Like Gravity (30 page)

“I know that, okay? I know how fucked up we are. W
ith you, it’s one step forward, and three monumental fucking leaps back. But I also know that you can be incredibly sweet when you aren’t too busy slapping me, or glaring at me, or hating my guts.”

At that, I
glared at him and crossed my arms over my chest.

“You don’t want anyone to take care of you – I get that. I respect it, even,” he continued
, heedless of my glare. “But sometimes, behind that icy, impenetrable front you show the rest of the world, I catch a glimpse of that fiercely vulnerable, heartbroken little girl who still needs me. And I like that I’m the only one who gets to see her and protect her.

“I know this is a lot to think about – I know you probably hate me. And maybe it makes me a total bastard, but
you should know that I don’t regret a single second of our time together, Brooklyn. With or without the lies, this relationship has been – and always will be – the most important, beautiful, goddamned sacred part of my life. And I’ll wait for you – as long as it takes, I’ll wait.”

I’ve already been waiting forever.
He’d said those words before and I hadn’t understood them at the time, but I comprehended them perfectly now.

“I need time, Finn,” I said. “
I feel broken, betrayed, confused, and frankly just…exhausted by this. I don’t want to lie to you or give you false promises that everything is okay between us. None of this is okay –
I
am not okay.” I dragged a deep, calming breath in through my nose. “I need to be alone right now.”

“I
can understand that,” he said, nodding. I thought I saw a flicker of hope flash through his eyes as he stared at me.

“I’
m not saying this to hurt you because, as insane as it sounds, I believe your story. But that doesn’t change anything. For right now I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to hear from you. And I can’t promise that I will
ever
be ready to be with you again.”

He nodded, his jaw clenched tight and t
he hope in his eyes extinguished.

“Goodnight, Finn,” I said, walking over to my bedroom door and opening it. “Use the front door this time, will you? Your hands are torn to shreds.”

Between the pounding he’d given my front door earlier and scaling the rough bark of the giant maple outside my window, he’d wreaked havoc on his palms and fingers; the knuckles were swollen and bloodied and at least two were turning an angry bruised-purple color, which meant they were likely broken.

He made his way to the door, pausing in the frame for nearly a full minute. Keeping his back to me,
he whispered into the dark hallway so quietly I could barely make out his words.

“I love you, Brooklyn Grace Turner. I always have, and I always will. It took me nearly thirteen years to find you
; I’m not about to lose you now. And if you decide you never want to see me again, I’ll try to live with that decision; but you should know that the way I feel about you? It’s been the one constant in my life. This is permanent for me.
You
are permanent for me.”

With those words hanging in the air, he disappeared out into the hallway. I listened until I heard the front door click closed, then headed
across the room to lock my window.

I’d thought I
cried out all my tears earlier, but as I climbed in bed and hugged my pillow to my chest, I found there were still more to be released.

100% Guarantee

Rock bottom: I thought I’d hit it the night Finn left.

Isn’
t it funny that when you think it’s simply not possible for life to get any worse – that, no matter what else life throws at you in the future you’ll be able to handle it, because there’s just no way it could ever be as bad as the pain you’re experiencing at this very moment – life takes one good look at you and says,
“You idiot, don’t you know by now? Things can always, always, always get worse. Watch, I’ll prove it.”

Days passed
with an excruciating slowness that made me feel like I was losing my mind.

I left my room only for trips to the bathroom and kitchen. I skipped my classes, cancelled my sessions with Dr. Angelini, and refused to talk to Lexi when she came in to check on me. I had no appetite.
I didn’t even bother to shower. Worse, though, I wasn’t sleeping.

A
s in, not at all.

I was afraid I’d see him in my dreams, whether as a little boy or as the man he’d become, and that prospect
alone was enough to keep me awake for the rest of my life. After two full days without sleep, though, my body had different ideas. I had to be on guard at all times – if my mind wandered even for a minute, I’d find myself on the brink of unconsciousness, forced to pinch or slap myself back from sliding down into dreamland.

I be
came obsessed with alarm clocks – my own personal bastions against the threat of sleep. I spent hours on my laptop, reading about sleep cycles and REM stages. A concession to my body’s needs, I became the master of naps, nodding off in exact ninety minute intervals before I could fall into the deep sleep where dreaming occurs.

At some level, I knew that none of this was rational or remotely healthy, but I didn’t really care.
As soon as Finn had walked out my door that night, I’d accepted the fact that my heart would never be the same; all I could do now was try to stitch the tattered shreds of my soul back together – and if it took weeks of reclusive, Howard Hughes-like behavior to get there, so be it.

