Before & After You

by Michelle Chamberland

  And it’s that feeling of absolute peace that has me holding onto Greyson tighter, burrowing myself deeper into his chest and arms, breathing him in.

  Because when you’ve grown accustomed to losing the things you love most, you can’t help the niggling feeling that everything is temporary, that everything can be ripped right out from under you without warning. And when you’ve lived half your life this way, it’s hard to remember that giving away pieces of your heart can be an investment, too.

  The thing is, Greyson seems to take and take and take these pieces without permission, without even knowing he does it.

  He always has.

  And I’m left scrambling. Holding tight to the pieces I don’t want to let go of. I gave him so many pieces of my heart last night, that it feels like I ripped the entire thing from my chest and handed it right over to him.

  But when his arms tighten around me, and his lips find my skin, his breathy good morning sending chills down my spine, I willingly and easily, finally, let these things go.

  He can have my heart. The whole thing.

  He’s always owned it anyway.

  Sixty-nine After

  “THREE S’s, AND Jess, baby, you know you’re going first!” Sita exclaims.

  I laugh, shaking my head. “Nope. No way. I’m definitely saving the best for last tonight.”

  A groan, a whine, and a laugh trail from the lips of my three best girlfriends.

  “Touché, bitch. Touché,” she throws back, amused, swallowing down a shot of tequila before diving into her Three S’s with a mischievous smirk. “Something new—you definitely slept with Greyson last night, I can see it in your eyes,” she points at me, talking in Sita-hyper-speed. Which for Sita, is really saying something. I hold back my smile. “Something positive…” she continues, “I’m positive it went well, because, girl, I’ve never seen you look so ‘cat caught the canary’ in my life. And something to expel—I feel like I’m going to die of anticipation if you withhold this information any longer!”

  Kat shakes her head with a grin as she starts to say something, but Sita quickly bulldozes over her words. “Wait, wait, wait!” she says, looking both Kat and Maggie in the eyes with exaggerated seriousness before continuing. “You two better make this fast, or I’ll strangle you myself.”

  They laugh in response.

  “Calm down, crazy pants. I already planned on it,” Kat answers.

  “Same. We’re here for the juicy stuff, and we all know it,” Maggie says, but now she’s the one who looks like the cat that ate the canary.

  I narrow my eyes at her, and she smiles a secret smile. Okay, interesting. Definitely coming back to that.

  “So,” Kat starts in on her Three S’s. “Sorry-not-sorry, Sita, but I can’t hold this in any longer—the hubby and I have definitely decided we’re officially trying for a baby!” she rushes happily.

  “Ahh! Yay!” I gush, and Maggie echoes my excitement as we sandwich her in a three-way hug.

  “This is amazing news! I cannot wait for squishy baby cheeks!” Maggie squeals.

  “Truly amazing, love.” Sita slides her hand over Kat’s with genuine happiness tilting her lips and shining in her eyes.

  We all express a few more rounds of encouragement and excitement over this amazing turn of events before Kat says, “And I’m absolutely positive Sita might actually explode if we don’t move this along, and I’m not looking to become collateral damage in that mess, so let’s do this…”

  We take a collective breath and turn our attention to Mags.

  She smiles another mysterious, mischievous smirk and says, “I’m going to ask Sam out tonight.”

  “Wait, what?!” Kat and I both scream at the same time. Probably a little too loud for the rest of the bar, but whatever.

  “Yes!” I shout. “When? Now? Do it now. You have to do it now, Mags.” I’m not giving her the chance to back out. No way, no how. I feel like I’ve been waiting for this moment for… forever. My entire life, maybe.

  “Oh, you just had to go and do it, didn’t you?” Sita complains.

  “Do what?” Maggie mocks her, feigning innocence.

  “Come up with literally the only viable distraction good enough for Jess’s Three S’s to wait. You better not let me down, girl! This is happening. And it’s happening right now.”

  I crack up. We all do.

