I opened my mouth to say something—I wasn’t even surewhat—but nothing came out. It was my body interfering again, desperate to keep me out of harm’s way.
“Please.” Brooklyn’s words were barely audible through his heaving breaths. “Help me.”
Somewhere deep in the back of my mind, I must have known. It was there, buried under movie nights and singing in the car with the roof off and laughing over chips and salsa. I just couldn’t have borne to face the truth, because despite all of that, I really did love him. But I only truly knew that now, because nothing but love could hurt this fucking much.
I stood up, scraping the chair back against the linoleum floor. Alec was right. What could any of us have done? What could I have done? Brooklyn wasn’t ready, either, but I wasn’t sure he’d ever admit that. So I had to.
“I can’t.” My chest ached as every word I said made my heart crack into tiny pieces. “How am I supposed to help you when you can’t help yourself?”
He reached out to me with a trembling hand, but I backed away from him until my back was pressed against the wall. Brooklyn choked back sobs, gasping like a fish out of water, tears streaming down his blotchy red cheeks. The machines he’d been hooked up began beeping, and a few nurses came scrambling in, giving me a way to slip out of the bay.
I found an empty spot to lean against the wall, heaving to catch my breath while all the emotion in me came rushing in like a landslide. Stella appeared beside me from seemingly out of the void, and she put a hand to my back.
“You knew, too, didn’t you?” I barely recognized my own voice, muddled under all of the tears and the hurt. “You knew he was using, and you didn’t tell me.”
“I don’t know,” Stella said haltingly. “I didn’t know what to do. I guessed maybe he was getting high again, but I couldn’t accept it. I thought maybe he’d change. That his feelings for you would have made a difference. He loves you so much. I know he does.”
I struggled to find my words. I wanted to scream, I wanted to throw up, I wanted to unravel, but I didn’t. I kept it together, because that was what I did, and that was what I’d always do. But this wasn’t for anyone else; this was just for me, because for once, I had to think about myself.
“It doesn’t matter, does it? He loves drugs more.”
Stella led me out to the emergency room lobby to Alec, rubbing at her tear-stained cheeks as she hugged me goodbye. She might have said sorry, but it sounded far, far away.
Alec and I took Stella’s car back to the estate complex, and I threw anything of mine that I could find into my suitcase. I took Brooklyn’s car keys, and I drove home.
As I sped down the empty back roads along the bay, I blasted the radio to his stupid grungy rock music and let the wind from the open windows tear through the car. He had promised me he would tell me in the morning. He would tell me that he loved me, and we’d wake up happy to the sound of the ocean and a beautiful sunrise.
It was almost 5 a.m. by the time I got home. I parked Brooklyn’s car in front of my house but I didn’t go inside. I walked down the street shoeless, willing myself forward until I got to the beach. The sun rose over the ocean, calm and tepid, lined with streaks of orange and gold. It was morning, and it was beautiful. But he didn’t love me, and I didn’t really feel happy, or sad. I felt nothing.
Twenty-six
It had been raining all day. Water poured off the broken gutters on the side of my house, and even though I was under the porch, droplets still plopped onto my arms and head. Stella stood in front of me, rocking back and forth on the heels of her sandals. She wore no makeup, her face pale and her eyes tired. She must have noticed the disdain on my face, because she huffed out a breath and looked down. Thunder rumbled the porch.
“I promise I’m only here to give you your makeup bag.” She handed it to me gently. “And to get Brooklyn’s car.”
Over her shoulder, Charlie waited in Stella’s car. When he noticed my glance, he lifted his hand to give me a small wave.
“Thank you,” I muttered, dropping the keys to the Jeep in Stella’s hand. I was about to go back inside when she stopped me.
“Wait.” She put her hand on my arm. I turned to face her, crossing my arms over my chest. I didn’t know if I should feel angry or sad or some combination of both, but it unsettled me either way.
“I want to say how sorry I am about everything. I really should have told you my suspicions. I know you’re angry, and I’ll take full responsibility for it. You should have never had to see what happened the other night.” She paused and let out a sharp exhale. “I don’t want you to think that he didn’t love you. He did. He does.”
I wanted to not care. I wanted to rip Brooklyn out of my system, even if that meant ripping out my own heart, for my own self-preservation.
But I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask. “Where is he?”
“I can’t tell you. He didn’t want me to. But—” She produced an envelope from the pocket of her sweatshirt. “He wanted me to give you this.”
I quickly took the envelope from her, trying to hide my trembling hands.
“Anyway, that’s all. I’ll let you go now. Goodbye.” Stella turned and walked back to her car, handing the keys to the Jeep to Charlie. I stood on my porch and watched them drive away, realizing that was probably the last time I’d ever see them.
I darted back up to my room and shut the door behind me, clutching the envelope to my chest. All it had was my name on it, and that was all I could seem to focus on.Nat, the way he’d say it with that self-assured smile.
I don’t know how long I sat on the floor of my bedroom, running my fingers over the black ink of my name in Brooklyn’s scratchy handwriting. I put the envelope on my bedside table before grabbing my phone. My thumb hovered over my favorites list in my contacts for a few moments before shakily hitting Brooklyn’s number. It only rang once before the chirpy automated message came through.
“I’m sorry, this number has been disconnected or is no longer in service. Please try—”
