Brisé

by Leigh Ann Lunsford

  Ice-cold water to my face wouldn’t have shocked me more. How can the feeling of euphoria I just experienced become devastation in a mere five seconds? The chemotherapy that flowed through my veins from age five until age eleven didn’t burn as much as his cruel rejection just set me on fire. I open my mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. The tears are on the verge of coming, but I won’t let him see how much he just crushed me. He’s done enough, setting me up to prove a point. Why did he have to follow through with kissing me? He could have just as easily said no. I’m over being his puppet … his friend on the side when nothing else is appealing to him. To be fair, that isn’t how it is, but it’s what I have to tell myself to get over this crush I have on him. I thought it was love, but I know love isn’t supposed to be one-sided. Lust. That’s what it is.

  “Twinkle,” he starts. How fucking dare he pull out the nickname card. “Stop, and listen to me,” he commands me. I stare at him, silently giving him permission to continue his explanation. “That kiss was what I’ve been dreaming of, even before knowing what a kiss was. From the first moment I laid eyes on you, I felt something. But it’s too soon. The timing isn’t right. I’m leaving to go to college; I don’t know how I’ll handle that.” He stops talking and looks down hiding himself from me. My heart breaks for him in that moment. In all the confusion of how I’ve been feeling, and the transition this last year has brought on us, I’ve never once stopped and thought about how he was handling going to college. His insecurities and doubts have taken root in his mind, and I was too selfish to notice. Right now, it doesn’t matter how I feel or what I want. I need to be his friend, his confidante, his cheerleader . . . his Phoebe.

  “Luke,” I grab his hand and squeeze. “You will be fine, I know it. Talk to me.”

  He looks up at me, and the little boy who got teased for taking longer to do his reading than the rest of his class is staring back at me. He’s letting his insecurity define him, again. I want to shake him and comfort him at the same time. He works hard, overcomes so many obstacles people don’t understand: making up mnemonics to learn the steps and remember them; spending hours on one project so he can break it down and process it in the way he will retain it. He is so conflicted with wanting to succeed but being afraid to do so. The more he achieves, the harder he has to work. That’s his philosophy and his reality. I once again want to kick my own ass for my selfish behavior of late. “Hey, why didn’t you talk to me before?” I can’t believe he’s hidden this or that I’ve been so self-involved I didn’t bother looking behind his laughter and jokes.

  “We’ve had other things going on,” he reminds me.

  “Luke, there’s nothing more important than you being okay. I need you to be happy, and you need to remember no matter what, I’m always your friend.”

  The raise of his eyebrows reminds me I haven’t acted that way lately. “Your happiness is more important to me than anything, Phoebe. I seem to cause you nothing but pain, and I’m killing myself trying to figure this shit out.” He’s frustrated, pulling on his hair and not making eye contact.

  “None of this crap makes a difference. We need to get you ready for school, where you can kick ass and take names. You have this, Luke. And you always have me by your side.”

  “Promise?” he stares at me.

  “Promise.”

  “That’s all I need. You’ll see. I’ll make you proud, and all this bullshit will make sense one day.”

  I let part of his comment hang in the air because I am not sure what he means, and I don’t want to delve into it anymore. “I’m always proud of you. I’m your number one fan, remember?” No truer words have ever been spoken. From this point forward, I’m going to be the friend and support system he’s always been for me. No more throwing my own pity party, no more wondering what if, and why he can’t love me back. Nope. Time to move forward, and I can because I know Lucas Matthew Nichols will always be a part of my life.

  Until he wasn’t.