  And it’s sort of perfect. Because I kind of, desperately—selfishly—want to keep the details of last night, and this morning, to myself for just a little bit longer anyway.

  Seventy Before

  I FELT THE darkness beckoning before I even woke. My limbs were heavy, weighted to the bed, to Greyson.

  Everything, every piece of me, was heavy. My chest, my breaths, my heart. Every cell, every thought, every bitter and broken and devastated one felt like a thousand pounds dragging me down.

  I was slipping, so fast, into the dark.

  The suffocating pressure strangling my throat, the cage around my chest imprisoning my breaths, the pain spearing through my body—I thought I was prepared, for the emotional upheaval, but I had no idea, no clue, it would hurt this much.

  It took effort just to breathe through the pain without breaking.

  How? How was I supposed to get through this day? How was I supposed to say goodbye and not feel like I was dying inside?

  Because I’d known all along that God was never going to let me keep Greyson. Even after everything we’d shared these last few weeks, I knew that. I just hadn’t realized he was going to rip my heart out and force me to watch him walk away with it, too.

  I didn’t know how to survive it.

  So I turned my face away from the sun and held onto him for dear life, counting at least a thousand breaths before I sat up in bed and wiped away the tears that fell down my cheeks, forcing myself to focus on something—anything—else.

  We still had time. Hours, minutes. Focus on that.

  But Greyson stirred beside me, pulling me back into the warmth of his arms, and I split open. Everything I held bottled inside rushed free, spilling into my arms and onto the bed between us.

  This was goodbye. I knew it with every bone in my body. It would’ve made sense, if I’d looked down at my hands and had found them bleeding. It hurt that badly.

  I cried into his side, broken. I was gasping for air, but I still couldn’t get enough.

  All the minutes in the world wouldn’t be enough, and I only had a handful of them left.

  “Hey,” Greyson whispered, lifting my chin in his fingertips. His eyes glistened with the same sadness I felt in the core of my being, and I cried even harder, sobs wracking my body.

  I wasn’t sure they’d ever stop.

  “Baby, please,” he said, broken, too. “Come here. Come here.” He tugged the sheet up and over our heads, shielding us both from the world, and kissed me softly.

  “I love you,” he whispered against my lips and kissed me again and again.

  I love you. I love you; I love you; I love you, I said through my tears. Between each one of our kisses. As we slowly slid each piece of clothing from our bodies.

  We hid there for a while, in our safe haven. Whispering goodbyes across our skin with soft kisses and light touches.

  Careful, devoting…devastating.

  Seventy-one Before

  THERE ARE CERTAIN moments in life, certain images that burn themselves into your brain, and no matter how much later—a month, a year, ten years—you can still pull it up from the vault within your mind and see it with startling clarity.

  This was one of those moments. One of those images I’d never be able to erase, to hit the delete button on.

  The image of Greyson walking away from me for the last time.

  He pulled away from the curb and disappeared down the street, and I fell to my ass in my driveway, throwing my face into my hands.

  I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.

  I hate you, I wanted to scream at God.

  “This isn
’t goodbye. We’re going to see each other again. Tell me you understand that,” Greyson had said. Only minutes ago, though it felt like hours. I didn’t know how much he truly believed his own words, because it felt like he was trying to convince himself, too, as he’d said them.

  “Yeah,” I’d whispered back, trying not to break again even though I’d already completely shattered.

  I stood from my driveway, attempting to shake off the memory as my tears fell free. I felt the anger I’d let go of seep its way back into my bones, feeding into my bloodstream. I clenched my hands into two tight fists, nails biting into my palms.

  Fuck this.

  But when? I’d thought to myself. And who would we be then? In four years? I knew we would change. Things would change. We’d be different people then.

  It’s not that I didn’t trust him. It’s just that people abandoned me. Time and time again. How could I be sure this time would be any different?

  I couldn’t. I couldn’t be sure, and that was the point.

