His Heart

by Claire Kingsley

  “Wow, that was intense,” she said.

  “No shit.” I put my hand on my chest and took a deep breath. I felt fine. Better than fine, actually. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so… alive.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “That was awesome. I’m great.”

  She laughed again and we walked up the midway. Shivering, she pulled her sleeves over her hands, clutching the edges with her fingers.

  “God, it’s getting cold. Are you really not cold?”

  I shrugged. “Nope.”

  She rubbed my arm and squeezed my bicep. “I guess you have all that muscle to keep you warm.”

  Her touch sent a lightning bolt of electricity straight to my groin. I struggled not to let it show on my face as I stopped and turned toward her. “I guess we should go, if you’re getting cold.”

  “Yeah,” she said, her eyes lingering on mine.

  People walked past, but the crowd had thinned. Music played from loudspeakers and the rides whirred in the background. The lights reflected in her eyes, making them sparkle like fireworks.

  It was the perfect moment for a kiss. We stood there, watching each other, like we both knew it. I wanted to kiss her so badly, I could almost taste the cotton candy on her lips. My heart beat hard and my skin prickled with anticipation.

  Her eyes flicked down to my chest.

  And there it was, the reminder of who I was to her. Of her pain that lived inside me.

  I stepped back and shoved my hands in my pockets. “Okay, chilly. Let’s get you home.”

  22

  Brooke

  Sunlight peeked through the gap in the curtains, creating a slice of brightness across my sheets—right in my eye. I groaned and turned over. My head hurt and the stupid sun was pissing me off.

  The last few days had been gray and cloudy—matching my mood. Fall weather. It was September, and I’d been living in Iowa for over five months.

  I grabbed my phone to check the time. Eleven. I was going to be late for work if I didn’t get up. My entire body felt heavy, like I couldn’t lift my limbs. Even rolling over had been hard. I wanted to sink into the softness of my bed, close my eyes, and pretend the world didn’t exist.

  I’d already missed the last two days of work. Joe would be pissed if I called in sick again, even if he didn’t find out I was lying. I wasn’t sick. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. But I couldn’t muster the energy to get up and do anything.

  I hadn’t felt this lethargic since before I’d moved to Iowa. Even my bad days here hadn’t been anything like this. The deadness was eating its way through me again. Seeping into the cracks in my psyche, worming its way through my veins. A parasite, devouring my spirit.

  It had started with a crying spell a few days ago. I’d come home and the tears had burst out of nowhere. Shaking with sobs, I’d curled up on the couch and cried until my back was sore and my throat raw. Afterward, I’d dug out a bottle of Vicodin I still had from somewhere. I hadn’t taken any pills—hadn’t even had a drink—since moving here. But I’d dumped a few into my trembling hand and swallowed them, desperate for anything to make me sleep. To turn off the deluge of pain that had suddenly gripped me.

  The next morning, I hadn’t felt any better. If anything, I’d been worse. I hadn’t cried again. Hadn’t even wanted to. But it had taken me four hours just to get out of bed for the first time.

  Nothing had happened. I didn’t know what had changed to send me spiraling into this decaying orbit. It wasn’t an anniversary, or Liam’s birthday. I hadn’t gotten any surprising or upsetting news. Things had been fine at work. I’d seen Sebastian a few days before. We’d watched a movie with Charlie. Nothing unusual.

  But I was back to feeling like a ghost. It had hit me so hard, it was as if all my color and substance had been ripped away, like the siding on a house in a tornado. I was formless. Transparent. Fading into nothing.

  I texted Joe to tell him I was still under the weather, and went back to sleep.

  It was dark when I woke up. My bladder screamed at me, so I dragged myself out of bed and went to the bathroom. The clock said nine. God, I’d slept all day. I hadn’t even taken anything. That was crazy. I probably should have been alarmed, but that required too much energy. I didn’t have it in me to care.

  I had a text from Joe, saying he hoped I got better soon. But if I was going to be out for a while to let him know so he could hire someone else in the meantime. I wanted to feel bad about that, but I felt nothing. So I’d lose another job. I’d lost a lot of jobs in the last several years. Did it matter?

