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And I shredded him.
I rush to yank the dress over my head and get it halfway pulled down. One arm is still inside as I make a quick escape to my bedroom on the second level. I kick the door closed behind me and collapse on the floor.
Not only does he not love me, but he’s being cruel. One of my stilettos is laying on the shaggy ivory rug, so I sling it at the full-length mirror in front of me, shattering it into a million pieces—the same way my heart feels right now. “I hate you!” I yell several times before it becomes a whimper. “I hate you, Beau Landry.”
Three hard knocks on my door. “Are you okay?” Beau asks, from the hallway.
Like he fucking cares. He just proved he doesn’t.
He pushes the door, but my body has taken up residence against it. “Go away. Just go away.” He doesn’t get to console me after what he just did.
A thud sounds on the other side, and I imagine Beau sitting on the floor outside my door, surrendering to a flash back from our sophomore year when Beau and I sat on opposite sides of the door just like this.
We were arguing when he came home from practice late because he stayed to do drills with Mark. They were working on a new passing route. Beau was a perfectionist. He wanted to know exactly how many seconds it took Mark to get to the spot and then how many seconds before he needed to throw the ball.
I blow out a breath at this memory, not only because I miss Beau, but I hate remembering anything about Beckett; it’s too painful.
Their bedrooms were separated by a Jack and Jill bathroom. I went up to Beau’s room, coming straight from cheer practice like I had so many times in the past. After opening my backpack to study for our physics test, I heard Beckett in the bathroom sobbing. I burst into the bathroom, and there was blood everywhere.
“Beckett, what? What? Oh, my God. I need to call an ambulance.”
There were so many tears streaming down his face. I couldn’t even see his blue eyes—or the red that should be surrounding them. “No, please. Please,” he’d begged. “You don’t understand. Someone like you could never understand how I feel…no one does.”
“Tell me. Tell Beau what’s wrong. We’ll do everything in our power to help you.”
I grabbed towels from under the sink, dampened them, then wrapped his wrists and forearms. In silence, I applied pressure to his arms, then raised the towel to see if he was still oozing blood.
When I had him cleaned, he pleaded for me not to tell anyone. He promised he would talk to the school counselor or his parents. I agreed and stuffed the red stained towels into my backpack. But I sat in the bathroom with Beckett for a half an hour with his head in my lap, running my fingers through his hair, hoping to keep him calm and letting him know I cared about him. He had withdrawn from Beau—and me—a few years prior.
“Nessa!” Beau shouted my name as I heard him coming up the steps. His brother sat up then held his head like it was pounding. “Where are you?”
Not knowing what to do, I started crying which didn’t take much, considering Beckett was on the verge of killing himself.
I reached up and locked the door. “Who were you with? Bobbi Jane?” I knew it was wrong to accuse him of cheating, because he would never, but I couldn’t betray Beckett’s trust. At least at the time, I didn’t think I should. If I was more mature, and had a mom to confide in, perhaps I would have made another decision.
“Open the door. I was with Mark, ask Jessie. She waited for us after practice. Open up.”
“No.” I look at Beckett and can finally see a sliver of his cloudy blue eyes. Then I heard Beau sit on the other side of the door, lightly tapping his head against the door.
“You know you have all of my heart and my body whenever you want it. We’ll be each other’s first. Why would I want to mess that up?”
His voice dripped with sincerity and love. His brother shook his head and stood up, carefully opening up his side of the bathroom door. Beckett glanced back at me and mouthed, “Our secret.”
I nodded and turned on the water, washing my face and ridding the counter of any blood splatters. While I did that, Beau was still on the other side, reciting everything he loved about me.
To this day, that was the second worst day of my life. The first was the night Beau walked away from everything we had, even if I caused it. The third worst night of my life is right now.
I lie down with my head on my outstretched arm, mumbling to myself.
I don’t need him.Lie.
I don’t want him.Lie.
I don’t love him.The biggest lie I’ve ever told.
Neither of us speak, nor do we open the door, but I know he’s out there making a mental list of regrets.
Number one:I should have wadded up that note in sixth grade and played trash can basketball.
