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Damn near tripped on his outstretched legs, which made Brett huff, “Watch where you’re walking, sweetheart. You might trip and fall into someone’s lap.”
That was the second time he’d called me sweetheart, and just like the first time, I didn’t know how I felt about it. I made it a point to say nothing as I crawled into bed and got comfortable, pulling up the sheets to my chest and staring at the ceiling in the darkness. I heard Brett lay back and do the same.
The silence of the room was overbearing, and I rolled to my side, facing the wall and putting my back toward Brett. I closed my eyes and tried to will sleep to come, but drowsiness was the last thing inside me.
After what felt like ten minutes, but in reality was probably only two, I asked, “Are you still awake?”
“I hope I’m awake,because if I’m asleep, that means I’m dreaming of you.” He sounded almost bitter about it, like dreaming of me was the last thing he wanted to do. Hey, the feeling about that was mutual. I didn’t want him dreaming of me, either.
“Zak and I broke up because I caught him making out with my best friend.”
I was pretty sure I heard him sit up after that. “What?”
“I went with my best friend to a party, just like the one tonight. I was supposed to meet Zak there. My friend and I went to dinner before the party, and I drank too much. I had to pee. The line was long, so long. It took forever. By the time I was done, Zak was there, but I couldn’t find him anywhere.”
My voice quieted, “I looked everywhere. The whole freaking house. I walked outside to try to call him, and when I did, I thought I heard his ringtone—he had one special for me, so he’d know it was me calling.”
Brett groaned at that, as if it was too much.
“When I followed the sound, I came around the side of the house and found him and my best friend,” I muttered sadly. It still panged my heart when I thought about it—which was why I tried hard not to think about it. Lately, that part of my past kept resurfacing over and over again. “I left. I didn’t give him the chance to explain. He tried calling me. He sent me a bunch of messages on everything, but I ignored every single one. Nothing he could say could make it better, so why bother?”
Brett was silent for a few moments, but after a while, he offered, “For closure? I hear closure’s important to a lot of people.”
“For me, or for him? Every time he tried to talk to me, it was all about saying how much of a mistake it was, how it wasn’t how it looked—but you don’t trip and land with your lips on someone else’s—”
I stopped when I heard him chuckling, and I rolled onto my side, glaring at his shadow. He was still sitting up, and it looked like he’d drawn in his legs, his knees near his chest. “It’s not funny,” I told him.
Once he got his ridiculous laughter under control, he said, “You’re right. It’s not.” A pause. “Well, I think it’s a little funny.” If I wasn’t lying down, I would’ve thrown my pillow at him. “So, tonight was the first night you actually talked to him since then?”
Though I was still a little miffed at him for laughing, I muttered, “Sort of. He came here after, and my parents made me talk to him. He said he was sorry, that he still loved me and missed me and all that crap, but I didn’t want to hear it, so I told him to leave or I’d call the cops. Tonight was… he basically said the same stuff, until you showed up, and then it was like he was a whole different person.”
“What do you mean?”
“He got so angry. I could hear it in his voice. I’ve never heard him talk like that before.”
All Brett did was go “Huh.” He was slow in laying back down, getting comfortable in the darkness right beside my bed. I wondered if that was it, if this conversation was over—I kind of hoped it was.
Alas, that wasn’t the case, because after a while, Brett said something that pulled all of the air out of my lungs: “Is that why you always look so sad? Because of a stupid boy?”
“I don’t look sad—”
“You do. Anyone who doesn’t see it is just fucking blind. It’s all in the eyes, and yours always look so damned sad, like you’re a puppy who just got kicked halfway across the room. Relationships end every day. You shouldn’t let it affect you like that. Shit happens. You move on. You find someone else. It’s not the end of the world.”
“I don’t need advice from a serial killer,” I whispered, rolling onto my other side to give him my back—not like he could see it, but whatever. He thought he had me all figured out, huh? He thought I was some sad little girl because I’d broken up with my first love, my only love, because I’d caught him kissing my best friend?
He didn’t know me. I’d lost both my boyfriend and my best friend that night, and unlike Zak, Amelia had never tried to talk to me after that. No messages, nothing. She’d unfriended and unfollowed me on everything, blocked me so I couldn’t even see her profiles. I’d lost so much more than just my boyfriend.
I’d lost hope, as stupid as it sounded. I’d lost what little hope Zak had instilled in me for a better future. Until then, Zak had been the one good thing in my life, my rock, my anchor, the thing that kept me stable and steady when all I wanted to do was become adrift and lose myself. Honestly, I thought we’d be together forever.
But I guess that went back to what Brett just said: relationships ended all the time. Statistically, most of them ended. I’d been foolish for hoping against all odds Zak and I would make it forever.
Brett thought he had me all figured out, but he didn’t. Zak might’ve re-broke me, but before we were together, I was already in pieces, haphazardly kept together by flimsy tape. No one knew the whole truth.
“Yeah, well,” Brett broke his silence, “I’m not much of a relationship guy myself, so I guess I don’t know what I’m talking about, either.”
To get the conversation off me, I mumbled, “Oh, so no long list of girlfriends, then?”
“I’ve had a few, here and there. None that lasted longer than a month or two.”