  Another text was from Sebastian, asking if I was busy tonight. He always seemed to know when I was having a tough day and he’d invent reasons to get together. Usually it worked. Tonight, I didn’t bother to answer.

  I glanced into my open closet—to the bag I’d carried around with me in Phoenix. I’d taken most of my stuff out. The only things left were my treasures. My mementos of Liam.

  My rational mind knew that now was not the time to get them out. I wasn’t in any state to handle it. But I did it anyway. I pulled out the dance photo and the box with my ring, and brought them over to the bed.

  Seated cross-legged among my tangled covers, I stared at the photo. Traced my finger across it. Liam with his cocky teenage smile—the look of a young guy without a care in the world. I had stars in my eyes bigger than the ones in the Hollywood Nights backdrop. That evening had been pure magic.

  A few tears slid down my cheeks. They were more painful than the deluge from the other night—hot and dreadful, rolling silently down my cheeks.

  How you doing, Bee?

  “I’m dead, Liam,” I said aloud. I knew he wasn’t talking to me, but the memory of his voice still echoed in my mind. “I died too, but I’m stuck here.”

  There was no answer.

  The strange thing was, I wasn’t pining for Liam anymore. I missed him, and I probably always would. My love for him had been real, and I’d carry it with me for the rest of my life. But the grief that plagued me now wasn’t for him. I didn’t understand it. If I could gaze at his picture and know my sorrow for him was no longer drowning me, why was I still so broken?

  Suddenly the walls felt too close, the air stifling. I had to get the hell out of this house.

  A voice in my head told me to call Sebastian. Tell him I wanted to get together. That would be the smart thing—the safe thing—to do.

  Fuck safe.

  I needed a rush. Speed. Intoxication. I needed to bury my pain, blur it out. I rooted through my things and found the bottle of Xanax. I took the few that were left, swallowing them without water. I didn’t have any booze in the house, so I threw on some clean clothes—a loose floral blouse with wide sleeves and a pair of tight jeans—put my hair up, and left.

  Standing outside, I ordered an Uber. The Xanax kicked in while I waited. It had been so long since I’d taken anything, and it hit me hard. My eyes grew heavy, but I embraced the numbness that stole through me. It felt so good. The edges of my mind went smooth and fluid, my thoughts dancing across the surface of my consciousness. Nothing mattered tonight but finding a distraction. Having fun. Making myself feel alive, somehow.

  My ride arrived and I got in.

  The driver was a young guy wearing a U of I shirt. Skinny, with sandy blond hair. “Where do you need to go?”

  “I guess I need to figure that out.” I blinked sleepily at him. “I want to go out and have a good time. What do you suggest?”

  He shrugged. “Have you been to Deadwood?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Is it a good place to party?”

  “Yeah,” he said as he pulled away from the curb. “It’s basically the place to party around here.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  I swam in blissful numbness while he drove me to Deadwood. He dropped me off, telling me to have a good time. I waved at him and went inside.

  It was the perfect sort of dive bar,
with low light, dark red carpet, and a bar top that looked worn and weathered. The place was packed. It looked like a mix of college students and older twenty-somethings. I didn’t much care who was in there, as long as I could down some drinks and keep this buzz going all night.

  I found an empty stool and ordered a shot of Jack Daniels. To my right, a guy in a John Deere t-shirt and camo pants put the moves on a blonde in a mini-skirt. To my left, a group of about half a dozen guys all took a shot together, then slammed their glasses back on the bar. They were all dressed in plaid flannel, unbuttoned over t-shirts. Most wore worn out baseball caps. Bunch of corn-fed Iowa college boys.

  The bartender brought my drink and I downed it in one swallow, then ordered another.

  “That was impressive.”

  It took me a second to realize the guy was talking to me. One of the college boys. He leaned against the bar and grinned.

  “What was impressive?” I asked.

  “The way you took that shot,” he said.