I kept waiting for the moment when things would start to get better. It couldn’t go on like this forever
, I reasoned; people every day, all over the world, got out of bed and faced their own heartbreaks. One day, they woke up, opened their eyes, and decided that the pain had lessoned – maybe not a lot, maybe not even enough to make a tangible difference in the devastation clinging t0 them like a dark cloud, but enough to give them hope. Hope that one day, in weeks or months or years or decades, the pain would dissipate to the point that it no longer pulsated like a physical wound, with every aching heartbeat a reminder of what had been lost.

Maybe, if I
lay in bed long enough, staring at the constellations he’d left behind on my ceiling, I’d finally feel better.

Or worse. It was a toss-up, really.

That first morning I’d woken up without him, as soon as I’d opened my eyes and caught sight of the ceiling I’d leapt out of bed and driven straight to the nearest Home Depot. I threw the first can of white paint my hands had landed on inside my cart, wheeled it to the counter, and purchased it without a second thought.

When I got home though, I sat on my bedroom floor staring at that can of whitewash for almost two hours unable to even crack the lid. With a frustrated scream, I
eventually just shoved the unopened paint into the back of my closet along with Finn’s leather jacket, where didn’t have to look at them anymore.

For the first day or so, I tried not to think about him at all. Then I realized how insanely
useless and counterproductive
that
was, so I gave up and started acting like a girl – or, in other words, I began obsessing over everything he’d ever said or done in the months since we’d met.

I began to realize that
, in many ways, Finn actually had tried to tell me – maybe not with words, but certainly with actions…

The night he took me out to look at the fireflies by his lookout point.

His strange song dedication when he sang at The Blue Note.

How he’d always, from the very start, called me ‘Bee.’

How protective he’d always been.

Even the way he’d phrased certain things…

There’s never been anyone
real for me except you.

It’s always been you.

You’re so different from what I expected.

I love you, B
rooklyn. I always have.

The
list went on and on, until my eyes were swimming and I forced myself to stop searching my memories.

I think it was day seven post-Finn when the door to my bedroom was abruptly thrown open, slamming against the oppos
ite wall so hard the photos hanging there rattled and threatened to come crashing down. Lexi stormed in, her blue eyes flashing with determination, and walked up to the bed where I was huddled under a mountain of blankets. With one jerk of her arm, she ripped the comforter from the bed and tossed it to the floor.

“Brooklyn Grace Turner. This is pathetic. Look at yourself!” She demanded, pointing at my ratty sweatshirt and ripped pajama shorts. “More importantly, though,
smell
yourself. Seriously, can you even remember the last time you showered?”

My lips twitched traitorously in the beginnings of a smile.

“Get up!” Lexi yelled. “Right freaking now!”

“Go away, Lexi,” I
countered wearily, rolling over to face the wall. I was definitely not in the mood to play nice.

Suddenly, my
bed shifted as the weight of a body landed solidly on my mattress. Startled, I rolled over to see Lexi standing over me on the bed, hands planted on her hips. I opened my mouth to ask what the hell she thought she was doing, but it snapped closed, clacking my teeth together painfully, when she began to jump up and down like a crazy person.

The whole mattress was bouncing, and me with it – each time her feet made contact with the bed, I was launched several feet in the air, clutching frantically at the frame so I wouldn’t be bounced right onto the floor.

“I SAID GET UP!” Lexi yelled, jumping even harder. When her feet came dangerously close to landing on my internal organs, I had no choice other than to abandon ship.

I
dove to the ground, scurried several feet away from the bed, and spun around to face the madwoman that was my best friend. She’d stopped jumping as soon as I’d cleared the bed, but remained standing up there, fuming at me.

Without saying anything, she hopped off the bed,
strode across the room, and backed me into a corner until I was pressed tight against the wall. Leaning in, she trapped my face between her palms and looked me in the eye.

“
It’s been seven days, Brooklyn. I gave you a full week to wallow. And, trust me, its been hard to watch.” She made a disgusted face. “I know you’re going through a hard time right now. I get that it’s the hardest thing in the world to even fathom getting out of bed in the morning and pretending that everything is normal. I’ve been there.”

I started to interrupt, but she cut me off before I could get a word in.

“But this isn’t you, Brooklyn. I don’t care what he did – no boy is worth subjecting yourself to this.”

Was this
Lexi
talking?

“I know what you’re thinking. Who am I, queen of the ever-revolving door of boyfriends, t
o tell you anything about relationships, right?”

Wow, that had been almost
my exact thought.