  I can’t believe how fast summer passed by that year. I watched him walk across the auditorium stage and receive his diploma, so well deserved. I even went to the lake with a few of his friends, and my new ones. I tolerated Katie Daniels hanging on him with a fake grin on my face and was the best damn friend he could have ever asked for. Our kiss was never talked about, but I thought about it. Every. Single. Day. I suppressed my feelings and each day I vowed to make a new memory with him that would hold me over until he came home on breaks. I even met a new boy, Drake Taylor. The good looking and cocky asshole that he was. He kept my mind off Luke leaving and the feelings I am trying to ignore. Drake was not a replacement for Luke, nobody could ever be. I was gearing up for a fun year, one I was looking forward to even if it was my first year of school without my protector around.

  “Twinkle, I don’t like you being alone with that Drake kid.” Luke’s dropping me off after a night of bowling.

  “Okay, Dad,” I tease him.

  “I’m serious. I don’t get a good vibe from him, and I won’t be here to look out for you. Some of the guys have mentioned him being an ass. They say he is into some shady shit. I need you to hear me on this.” I roll my eyes at him, always trying to dictate my life. I stop myself before I throw out the insult I want to.

  “Luke, I can’t tell you what will happen next year. Have an open mind. I am trying to. I promise to be careful, though.” I can tell that didn’t appease him, but we each have some learning to do with this adjustment coming up. “Oh, my dad wanted me to remind you of the meeting you set up with his office tomorrow. What’s that about?”

  “I have no clue. He mentioned something earlier this summer about talking to me, so I set up the appointment a few weeks ago. I had forgotten about it.”

  I laugh at him. “That doesn’t surprise me at all. So tomorrow is your last night. What are you doing?”

  “Taking you out, wherever and whatever you want to do. God, I’m going to miss you, Twinkle.” He reaches over and pulls me into his lap, hugging me. This is nothing unusual for us, or it wasn’t until this year. We always used to hug, touch, hold hands . . . I didn’t realize how much I missed the physical contact, the reassurance he was right next to me until now. I inhale his scent, and try not to cry. I knew the time was drawing near, but I can’t believe it is already here.

  “Can I have all day? After your meeting with my dad, can I have you the rest of the time?” I know I’m begging and being selfish as hell, but I’m about to snap. The edges of my control are fraying, and I could collapse at any moment.

  “Of course, I’m already packed. We just have dinner with our parents tomorrow night but before and after that, just us, okay?” I know he’s trying to calm me down. He feels the tension and fear rolling off me. I nod my head, not trusting my voice and untangle myself from his arms so I can go inside and break down privately. I almost make it to my door, “Phoebe,” he calls out. I stop, but I can’t turn around, the tears have already started falling. “Love you!” he calls. I rush inside and fall to my knees. The sobs come from the deepest part of me and I can’t shut them off. We have said that to each other for years, but the finality in his voice reached a different depth, and I don’t want to think what that could mean. If it means he really loves me, then I’m in deeper shit than before because there’s no way I’ll survive two years without him.

  Chapter 5

  Luke

  Frustrated doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel sitting in Mr. Wells’s office. All this legal mumbo jumbo he’s shoving in my face. Granted, he’s taking his time, explaining it to me, the other partner in his firm is actually the one handling it, but I can’t focus, which means I can’t read what I’m about to sign. Am I about to sign this? I can’t imagine ever needing these papers, but Mr. and Mrs. Wells are adamant that it be me. I realize this is how it will be at school if I can’t concentrate on the task at hand and that will fuck up all my plans for our future. I take a deep breath, “Just tell me where to sign.”

  �
��Lucas, calm down,” Mr. Wells is trying to be supportive. “This is just in case, son. Nothing more and we feel you’re the only person we can ask.” I blank out at that point. I remember all the painful treatments and months on end Phoebe suffered. Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia can bite my ass. No human should ever go through that, let alone a child. We’re almost at five years of her being in remission and I know there are no guarantees, but what her parents are asking of me, I don’t know if I could be that strong. I know I’d never leave her side, that isn’t an issue, but I don’t like to relive those days. First, the oral chemotherapy medicines, when that didn’t work they moved on to traditional chemotherapy, a lot of long words I can’t pronounce. There was bone marrow testing, lots of needles and even more pain. The anguish her parents lived with every day, sharing that burden only with my parents. I heard late night conversations, some of which I’ll never get out of my head. I tried every moment to make Phoebe’s life better, just treat her normally and in turn she did the same for me. I fell in love with her more each day, not because she was suffering or then a survivor, but because she went through all of it with grace and beauty. She tried to shelter everyone from the storm raging inside of her, and did so almost effortlessly.