  He could easily meet someone. Could make friends and decide to move somewhere else when he finally got out.

  Time had a cruel way of helping you forget, and even though I knew I would never forget him, he could easily forget about me—and the promise he was trying to make me.

  All these thoughts I’d kept buried had clawed their way to the surface, forcing me to acknowledge them. But one stood out above all the others:

  I couldn’t spend the next handful of years of my life waiting around on a maybe. I owed myself a hell of a lot better than that.

  I turned on my heel and stormed into my house, tearing my way up the stairs and slamming into my bedroom, chest heaving with hyperventilating breaths. I hated this. I hated everything about this.

  I’ve been so fucking stupid.

  The words of our last conversation assaulted my mind again and again. I wasn’t sure I’d ever forget them.

  “I’m not going to sit here and wait around for you, Greyson. I can’t do that,” I’d finally said. The words had been sitting around in the back of my mind for a long time, I’d just been too afraid to say them. “I have plans of my own,” I powered through them anyway. “I’ve waited my entire life to start over, too, you know.”

  “I know.” He shook his head. “I’m not asking you to do that. I’m just…”

  “Just what, Greyson?”

  “I don’t know,” he sighed. “I just know that I care about you. So much. And I love you…

  “But I’m not asking you to wait for me. I know I can’t ask that of you. I’m just hoping for something—anything. Anything but the possibility of never seeing you again.”

  I spun around in my room, wanting to thrash all my shit against the walls. Wanting to ruin every piece of furniture in that goddamn room.

  My eyes landed on one wall in particular.

  I shook my head, tears rolling down my cheeks. “I love you too. But I don’t see how that’s possible.”

  “We call each other,” he said right away, “whenever we can. And we stay friends… And in a few years, when I get out, we see what happens.”

  I knew that wasn’t possible. I couldn’t do that and not still love him. I’d hold onto it, and it would keep me from living my life—from learning, and growing, and finding myself. And again, I owed myself better than that.

  I picked up the bottles of paint that sat on my easel and twisted off the caps one by one. Red, black, blue, green, too many other colors to care. There were so many pictures on that wall that I wanted to ruin. That I wanted to forget.

  But I took a deep, shaky breath, and nodded my head anyway. “Okay,” I’d whispered. Despite all my feelings. Despite all my misgivings, and doubts, and fears. Despite all my convictions.

  It was the most devastating lie I’d ever told.

  I launched each of those bottles across my bedroom with all the anger I felt burning inside of me. Watched the paint spill and splatter and drip all the way down each one of those photos, erasing each memory.

  Only tiny slivers of those real bits in time poked through.

  Just enough to still remember.

  Seventy-two After

  “WAAAAAAOOH!!!” I SCREAM alongside my friends. Alongside a good-sized theater packed with contagious excitement.

  It’s incredible—mind-blowing, surreal.

  Greyson, down there, on stage. A crowd of enthusiastic concertgoers loudly chanting his name.

  “Holy shit, he’s like…famous,” Kat says, wide eyes looking down at the space filled with people. Greyson gave us some kind of special-access passes, so we’re up here on a private balcony with the rest of the band’s guests—some family, and some friends.

  I don’t recognize much of anybody, of course, but I do catch eyes with Brienne, the drummer’s wife, and wave at her with a small smile. She flashes a brilliant smile back, and my lips tug up even higher.

  An excited and out of breath Maggie redirects my attention.

  “Hey, guys!” she says. “Sorry we’re late.” She points up at her date’s chest. “You already know Sam. I mean, of course you do, but I feel like I’m supposed to officially introduce everyone or something…like…that…” she trails off, blushing slightly, and Sam pulls her closer into his side, holding out his hand to us.

  “Sam, officially.” He smiles widely.

  Sita and I laugh at Maggie’s expense and exchange introductions with the man who’s poured drinks at our favorite bar and restaurant for over two years now. And yes, Maggie has crushed on him that entire time.

