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I decided to try again the next day and the day after that and then yet another day after that. Either he wouldn’t open the door or he’d make an excuse and walk away from me. Calls, emails, everything went unanswered, which was so surprising because no matter how much we fought, he’d always say something.
Brian always had something to say. He was always so open and talkative even when he was upset.
And then, he left early for college a week later.
I haven’t heard from him since, either.
But I do hear about him. I do hear about all the things that he does. Although, I never – not in my wildest, wildest dream – could have ever imagined the source of my information.
I shouldn’t be surprised though. She does seem to know everything about everything.
Fiona. My sister.
And of course, she knows everything about Brian too because he is dating her now.
Yeah, they’re dating.
They started dating last fall. Actually, that’s when I snapped. Fiona called me to brag about it and I lost my shit.
That’s when I got drunk and lost control of my car.
When they put me in Heartstone, I had a lot of time to think about why Brian would do such a thing when he hated Fiona more than me. She would deliberately try to make my life difficult back in school and Brian never liked her. So it was a shock.
But I think I know the answer.
He did to me what I did to him. I hurt him. I betrayed his trust. So he did the same.
I just hope he doesn’t get hurt in the process because according to Fiona’s Instagram, they’re still going strong.
The only consolation is that when I asked Fiona to never mention my breakdown to Brian, she agreed. Her exact words were, “If you think I’m going to mention Heartstone to my boyfriend, Brian, you really are crazy. You’re not taking this away from me, not again. For some reason, he chose to become friends with you and your weirdness. I’m not adding fuel to the fire by painting you as this poor, crazy little Violet who ended up at a psych ward and risk being sympathetic to you. So yeah, I’ll personally make sure that Brian never finds out.”
For once, I was happy to be on the same page with my sister.
I don’t want anyone to find out. Ever. Besides, it’s in the past now. I’m on the Outside and I’m handling things.
And I’ve got bigger fish to fry. That’s why I’m here.
In Colorado. In the middle of nowhere, it looks like.
It’s a small town called Pike’s Peak and Mr. Edwards lives a little over an hour outside of it.
The first thing that I notice when I reach my destination and park my car by the side of the road is that this road is endless.
It stretches on and on, flanked by dense trees.
In the midst of all the green and the open skies is a winding dirt path that cuts through the woods and on the cusp of it is a little red mailbox. Or rather it used to be red once upon a time, I think. Now, it looks more rusted than anything.
I should really get out of my car right now.
I’ve been sitting here, staring at that mailbox and that dirt path for about thirty minutes.
“It’s gonna be okay,” I tell myself, gripping the wheel tightly. “You can do it. You can face him.”
Then, I chuckle nervously. “Really? Can I?”
They told me not to go, my friends.
They did.
They told me that it was a bad idea.
Why did I not listen to them again?
Oh yeah, because I’m crazy.
Puffing out a breath, I sit up and straighten my shoulders. From behind my Audrey Hepburn glasses, I squint at the endless road, the mailbox and the trees.
“Just do it. Don’t think.”
I jump out of the car before I can change my mind and start jogging.
A second later, I’m standing at the mailbox. It has the house number on it, along with Edwards.
Edwards.
It sends a jolt through my body. So much so that my hand raises itself and my fingers grab hold of the rim of my glasses so I can pull them off and read the letters that make up his last name in technicolor.
But I stop myself.
For some reason, it feels too intimate to see them without the lenses. And I have no plans of feeling any kind of intimacy toward Mr. Edwards whatsoever.
So I move on.
I walk past the mailbox, putting one foot in front of the other. It’s hard. But I do it.
The dirt road is littered with leaves, some green and some crunchy yellow. My red sneakers chomp on them as I walk through them and toward what I’m hoping is going to be his house.
Right now, I can’t even see it.
