by Monica James
How does one come back from this? They don’t. All they can do is live and learn.
Peering down at my watch, I see that it’s almost crazy o’clock.
So much for living and learning, because if I learned my lesson, I wouldn’t be standing outside the back of work, waiting…waiting for Sin to tell me there is some mistake.
I called in sick, another first for me, but there was no way I could face people. I was too afraid they’d see what I’d done. I couldn’t stay home, seeing as my parents would smell a rat, so I wrapped up my soiled sheets and threw them and my future into the dumpster in the alleyway behind my home.
With nowhere to go, I roamed the streets, hoping the farther I walked, the farther I’d venture away from the mess I’ve made. The crème of the crop was out in force, and I shared the streets with the pimps, drug dealers, and gang members who looked no older than ten. I was propositioned for sex more times than I could count. I simply shrugged it off, not biting back as I usually would because they could probably smell the whore on me.
I passed endless phones, but each time I inserted a quarter, dialing Belle, I hung up before she had a chance to answer. After a while, I ran out of money and excuses, and all that was left was this guilt eating a hole right through me.
I walked the streets of Los Angeles in a daze until I ended up at work and sat behind the rink, waiting…waiting…I didn’t know what I was waiting for until I remembered Sin’s letter. He asked me to meet him, and a small part of me believes that he will. But as day became night, the clarity of what happens next was shadowed by my shame.
I’m sitting on the back step, head cradled in my palms. He will come, I assure myself, but that hope fades with each stroke of the clock. As each second ticks by, I sniff back my tears and attempt to compose myself as best I can.
When footsteps sound lightly against the uneven pavement, I turn so quickly my ponytail whips me in the face. I’m unblinking, too afraid I’ll miss a second if I move. He came. He’s here to tell me the truth.
“Holland?” That voice deflates my last shred of hope.
Standing feet away is not Sin, but Thomas, my work colleague. He doesn’t hide his surprise to find me skulking behind work seeing as I’m supposed to be sick. “Is everything all right?”
His fingers clutch around the top of the black garbage bag he’s holding, most likely ready to wield it as a weapon if I launch forward and demand he feed me his brains.
Pulling it together, I nod. “I’m fine. I just…” But I don’t bother. I’ve run out of excuses. “What time is it?”
There must be something wrong with my watch. It reads 10:08 p.m. Shaking it, I hold it up to my ear to ensure it’s still ticking. It is.
Thomas pulls out his cell, the screen lighting up his face. His confusion is clear. “It’s just after ten. How long you been out here?”
“I don’t know,” I vaguely reply, those impossible tears threatening to break past the floodgates once again. If I shed any more, I’m sure to dehydrate.
Thomas is a few years older than I am and has always been nice enough. “I’m just going to lock up and then I’ll take you home, okay?” He’s talking slowly, approaching me like he would a cornered, rabid animal.
I nod, but the thought of going home…I can’t go back there ever again. The thought of sleeping in my bed, the same bed I shared with him, evokes visions of me setting my room on fire. I need to douse the flames, otherwise I’ll never rest again.
“Can I borrow twenty dollars? I’ll pay you back, promise.” I’m begging, but I need to do this before I chicken out.
Thomas doesn’t argue and reaches into his pocket to retrieve his wallet. The green catches the full moon, a beacon of what I must do. “Thank you.” I leap forward and snatch it from his fingers. He yelps and jumps back, dropping the garbage with a plop to the ground.
I suppose I look as bad as I feel.
Turning quickly, I take off as fast as my feet can take me, waving madly at a cab idling by the curb. The passenger hasn’t even exited, but I jump into the front seat, bouncing nervously. The lady throws the driver a twenty and grabs her bag in haste.
When I rattle off where I need to be, the driver looks down his nose, wondering why someone like me would need to be going to the most lavish zip code in LA. I’m dressed in my work gear, so he probably presumes I’m fulfilling some perverted millionaire’s schoolgirl dreams.
“Go!” I command, tapping the dash with force.