  I’m not surprised that after only a single date they completely clicked and have been almost inseparable since. They fit together really well. Like they were made for each other. Two halves of one whole. And it’s nice—more than nice—to witness the smile she can’t seem to wipe away from her face. And his, too.

  I blow her a kiss as Ricky tugs me back over to the edge of the balcony, where Greyson’s band is just starting to play their first song of the night.

  The drums tap, tap, tap to life, and the guitar starts in with an addicting melody, entangling itself with the beat of the music that begins to pour from the speakers.

  But nothing is as addicting as Greyson’s voice, the way it floats across the space between us and slides over my skin.

  I pushed, you pulled,

  right from the start,

  to shield and win

  a broken heart, he croons, and it melts my insides—my heart, my soul.

  The longer I stand here and watch him, the more I slowly start to fall into a world of my own. I don’t even realize it’s happening until it’s just him, and me, and a lifetime ago—where I sat on a small stool in a tiny pub and watched him sing to a crowd for the very first time.

  The difference between then and now, the before and the after—these images flash in my mind, one replacing the other again and again. A young and nervous Greyson perched on a stool with his guitar in his lap. And this one. Stage-dominating, confident.

  It takes my breath away. He takes my breath away. The contrast between the Greyson I knew, and this man on stage who commands and enraptures an entire theater full of people.

  He swaggers across the stage without arrogance. Belts the words of his song without an ounce of restraint. And stands on a speaker and flashes a tilted smile that makes the theater go wild without even realizing he’s doing it.

  I didn’t think it was possible to be more attracted to Greyson than I already am, but his stage presence is…

  It’s something else. Something otherworldly.

  The way his fans absolutely adore him. The way they eat it up as he toes the edge of the stage and waves his arm back and forth. The way anyone in this room can clearly see that he’s living his wildest dreams come true and is enjoying every second of it, not taking a bit of it for granted.

  The crowd quickly mirrors his movement and a sea of arms sways side to side in perfect synchrony below me. I watch the wave of them flow back and forth, and back a
nd forth, and it’s mesmerizing.

  It’s almost too insane to wrap my mind around. All of this. But above it all, above anything else, I feel so—wildly, insanely, immeasurably—proud of him. Of all he’s done. All he’s accomplished. Who he’s become in the process. It’s beautiful.

  Ricky takes my hand in his and spins me around in his arms, and my thoughts seem to fly away with the movement, falling from my mind one by one. My eyes meet his excited ones, and I can’t help but feel that excitement too.

  It seeps into my consciousness until it flows through my veins, and I smile. Big, and unrestrained, and full of all the happiness I’m feeling.

  Because holy shit. But that’s my Greyson down there.

  Ricky swings me around again and again, and we dance the rest of the song away. We dance, and we dance, and we dance, and one song rolls into the next, and I don’t ever stop.

  I switch from Ricky’s arms to Sita’s, and then Kat’s, and Maggie’s. Brienne and her friends come over and join us, too.

  And I don’t think my smile leaves my face the entire night.

  Especially not after Greyson’s attention focuses up on our group mid-song, and his eyes find mine, winking at me once before singing,

  You blow my mind, girl.

  You blow my fucking mind.

  Because ditto, baby. Ditto.

  Seventy-three After

  I SLIDE MY legs up and over Greyson’s, turning to face him on the black leather couch we’re sitting on. We’re in our own little world. An imaginary bubble separating us from the rest of the backstage crowd.

  Ricky and my girls are around here somewhere, mingling with the band and their friends. I hear their laughter drifting across the room, but my focus is all on Greyson.

  “That was insane. You’re insane. Does this not blow your mind every single day?” I gush. “Like, do you wake up in the morning and look yourself in the mirror and go, ‘holy shit, I’m Greyson Hayes’?”

  He laughs, pulling me closer, shaking his head. “Not exactly. But something like that, I guess. The awe of it all.”