  I’m jolted out of my thoughts by the sound of a clearing throat. It’s the other attorney waiting for me to respond to his question. “Can you repeat that?” I hate to admit I have no clue what is going on right now, but it is the truth.

  “Do you have any questions?” I shake my head no, and he instructs me where to sign. I just want to get out of here, be with Phoebe and figure out what this means later, but praying I’ll never have to use any of this paperwork.

  “Lucas,” Mrs. Wells calls to me. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for her. Know we love you like our own. I know there’ll never be anyone better for our daughter.” I give her a side hug and leave as quickly as I can. I’ve got to get myself together before I get Phoebe. I can’t have this taint her.

  I take deep breaths on the drive over and tell myself to make today count. Shit! I never got to talk to her dad about my concerns over this Drake character sniffing around Phoebe. Hopefully, she’ll exercise good judgment and keep him at arm’s length. I realize how disconnected I’ll be from her, and while that’s what’s needed, it sure as hell isn’t wanted. I pull up in her driveway and she’s already outside waiting on me. She immediately makes her way to my side of the truck as I try and push my emotions back and steel myself for her inquisition. She’s is a nosy little thing.

  “How was the meeting?”

  “Fine, Phoebe. No big thing.” I wink at her.

  “What was it about?” Nosy.

  “Oh, some paperwork about my father’s business. Now that I’m eighteen some things had to be transferred or something. You know I really don’t know, I just signed where I was told.” I hope she buys this lie. I have never bold-faced lied to her before, maybe omitted things or skirted the issue, but I tell myself I have to do this.

  “Oh,” she replies, not fully convinced.

  “What are we doing today?”

  She’s still skeptical, but allows me to change the subject. “Tree house, until dinner, then we’re going to the playhouse.” I just laugh. The tree house is in my backyard and was the Holy Grail growing up. She’s the only female ever allowed in it, and I caught a lot of grief about it from the guys in earlier years. I didn’t care; she was allowed in every aspect of my life and once they accepted it things were easier. The playhouse is in her backyard, and the same rules applied there. It was just uniquely ‘us’ and I couldn’t imagine spending the day anywhere else.

  I follow her across the yard into my backyard and pause watching her glide across the grass to the tree. So many memories flood my mind. This used to be the norm for us, sharing all of our moments together. I wonder when that stopped and I yearn for the time it will begin again. She notices I’m not behind her and looks at me questioningly. Before she can question my mood I hurry and catch up to her. I watch her climb the makeshift ladder, checking out her ass the entire way up, glad she’s unaware of how strong my feelings for her are. I ache to be able to touch her freely, to feel her in my arms, to be her one and only. If today and that paperwork reminded me of anything, it’s that I have to keep her best interest at heart, let her live, truly live, and experience the things cancer tried to rob her of. I have to be that person for her, I won’t accept anything less from myself, but sometimes I stop and question if I’m really doing what’s best for her. So many people have always made the decisions for her, but we never stop and ask her what she wants. I don’t even know what her goals are for herself; I stopped asking years ago, because it always changed when we were growing up. One day I was going to be a firefighter and she was going to be a professional snowboarder; then I was going to be an astronaut and she was going to be President. All of our dreams have always been wrapped up in one title or another, and we always shared them. Deep down I wonder if we ever considered what we were going to do in real life. Dreams are good, they challenge and push you, make you excel, but passion is something else. What are we really passionate about? I always thought it was her dancing, but she maintained that wasn’t her passion, just something she enjoyed. My only passion has been her . . . supporting her, loving her, protecting her. I know I can’t only focus on her and lose myself because then I’m only giving her half a man, which isn’t fair to either of us. Slowly, I start letting her go, but wanting to hold on. The only way we’ll work is to come together as two people, destined to intertwine and make our lives work. Losing ourselves for the other will never allow us to survive. That reality hurts, knowing we have to let go to be able to come back as together We need to grow apart to be able to grow old. Together.

