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I scowl. “What? Why?”
“You’re being daft once again, daughter.”
“I have no reason to be at the reading of his will. I’m not entitled, nor do I want anything from the man. Not in life and certainly not in death.”
“We failed you, Henley, or so you believe. Take a little something for yourself. Just once in this life, grab one thing that can offer you a semblance of peace andkeepit. The funeral is next Monday.”
With that, she hangs up, and for a reason I can’tbeginto fathom, I burst into tears.
I researched depression a lot in my youth, coming to terms with the fact that my personality would be best categorized as melancholic. My earliest memories are persistent with sadness.
In my early teenage years, I believed I was caught in a constant state of grief. Forever mourning the life and family I’d been given. It’s all very self-absorbed when I reflect on those times now. I grieved because my family wasn’t what I expected them to be.
In truth, I don’t give credence to the belief that I was depressed. Nor was I grieving. On an elementary level, I’m certain it was far more simple. The absence of happiness in my life, in my home, was enough to hold me hostage in my perpetual bleakness.
How does one knowhowto be happy when they’ve never been shown it?
How does one even know it exists?
My life was monotone, a grayscale painting with no depth. It held dips of lifelessness that only forced me further into myself.
Then I met Brooks.
I met my best friend.
The love of my life.
As Brooks opened my world up, I tasted the buzz of happiness, and it frightened me. More than that, itpetrifiedme.
Happiness was a drug. A potent sedation you could wake from at any moment. A seduction that would have you forever searching for its highs.
Grieving Derrick seemed prosperous when taking a third-eye view. But something inside me broke at the news. As if a valve finally released and the hurt and pain and rejection he painted me with flooded my body.
I was drowning, caught in a wave of emotion I didn’t know how to ride.
They were tears I cursed myself for shedding. They weren’t warranted. The man I had called dad for the better part of my adolescence didn’t deserve them. He stepped away from my life long enough ago that he should be nothing but a distant memory.
But following Jacinta’s phone call, my heart felt heavy. The agony I felt when he rejected me all those years ago, after promising he loved me. . . overtook me. Derrick’s failure was an open wound once again.
33
HENLEY
Voicemail:
“Brooks. Please come back. I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to leave. God. You fucked up, and I wanted to hurt you. Why do I do that? Why am I so set on hurting people the way I hurt? I’m sick. Call me back. Or just come back.Please.”
Voicemail:
*sob* “Brooks. I’m sorry. Please call me back.”
Text Message:
Please. Please. Please come back. I didn’t mean it. I do want you. I do want us. I shouldn’t have said that I didn’t. I was hurt, Brooks. You hurt me. My emotions are a fucking mess. Let me make it right. Let us make this right.
Voicemail:
“I know I’ve always cut you out when shit got hard. I’m starting to understand how wrong that was. I never felt it from your side. It’s awful. I’m sorry, Brooks. Don’t be me. Don’t be hurtful to prove a point. You don’t have to protect your heart against me. I promise. I’m in. All in. My heart has always been all in. My mind just couldn’t accept it. It gets it now. I fucking get it now.”