  The bartender came back with my second drink. I tossed it back.

  “Damn,” the guy said. “You’re fucking awesome.”

  “Dude, Joel, stop being a cheese dick,” one of the other guys said.

  Joel rolled his eyes. “I’m just talking to… what’s your name?”

  “Brooke.”

  “I’m just talking to Brooke.” He turned back to me. “So what’s up tonight? You must be meeting someone.”

  “Nope.”

  “You’re here alone?” he asked.

  “I just came to drink.”

  “Fuck yes,” he said. “Guys, this is Brooke. She’s hanging with us tonight.”

  “No, I’m not—”

  My reply was cut off by a round of cheers. These guys were already pretty hammered. But one of them ordered another round of shots, including one for me.

  It looked like I had six new best friends for the night.

  A few hours later, I was so wasted I barely knew where I was. We were still at Deadwood, all of us packed into a booth. At least, I thought that’s where we were. I didn’t remember leaving, and I didn’t really care. My brain was soaked in Fireball and I’d been telling the best stories. Joel and his buddies had been laughing so hard, they were doubled over, slapping their knees. One guy—I had no idea what his name was—had run off to the bathroom, probably to puke. The rest were holding their liquor.

  Joel had his arm slung around my shoulders. There was something about that I didn’t like. But it was hard to remember why it mattered. The room spun, and whenever I blinked it took me a little too long to open my eyes again. Voices carried around me, but I wasn’t following the conversation anymore.

  “You coming, sugar?” Joel said, close to my ear.

  “Where we going?”

  “For a ride,” he said. “Come on.”

  I got up and left the bar, Joel’s arm still around me. My sense of unease grew, but it was taking all my concentration to walk straight. Leaning against him helped, so what was the harm in him holding me up? I’d probably fall if he wasn’t there. It was fine.

  We walked up the street and I found myself being hoisted into the back of a big pickup truck. My phone rang and I pulled it out, squinting at the name on the screen. Sebastian?

  “Hey, Sebby,” I said. “What’s up, baby?”

  “Brooke?” Sebastian said. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m so good,” I said. “So good.”

  One of Joel’s friends smacked his arm. “Dude, that’s probably her boyfriend.”

  Joel shrugged him off. “Who the fuck cares?”

  It seemed like there were more people in the truck than there should be and I realized I wasn’t the only girl. When had these other girls showed up? God, I was fucked up.

  “I didn’t even see them,” I said. “They’re all so pretty. Why are you so pretty?”

  “What?” Sebastian asked. “Didn’t see who? Brooke, where are you?”

  The truck rolled down the street and the wind blew through my hair. I leaned my head back and laughed.

  “Dunno,” I said. “Driving.”

  “What the fuck is going on?” Sebastian asked. “Who are you with?”

  I turned to Joel. “Who are you?”

  He grinned. “That guy bothering you, sugar?”

  I laughed, like he’d just told the most hilarious joke.

  “Brooke, for fuck’s sake, where are you?” Sebastian asked.

  I looked around at the scenery whizzing by. Lights flashing. I blinked hard and tried to focus, but everything was blurry. “On a road. I don’t know. I’m free tonight, Seb. I have to let it all go.”

  “I need to know where you are,” Sebastian said.

  The sharp note of alarm in his voice cut through my intoxication and I turned to Joel. “Where are we going?”

  “Just for a drive,” Joel said. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

  I giggled. The truck pulled onto the highway and picked up speed. I turned around and held onto the edge of the bed, facing forward so the air blew my hair back.

  I didn’t remember hanging up on Sebastian, but at some point, I was no longer talking to him. Joel’s arms were around my waist, holding me like he was trying to keep me in the bed of the truck. I held up my arms and leaned into the wind, laughing.

  “Careful, Brooke.”

  “Goddammit, she’s fucking crazy.”

  “What is she doing?”

  “Holy shit, hold onto her.”

  Maybe I was crazy. I didn’t care.

