by E. S. Maria
My brother cuts her off, “She’d love to go, Nicki.”
“Brodie!” I screech at my brother. How dare he decide for me?
“Here, type the details of the support group you go to in here.” I faintly hear the sound of phone unlocking, most likely Brodie’s.
“Oh my God. I can’t believe Brodie Mackenzie’s letting me type on his phone. Sorry, I’m a big fan. I’m gushing,” I hear Nicki sputtering as I hear the sounds of Brodie’s phone keyboard being pressed in fast succession.
I remain quiet, silently simmering.
“Well, here you go. I really hope to see you there, Hannah. And oh, Brodie, I heard Atticus Foster is back. It’s great to see that even rock stars like you and Atticus are still grounded. Um, any chance of you guys doing a little show or something? I’m sure the locals, especially a lot of the girls, would love it. You and Atticus have a huge fanbase here. Huge!” Nicki’s swoony voice surprisingly rubs me the wrong way.
I reach for my muffin and stuff my mouth, hoping it’ll stop me from saying anything derogatory.
How the hell can Atticus still make me feel so territorial?
I’m sorry, Paul. I didn’t mean to.
Damn it, Hannah, keep it together.
“Thanks. I’ve forgotten how fast news travels around here. I’m actually just here for my family, but you never know, Tic and I might get an itch to play.”
“Wow, I hope so. Well, I don’t want to take up too much of your time,” I suddenly feel two tiny arms wrap themselves around me, and a waft of flowery cologne reaches my nostrils as she whispers, “It’s great to finally see you, Hannah. It really is. You were one of the good ones. I knew you defended me over the others, and I’m grateful for that. I hope that in my little way, I can help you out too.”
I don’t know why. But her words bring me to tears, and my chest tightens as well. Not because her words hurt, but because I pushed so many people away, that the only kind words I’ve heard in months other than those from my family, have come from someone I’m not even friends with. And even if it doesn’t take all the pain away, it helps, somehow.
Still choked up, all I can manage is a nod, unable to lift my head to at least give her a smile. I hear Brodie thanking her as well, before I hear some shuffling and soft footsteps walking away. After a short second, I feel Brodie’s hand cover my own, and he gives it a squeeze. He doesn’t have to say anything.
In some weird, cosmic way, I have a feeling that he understands.
By the time we get home, I’m already exhausted, and my head is throbbing nonstop. It’s yet another wonderful side-effect of the accident. After thanking Brodie for finally dragging me out of the house, I excuse myself so I can have a little nap … something I know I need but dreading to do, because even though I hope to dream of Paul, somehow I think a certain asshole ex will take over.
CHAPTER SIX
Four Years Ago
“Did you see how Danny was staring at you? That guy wants in your panties for real,” Patty teases as soon as the doors of the bus close.
“Shut up, Patty! Are you serious? That guy’s a joke. He collects girls like he collects … well … panties probably. Brook, can you back me up on this one?” I tug at the arm of my other best friend―the more balanced, practical one.
“Seriously, that guy is super immature,” Brook interjects as we make our way to my house. “Hannah’s not an idiot. She’s not gonna wanna waste her v-card on that jerk-off.”
“That’s probably what he does a lot too … jerk-off,” I giggle back nudging Patty and Brook at the same time.
“Gross! Please don’t go there,” Patty gags. “I do not need that shit in my head.”
“You guys wanna come in?” We pause at the end of my driveway. Patty and Brook live on the same street as I do, and we usually hang out in each other’s house to study, to watch TV, or to stalk the boys we like on Facebook and Twitter.
We’re fifteen years old. We love boys. That’s how we roll.
“You guys comin’ in?” I ask.
“You reckon, um, Brodie’s home from school already?” Brook asks shyly.
I roll my eyes at her, saying, “Beats me. I’m not his fuckin’ keeper.”
“Maybe you should be. Have I told you how cute your brother’s become?” Patty adds.
I lift my forefinger at both of them, feeling like I want to wretch. “Uh, first of all, ew. Second, how the hell should I know? He’s my brother. He’ll always look like a boofhead to me.”
“Fine! Whatever,” Patty snorts. “I need to go home anyway. It’s Mum and Dad’s date night so I have to babysit my little sister.”
“Brook, are you coming up?” I ask, raising my brows.
“I’ll go home first and show my face, but I’ll come over in thirty minutes or so.”
“No worries. See ya, babe.” We give each other hugs before I start heading up the steep driveway to my house.
“I’m home!” I yell out loud enough so Mum can hear me. I usually find her in the kitchen at this time of the day, preparing our after-school snacks. She loves to do that, so I cannot find the heart to stop her. Lifting my shirt up from my skirt’s waistband, I’m walking past the living area on my way up to my bedroom so I can change into something more comfy, usually a pair of shorts and a singlet, before snacking with Brook, and I’m already unbuttoning the top button of my shirt when I hear someone clearing his throat, making me screech and jump out of my skin. “What the fuck?”
I turn towards the direction of the source and find a boy lounging on our couch, sipping a can of soda and looking like he owns the place.