He thankfully puts the car into gear and pulls into traffic with a sharp turn. We’re greeted with an orchestra of horns, but the noise is welcome, as it drowns out the clatter within.
The entire ride, I wonder what’ll happen when I see him. I’m beyond outraged, taking no greater satisfaction than smacking that smug smile from his lips, but beneath that rage, I feel betrayed and hurt. London has torn out my heart, and I don’t know if it’ll ever heal.
The Hollywood sign catches my eye, and I think about all the times I looked upon it, wondering if I’ll ever find my dreams. I can’t remember a time when I’ve felt this lost. No matter what happened, I used to have hope, but now…I just feel so empty inside.
I betrayed, but I was betrayed in return. Maybe two wrongs do make a right?
Pressing my head against the glass, I block it all out and allow this moment of silence, knowing it’ll be the only one I have for a while.
“Miss? We’re here.” I jar awake, rubbing my weary eyes.
It was just a dream…a bad, bad dream, but when I see the towering white palace before me, I know my nightmare has only just begun.
“Thanks,” I mumble, passing the driver the money before opening the door. I take a moment to gather my bearings and hope I stop trembling sometime soon.
The lights are on. Someone is home.
My feet hit the pavement, but the ground has never felt shakier than it does right now. I don’t want to prolong this, and no matter how scared I am, I persevere, climbing the winding driveway leading to my doom.
I attempt to smooth out the wrinkles in my clothes and brush out the snarls in my hair, but it’s pointless. I will never iron out the damage done to my soul. The doorbell vibrates low, a groan which sets the already somber mood.
My fingernails are already down to the wick, but I bite my thumb anyway, needing something to do before I throw up. Once the door opens however, nothing can keep the nausea at bay. The pillar of perfection stands before me, while I look like I robbed the needy and stole his clothes.
“H-h…” I clear my throat twice. “Hi, Ms. Sinclair. Is London home?”
Her lip curls in repulsion or amusement, I can’t tell, but either way, I know how this will end. “No, he is not, and even if he were, why on earth would I allow you into my home? Did your mother put you up to this?” She peers over my shoulder, standing on tippy-toes, as if hoping to catch a glimpse of my mom hiding in her roses.
“What?” Shaking my head, I get back in the game. “No, she didn’t. Do you know when he’ll be back?”
She cocks her head to the side, as if for the first time seeing through my desperation. “No idea. He’s probably off with some new squeeze. They come and go so quickly, I can’t keep up.” Tears sting my eyes. I know what she’s doing, yet I can’t stop. She examines her French manicured nails, uninterested. “Do you think you’re special?”
“Excuse me?” I question, not understanding where she’s going with this.
Lifting her steel blue eyes, she pins me to the spot I stand. She examines the brand on my neck, the brand her son put there to mark me as his…his conquest. “You’re just one in a long line of many, a warm body for the night, and if I know my son, he slummed it with you to remind you…you’re a Brooks,” she spits in disgust, “and he’s a Sinclair. Don’t you ever forget it.”
I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood, as I refuse to allow this unfeeling woman to see my tears. “I’ll never forget because I’m proud of who I am. We may not have all of
this—” I sweep my hand toward her riches “—but what we do have is what you’ll never have, because the person you want the most…doesn’t want you.”
She recoils, her mask of perfection crumbling. She brushes back her hair, but the waver to her fingers betrays her. My words have had the desired effect. “You’re just like your mother,” she snarls, turning up her nose when she continues scowling at my neck.
Her distaste only spurs me on further. Stepping forward, I lean my arm against the doorjamb, ignoring all personal boundaries. “I may be exactly like my mom, but I’d rather that, than be someone like you.” Her intake of breath has me fist pumping with pride. “London was doomed the day you settled for second best.” Her mouth pops open, her eyes falling wide. “Goodbye, Ms. Sinclair. Thank you for showing me that no matter what riches you possess, it doesn’t make you a better person.”
I turn on my heel, but stop, holding my head high. “Oh, and by the way…I don’t think I’m special…I know I am. I’m Holland Brooks-Ferris…and I’m fucking fabulous.” I tighten my lopsided ponytail, never feeling more affluent and important than I do right now.