  “Penny for your thoughts.” She’s studying me. I hope she can’t tell what I am feeling. I want today to be a good day, one not focused on the emotional shit I have running through my head.

  “Just can’t believe that I leave tomorrow. You’re going to be starting your junior year, and we are up here in the tree house. I have lots of memories here and was just realizing almost all include you.” Her smile is all I get in return. I always want that smile on her face, and I want to be the one to put it there. I shake my head from those thoughts and remind myself what we’re here for. I lie back on the floor inhaling the cedar smell surrounding us. We’ve spent hours up here and had many campouts right here. I wish we could go back to simpler times where these fucking feelings weren’t holding me hostage. I just want to go back to us, Luke and Phoebe, not being held prisoner by my emotions. I don’t know what I can do differently, but anything would be better than this. I don’t want to leave tomorrow, but I don’t want to stay. I want to tell her how I feel but can’t make promises to her I’m not sure I can fulfill. I’m on a rollercoaster of angst where each emotion takes me to a higher peak before I lose my stomach in the ride to the valley. Each emotion is the polar opposite of the other, and the ups and downs are making me sick.

  “Phoebe, what do you really want to do with your life? Not the teenage bullshit, but what do you see yourself doing?”

  “That’s easy, Luke. I either want to attend community college or go to the University of Georgia. I want to stay close to home, take some business classes, and teach at Momma’s studio. I want the simplicity of having a schedule, tasks at hand, but enough leeway to have a family, be with someone I love.” She makes it sound so simple, but I don’t know if I really believe her. I don’t know if it’s because I have so many plans of what I think her life should entail, or if I’m afraid my love won’t be enough for her. I wonder if she’ll wish she’d chased dreams she didn’t know she had. Will she wake up one day after being with me and wish she had moved on to bigger and better things? From what she just told me, she won’t, but that’s exactly why I need to give her the next few years. I need her to be sure. I know there is no going back for me.

  “What about you, Luke?” That’s easy.

&n
bsp; “Make a difference. I don’t care how or doing what, but I want to make a difference in someone’s life. I’ve been thinking about going into to finance and getting my MBA, not just getting a business degree and taking over Dad’s real estate company. Then work in New York, maybe make some poor people rich.”

  “That’s so superficial and not you at all. You’ve already made a huge difference in so many lives, especially mine. How do you not see that? The real estate company isn’t anything to turn your nose up at. You could sell some young couple their dream house where they’ll raise their family; that is making a difference. You can do anything you want, but I wish you believed in yourself as much as I do.” I don’t have anything to say back to her. “New York, Luke? That’s so far.”

  I have to put it out there, “It is, but think about all the big stages you could dance on. I would watch every performance.”

  “Did you not listen to anything I just said? I’m not going to New York, Chicago, or anywhere else for big stages. I can dance here and still enjoy it. I won’t take someone else’s dream and substitute it for my own. I didn’t know when I was six, if I would make it to seven, or when I was ten if I would see eleven. But I had you, my parents, and your parents and tons of friends around. At each of those moments, I wanted to be like them. I want to be able to give my time and love to someone who needs it. Whether they’re sick, have family problems, emotional outbursts . . . I just want to be what you are to me to someone who needs it. I don’t need New fucking York to do that.” It’s on the tip of my tongue. I’m so close to telling her how much I want that for her. I want to give her the life she’s describing, but I bite my tongue. It’s stupid, and cowardly, and may end up costing me the life I want so desperately in the end.