“So she swears like a sailor.”
“And who the hell are you?” I ask, with my arms crossed and chin up.
Because unlike him, I actually own the place.
Well, technically my parents do, but still.
He stands up slowly, taking his time. And as soon as he is completely upright, I swallow hard.
Geez, he’s tall. Tall with muscles. Not the weightlifter kind, because he seems only slightly older than me, but the ‘Oh yeah, this is genetic cos I don’t really work out’ kind.
And he’s cute. Far cuter than any boy I’ve seen in my school.
Dark blonde hair with green eyes. And I think I see what appears to be a dimple on one side of his face as he smiles.
But there’s no warmth in that smile. Only smugness … like he just caught me checking him out and he’s the least bit surprised.
He’s also wearing a school uniform, except that his isn’t from the same school as my brother’s.
“I’m Atticus. And you’re still staring,” the smug boy speaks once again, making me blush.
“And why are you here?” I raise a brow, cocking my head and ignoring his last remark, doing my best to look annoyed instead.
Because I am. He’s beginning to annoy me.
“He’s here because I invited him to hang out,” Brodie answers as he walks out of the kitchen.
“Here you go Tic, for later.” My brother tosses another can of soda at him, which he catches with ease. “So … you’ve met my charming little sister, Hannah. She’s off limits, just so you know.”
I scoff him off.
As if I’d even go there. I’m more pissed that he gave Tic my name.
Seriously … Tic?
“Does Mum know you have a stranger in the house?” I ask instead.
“I met your mum and she’s nice, and I’m not a stranger anymore. We know each other’s names.”
My brother laughs it off and motions his head up to his room, and they start heading in that direction before he whispers to me, “Tic’s a pretty kick ass guitar player. Be nice to him. I’m trying to convince him to join my band.”
“Yeah, whatever,” I snort in response. Brodie’s plan of forming a band is a joke. Sure he’s an amazing guitar and piano player, but he’d been talking about this for months and months and still, nothing.
As soon as Tic passes by me, I call out, �
�See ya, Tic,” making sure I’m extra sarcastic with his nickname.
“Only my friends call me Tic. We’re not friends,” he answers back as he follows Brodie up the stairs.
“Yeah, well, I don’t wanna be your friend anyway. And your nickname sucks!” But I’m a bit too late with the retort. Brodie’s bedroom door bangs shut even before I finish my sentence.
Damn my slow response rate.
Ugh.
What. A. Douche.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Present
“I got it. I got the details for the support group, Hannah Banana. I rang ahead. They have a session tomorrow morning at ten.” I’m close to finishing my breakfast with Mum and Dad, when I hear Brodie’s footsteps stomping down the stairs with the announcement.
“Yaayyy for you,” I answer back with not an ounce of excitement.
“Oh, honey. This is great! You’re actually gonna do this,” Mum sounds more excited. Of course she would be. She’d been trying to get me some help, someone to talk to, but it was either I adamantly refused to go, or I reasoned myself out of it. Eventually, she just gave up.
And now, even with me reluctantly saying yes to Brodie, and him arranging everything, I know in my heart that I can’t go through with this.
“Excuse me, I’ll just be in my room.” I push my chair back and walk the same route carefully to my bedroom. I hear Mum’s protest, but thankfully, Dad tells her to leave me be.
How can I even attempt to move on with my life, to start to heal, when I have absolutely no right to do so? What about Paul? He wasn’t given a chance either.
If Paul can’t move on, I owe it to him to hold on to the guilt. That’s what I deserve. I deserve to suffer for the rest of my life.
God, I need to distract myself from all this angst.
Music. Yes. I need to drown myself in music. Taking the phone out of my pocket, I unlock it, speaking the name of the radio app. After a second or two, the app is playing songs from my personal playlist. I climb on the bed and lay my head on the pillows, placing my phone right next to me and increasing the volume to an almost deafening loudness.
I’m beginning to feel relaxed, my nerves beginning to calm down. That is, until I hear the first notes of the next song.
“For You I Will” by Teddy Geiger.
The song instantly takes me back to his eighteenth birthday party over a year ago. It was held in their house, possibly the biggest one in Avoca Beach, located on top of the cliff with uninterrupted views of the vast ocean. It was the party to end all parties, and it was going off in a big way. Everyone who was anyone, was there. His parents, both successful lawyers, had decided to stay overnight in the city. They trusted Paul, and why wouldn’t they? He may be an only child of an affluent couple, but he’s far from being an irresponsible asshole.
I was standing at the balcony, taking in the views. It was beautiful, calming. Even with the DJ playing loud dance music inside, when I looked out into the ocean, everything seemed to quiet down. Everything was still.
Suddenly, I felt two tanned arms wrap themselves around me, my hair was swept to the side before I felt his lips pressed on my neck.
“Hey,” I sighed, as I closed my eyes for a second, relishing how it felt. “Your party’s a success. No surprises there.”
“Hey,” he murmured against my neck, as he held me tighter. “This is my favourite part of the party so far, and I want to enjoy it.”