“And you’d be right; I
have
had more than my fair share of boyfriends and unhealthy relationships. But because of that, I’ve also had my share of heartbreaks.” A sad, small smile graced her lips. “If there’s one thing I’m really good at, it’s getting over assholes and moving on with my life. Maybe I don’t move on to the right people, but that’s not the point… Thing is, Brooklyn, that’s really all you can do – you just go on. In spite of the pain, in spite of everything, you keep breathing. And one day, I promise, it will get better.”

I
supposed she had a point.

“Do I really smell that bad?” I asked in a quiet voice.

“Literally, I could smell you from the kitchen,” Lexi giggled. “I think you’re starting to mold.”

“
Ew!” I said, crinkling my nose. “I am so not that bad.”

“Whatever you say.” She rolled her eyes. “Just shower, would
ya? We’ve got places to go, people to see.”

“Where?” I asked.

“Just trust me.”

***

“Okay,” Lexi grinned over at me. “You can thank me now.”

“Off the record?” I hedged.

“Uh-huh, whatever you say.”

“Fine, I admit it. You were right.”

“That’s all I get? After the shitstorm you kicked up over this?! Not even a ‘Thank you Lexi, for being the most wonderful, thoughtful, stunningly beautiful, amazingly insightful –
and did I mention good looking?
– best friend on the planet, and for forcing me, against my will, to get such an incredibly sexy new haircut?’”

I rolled me eyes and walked toward the car without her.

“Oh, lighten up!” She said, racing to catch up with me. “It really does look great, though.”

As much as I hated to admit it, Lexi had been right about the haircut; it was exactly what I’d needed to shake off the
gloom that I’d been drowning in for the past week. The stylist had been lectured thoroughly by Lexi for fifteen minutes before even so much as lifting a brush – in fact, I was surprised Lexi hadn’t just grabbed the scissors and started hacking off clumps of my hair herself.

Thankfully
, it didn’t get that far and her micromanaging hadn’t escalated to actual maiming.

The stylist, following Lexi’s instructions to the letter, had chopped off several inches of my long hair, leaving it
just long enough to brush the tops of my breasts. She’d added layers and trimmed the pieces around my face to better accentuate my features. Lastly, she’d threaded caramel-brown high- and low-lights throughout my hair, a look I’d never before attempted with my dark locks.

I’d origin
ally been worried about how it would turn out, but as soon as I’d seen the finished product in the mirror, I’d fallen in love with it. The cut was flattering, showing off my small features and framing my face in a way that made my mouth look more supple, my cheekbones higher. The new color offset the deep green of my irises, making them stand out more prominently and flattering my skin tone.

In short, I looked – and felt – like a new woman.

After our stop at the hairdresser, I learned that it had been only the first on a long agenda of activities Lexi had planned for the day.

Next, we drove across the street to Lexi’s favorite nail salon, where we were manicured, buffed, and top-coated to perfection. Then we hit the local strip mall for some quality retail therapy, each buying a few new dresses and tops. I even found a gorgeous vintage pair of Chanel heeled boots in a second-hand shop of designer cast offs,
scooping them up for a fraction of their original price.

After our shopping spree I thought for sure we were done, but instead of heading home, Lexi steered us toward the local movie theater. We ate stale popcorn with too much butter and laughed ourselves silly at the on-screen antics of our favorite female comedy duo.

By the time we finally pulled in at the hou
se, it was well after midnight and I was exhausted from a jam-packed day of girltime. We sat in the driveway, staring at the Victorian, and I realized I’d barely thought about Finn all day – Lexi had kept me too busy.

It had been so good to laugh – to get out of that room, away from all the memories.
I almost didn’t want to go back inside to face everything.

“Hey,” Lexi said, breaking the silence. “There’s one more thing on our itinerary.”

“What?” I asked.

“Sleepover. Just like when we were
thirteen; we’ll eat ice cream from the carton and talk about how I’m going to marry Lance Bass and you’re going to have seventeen babies with Justin Timberlake. Except now we have the added benefits of vodka.”

“Firstly, we are never revisiting the
‘NSync phase, no matter how drunk you get me. Secondly, Lace Bass is openly gay, so good luck with that plan of yours. And thirdly, thank you.”

“
Moi
? Whatever for?” Lexi grinned.

“For being you,” I shrugged. “We don’t have to do the corny hug-it-out thing, right?”

“But…” Lexi winked, then burst into song. “
IT’S TEARING UP MY HEA
—”

“Stop!” I interrupted her. “There will be no singing, either!”

Two hours later we were both half in the bottle, singing Backstreet Boys at the top of our lungs into hairbrush microphones.