. Her fingers move up and down my forearm, tracing the scars that Dad had left behind, and I want so badly to be able to feel her. To touch her. To run my fingers through her soft hair. To feel her soft lips on mine... But I know I'll never be able to do that.

I smile, closing my eyes, making my brain believe her touch is real. "Okay... that does," I say softly and her smile widens. God, I've missed that smile. That smile that makes me feel like everything is okay...

She slides down the bed and places her head on the pillow next to me, her head inches from mine. Her hands are tucked underneath her head as she stares into my soul.

I've been having these dreams for a few months now. They're not every night, so I never know when to expect them, but they're my favourite dream because, even though she's taunting me, I get to see her. Even if it only subconsciously, I get to pretend for a few minutes that she's here with me.

She never looks any different in them either, she always looks the same, the way I remember her. Her beautiful blue eyes are still deep and loving, her cute button nose is still turned, and even though she doesn't like the way it does that, I always will. Her hair is down, soft and wavy around her shoulders, and it's moving in the slight imaginary breeze surrounding us. It's my subconscious giving me my dose of what it's craving, so it became easier not to think about her whilst I was awake.

I knew it was pathetic, but I didn't care. To have these tiny moments mean more than everything to me... and I'm determined to keep her here a few moments longer.

"What's on your mind?" she asks softly, her voice barely audible.

I answer without hesitation, because she must know by now that it's her that's always on my mind.

"You. Why else would you be here?" I reach out to touch her again, but when my fingers near her face, she suddenly disappears.

This always happens. She can touch me, but I can never touch her.

A few seconds later, she reappears and she shakes her head. "No really, what's going on in that head of yours?" She taps the side of it. "There's a storm brewing in there..."

Her hand remains on my cheek and I close my eyes.

"I'm thinking about home," I admit with a sigh, lying down the same way she did, my hands under my head.

And that was true. I was thinking of home, I always am. It's because she is my home... and whether I want to admit that to myself or not, she is. I keep telling everyone that I need more time to decide what I need to say to her and to Andrew, but the truth is that I know what I want to say and I've been ready to say it for months now. But after over a year of this self-imposed exile to give me time to get the shit in my head sorted, I knew I'd blown any chance of a reconciliation... so what was the point in trying.

The other thing was that I'd told Tessa to move on in my letter to her, and me turning up after a year wasn't me helping the process of her being happy. Telling her to move on is the one single thing I regret doing, but it's unfortunately not something I can take back. I knew it would be hard for her, because I know she felt the same way I do about her, and breaking that kind of bond is literally heartbreaking, but I also knew her heart would heal in the end.

"I miss you Archie," she says, her voice fading as her mirage starts to fade. Her face starts to fade as the dawn light rapidly approaches in my weird dream state.

"I miss you too," I reply. "So much."

"We miss you."

A tear falls down my cheek as she smiles.

"Come back to us..." she whispers. "Come back to me."

As she disappears, her cold but soft hand touches my cheek, causing me to suddenly wake with a start, her last words still echoing around my mind.

Looking at my surroudings, I pat the side of the bed Tessa had just been on, hoping that maybe, just this time, she'd been real. But when I find myself still on the sofa, with spilled whiskey all around me, I realise I really had been dreaming, and that I hadn't actually moved.

Tessa was a dream. That's all she was now. That's all she will ever be.

Tessa being with me again was just my imagination running wild... because I will never have her again. Only in my dreams.