“Which part?”
“This, just holding you. I haven’t had a chance since the party started, so I’m not letting you go anytime soon. Maybe ever.”
I couldn’t help but giggle, “Babe, you’re the host. This is your eighteenth birthday. Mingle, drink your ass off, have fun.”
“Can you hear that song?” he asked as he refused to move, his arms still around my waist.
“Huh?” I leaned my head towards the house, where a slow song had started to play.
“I asked the DJ to play this as soon as I have you by myself. His timing is exceptional.”
“What song is this?” I heard the singer melodically say that he’d pretty much do everything for the girl he loved, no matter what it was. It was a familiar song, although I’ve never really heard all the words.
“It’s called ‘For You I Will,’” Paul twirled me around, just as my heart started beating faster. His blue eyes stared at me with so much emotion that it overwhelmed me, and all I could do was stare back. “Hannah, I can’t sing for shit. And the last thing I want to do is embarrass myself or you. So I’ll just let this guy sing for me.”
“Sing about what?” I whispered.
“That I love you, Hannah Mackenzie.”
I gasped, literally gasped after I heard his words. But before I could respond, he continued, “Please don’t feel pressured to say it back. I don’t expect you to. I know how much that asshole broke your heart, and you told me plenty of times before we started dating that you wanted to take it slow. But I don’t know, it’s my birthday, I have had a few drinks already, and I wasn’t planning on blurting it out like this. But I can’t help it anymore. And because I’m in a selfish mood, I want you to know that in a way, I’m grateful he left you because even when you were with him, I loved you. And now that we’re together, I feel that you should know that I would never, ever break your heart. I’d rather die than hurt you the way he did.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but he pressed his finger on my lips. “I’m not done yet,” he smiled sheepishly. “If you don’t feel the same, well, I’ll do my best to understand. Please don’t feel pressured into saying it back. That isn’t my intention at all. I just—”
My hand instinctively covered his mouth. “Now you shush. Stop talking. It’s my turn to talk.”
He tried to speak in protest, but it was warped from the pressure of my hand, which I pressed harder until he got the message.
“I love you, Paul. I. Love. You. Too. Okay? So stop explaining yourself. You’re breaking into a sweat,” I smiled sweetly and released his mouth so I could wipe an imaginary drop of sweat from his brow.
Paul didn’t waste time. He instantly held me tightly in his arms, and his mouth pressed with my own. His kiss felt like a promise fulfilled, beautiful and sweet, even gratifying.
“Best birthday ever,” Paul whispered in-between kisses, his mouth forming in a grin before turning the kiss into something more passionate. And I let him. Because he deserved it.
That was the moment when I realised he deserved a perfect girlfriend.
So after the party, after everyone had left his home and we were all alone, after just two months of him patiently waiting, I finally became that perfect girlfriend. I gave Paul all of me.
I gave him the Hannah he loved, the Hannah who was perfect in his eyes, the Hannah who was willing to love him the way he should be loved, a love fitting to a person who may be considered in every sense of the word, perfect. So I gave him perfect. The perfect girlfriend, the perfect love.
And as I’m lying in my bed, with the memory of Paul’s birthday filling my confused head, a loud sob escapes me, and I begin to weep. My body curves in a foetal position as my heart tightens so hard, it feels like it’s about to reach its pain threshold.
For even though I gave Paul what I know he’d been waiting for, my body and my heart, I was nothing but a fraud to him. Because even though I professed my love, my heart still pined for the one person who broke it into a million pieces.
Paul was the last person who deserved that.
And that made me no better than Atticus.
So how can I even think of moving on when I clearly have no right to do so?
By doing something I’ve been avoiding to do for months.
Because I was afraid … and I still am … of what’s going to happen next.
But I need to see Paul.
And finally find the courage to apologise to him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Two Years Ago
It’s been two months, three days
, seven hours, and forty minutes.
Not that I’m counting.
Maybe I am.
My friends have been telling me I’m better off without him, that this is the best thing that can ever happen to me.
Atticus is a loser, a good for nothing insensitive dick-wad, who only wants me for one thing. And now that he finally got what he wanted, he left me without warning, without even saying goodbye.
I deserve so much better, blah, blah, blah blah.
White noise. All of them.
The truth is, this is as much as my fault as it is his. He warned me from the start. But I was too blinded by my feelings for him that I accepted our doomed relationship.
But maybe my love wasn’t enough for him to stay.
His life was already complicated, and when I gave him myself for the first time, I probably complicated things further, and it freaked him out.
I’m not going to deny that I’m upset because I am. Very. Extremely.
I’m gutted.
He walked away after taking something precious from me.
I wish I can hate him the way he deserves to be hated.
But I can’t. No matter how much I want to rid myself of this feeling.
I was in so fucking deep with him.
He was my first kiss
He was my first love.
He was my first time.
He was my first everything.
Until he became my first heartbreak.
No, strike that. This feels more like an atomic bomb to my heart, leaving it completely shattered beyond recognition. There’s no way anyone would want it now because, well, it’s ugly and irreparable.
