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Text Message:
As awful as my childhood was, I wish I was there right now. With you. I wish I knew from the moment I met you, who you would be to me.
My heart.
The better half of my soul.
Brooks. Please forgive me.
Please.
Text Message:
I love you.
Voicemail:
“Do you remember the Whitsundays? Do you remember when Jada said something about forever not coming by often? You looked so confused. I was so embarrassed. Even though I told you I loved you often. I was scared it would frighten you off. She meant you. She told me you were a ten. I told her you were a forever.Myforever.”
Voicemail:
“Where are you, Brooks? Even your mom hasn’t heard from you. I’m so worried.”
Text Message:
I’m now mad. At least tell me you’re alive. Or tell your mom if you can’t stomach the thought of talking to me.
Voicemail:
While you might not have reason to believe me, you were my always, Brooks Riley. You were the one person in this world that I wanted to keep forever. I won’t contact you again. I have to have faith that you’ll reach out when you’re ready. As hard as the waiting will be. I know you love me enough to tell me if our chance for forever is lost. I know that. I trust that. I love you. For keeps. For always.
34
BROOKS
I knewshe wouldn’t be at the service. It would’ve been a gross waste of my time to even visit the church.
I know my girl. She would reject her grief, enough she’d feel obligated to mourn in private. She’d let tears course down her cheeks and deny the ache in her heart without anyone to hold her.
It was the way Derrick and Jacinta taught her to cope with her feelings.
The small hike through the bush is exactly like I remember it. Brush having grown thicker than before, forcing me to push my way through, the sound of the river pushing my feet forward.
My heart pounds in my chest, praying like hell I was right in my assumption. Maybe she’s not even in Lake Geneva. Maybe she took off to some far-off place to forget the way Derrick hurt her.
Maybe I don’t know her as well as I think I do.
I did exactly that when she broke my heart this last time. I fled. Ran away and let myself get lost in the world. I cut off all lines of communication to everyone who meant anything to me. Afraid any technology available to me would have me caving and calling her, begging her to reconsider our ending.
I spent three months in my head. Filing through every memory, every happy and hurtful moment Henley and I shared. I was aching to work out how we loved each other so deeply but couldn’t get our shit together. How do two people who belong together forever push one another apart? It took me nearly eight weeks to accept that understanding Henley’s emotions was a moot point. Henley didn’t even fucking understand them.
We are what we’re taught. What we see in the world.
Henley spent seventeen years trapped in a home that survived only on resentment and revenge. She was told this was love.
She spent the next year held hostage by a mother who kept her from the people most important to Henley. Again, she was told this was love.
She escaped, only to travel the world alone, telling herself that was called freedom.