  Someone was helping me out of the truck, but I didn’t remember stopping. I had no idea where we were. I stumbled as I got down. Arms held onto me. Didn’t make sense. What time was it? When had we stopped driving? Where was Sebastian?

  I tried to ask, but my words came out in an incoherent jumble.

  “Dude, she is fucked up,” someone said. “What are you going to do with her?”

  Something wasn’t right again. The arm around me felt wrong. I pushed against him. Tried to move away. “Let go.”

  “It’s okay,” he said. Was it Joel? He spoke softly into my ear. “It’s not what you think. You’re all right. Just hang in there, sugar.”

  He led me up a set of stairs and into a house. I could barely stand. The floor felt like it lurched beneath my feet. Footsteps moved around me, but hands held me in place.

  Next thing I knew, I was on a couch. How long had I been there? I looked around, but I didn’t recognize anything.

  “Hey,” Joel said. “There you are. I think you passed out.”

  I smiled, mostly because it seemed like there were three faces in front of me, their edges blurring together.

  “Who do you want me to call?” he asked.

  “What? What’s going on?”

  “Look, you’re really fucked up,” he said. “And I don’t do that shit, okay? A lot of guys do, though, so you’re lucky you wound up with me tonight. That Sasha chick is drunker than you are, and my fucking roommate still took her to his room.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” At least, that’s what I meant to say. It came out slurred.

  “Brooke, focus for just a second,” Joel said. “Should I call Sebastian? You have a bunch of missed calls from him. But if he’s like your ex or something, I don’t want to mess around with that.”

  “Seb’s not my ex,” I said. That made me laugh again.

  “Okay, I’m calling him.”

  I was half-aware of voices. Then I was waking up again—someone’s hands on my shoulders, shaking me gently.

  “Brooke?”

  I forced my eyes open and saw Sebastian. “Seb?”

  “Goddammit.”

  Why did he sound so mad?

  “You need a drink,” I said. “Let’s go get another one. My buzz is going to wear off.”

  “Not likely,” Sebastian said. My eyes closed again but I could still hear him talking. “Thanks for calling.”

  “Sure,” Joel said. “L
ook man, if she’s your girlfriend, she never said anything. She just seemed like a cool chick and she wanted to party.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  Sebastian’s voice was so hard. So cold. The way he said that sliced through me.

  “Let’s go,” Sebastian said.

  I tried to stand, but my legs were jelly. Sebastian’s thick arms wrapped around me and he lifted me up, cradling me like I weighed nothing.

  He smelled so good. So familiar. Even so wasted I could barely keep my eyes open, I realized this was the closest I’d ever been to him. Cradled in his arms, my head resting against the top of his chest. His beard tickled my forehead. I wanted to nuzzle my face into his neck, but he stuck me in the passenger’s seat of his car.

  I shivered, suddenly cold. His body hadn’t just been warm. It had been smoldering hot.

  He got in the car. “I’m taking you to my house. I want to make sure you don’t fucking die in your sleep.”

  “I’m not gonna die,” I said, my voice dreamy. “I can’t die now. I already did.”

  23

  Sebastian

  I’d never been so relieved to see someone, yet so angry I could fucking kill them at the same time.

  Brooke sat in my passenger’s seat, muttering drunk nonsense. I didn’t bother trying to figure out what she was saying. She was so out of it, there wasn’t any point in talking to her. So I stayed silent, my eyes on the road. Seething.

  She’d seemed weird the last few days. I’d stopped by the bookstore yesterday, but Joe had told me she’d called in sick. She’d said the same thing when I’d called her—that she wasn’t feeling well. I knew it was bullshit. She wasn’t sick this time, any more than she’d been sick the last time she’d done this.

  When I didn’t hear back from her earlier today, I’d gotten worried. I went to her house, expecting her to open the door a crack and make a show of not wanting me to get her germs. But she hadn’t been home.

  She hadn’t answered her phone, either. Not until a couple of hours later when she’d finally picked up, sounding drunk as fuck. I’d heard voices in the background—a guy’s voice specifically. And what had sounded like an engine, and maybe road noise. Then she’d hung up on me.