I don’t bother waiting for a response because no matter what she says, she can’t tear me down. I may be a liar and a cheater, but I accept that, and I’ll attempt to make amends for it as long as I live. Living means making mistakes, but being human means learning from them and growing. Failure is the only way to begin again, only wiser the second time around. And I don’t plan on making the same mistakes twice.
The door slams shut behind me, a silent victory, but I’ve learned that no one wins in life—it’s an uphill battle, and all you can do is try your best.
Peering up into the star-filled sky, the heavens which I’ve looked up at with nothing but contempt, I suddenly realize that it’s always looked down at me with nothing but promise. I take a deep breath, the first one I’ve taken since this mess began. I don’t know what the future holds, but life’s journey starts with one single step, and I can’t wait to take mine.
A movement from the corner of my eye catches my attention, and I raise my chin, focused on the window on the top floor. I know whose room it is, and I know he’s most likely watching me from inside. I should care, should bash down that door and demand he see me, explain what the hell is going on, but I won’t.
At this moment, on this day, I let go of who I was and concentrate on who I will become. After tonight, I will never see this home, this neighborhood, this boy ever again, because this is my past and I’m only intent on my future.
The curtain across the bay window draws to a close, just how the final call closes on my heart. As I walk down the driveway, I see Belle’s car parked off to the side. I have no doubt London has told her everything. I know she’ll never forgive me, but I don’t expect her to, because I’ll never forgive myself.
I continue walking with my head held high, the tears I once shed now replaced with a smile. Live and learn, that’s my new motto, and what I’ve learned is that London Sinclair may have taken my dignity away from me once…but he’ll never do it again.
Fool me once…shame on you. Fool me twice…not on your fucking life.
Present Time
“No, Julio, tell that asshole that unless he has an offer that’s even remotely appealing, then he’s wasting my time.”
Flipping down the visor of our rental BMW, I cringe when I see a disgusting mark the size of Texas smeared across the mirror. Snapping it up, I reach into my Prada black leather handbag for my compact and hand sanitizer instead.
Julio, the asshole attorney representing the deadbeat dad who decided he wants to claim responsibility for his seven-year-old daughter now that she’s the hottest child star in Tinseltown, has five seconds to say something productive before he’s greeted with the line going dead.
“Holland, stop being such a hard ass. It’s a good offer,” he pleads in his whiny voice, as he knows what my response will be.
I touch up my plum lipstick in the mirror, fingering the corners of my mouth with no hurry to my step. When I’m satisfied with my appearance, I snap the compact shut, snapping much like my last tether of patience. “A good offer would be that sad sack of shit going back to whatever hole he crawled from and stop trying to sponge off his daughter. Goodbye, Julio. Don’t waste my time again.”
As I toss my Blackberry into my bag, I can feel his eyes watching me with humor. He loves seeing me riled up, and now is no exception. “What?” I ask without a hint of bite as I turn in my seat to look at my fiancé.
“Nothing,” he replies, shaking his head with a smile, eyes focused on the road. He knows better than to argue with me. It’s my job to argue, so he knows he doesn’t stand a chance.
“Okay, I’ll let you off the hook, but only because you bought me this extraordinary…” I place my left hand out in front of me, the rock on my finger rivaling the bright Los Angeles summer sun. “Completely over the top ring.”
“I’ll take it back then,” he counters, his full lips twitching.
“Don’t you dare!” I admonish, shielding my hand against my chest in protection. Yes, I’m totally resembling Gollum, but I’m still getting used to the fact that in just three weeks, I’ll be Mrs. Lincoln O’Toole.
His husky laugh fills the car, reminding me of all the countless laughs we’ve shared over the past few years. Our road has been rocky, to say the least, but we made it work because everything happens for a reason.
“You nervous about going back home?” I know what he’s really asking, but I refuse to entertain that memory ever again.
“Home is our apartment on the Upper East Side. We’re merely going back to the place we grew up because your parents would never miss a party and my mom doesn’t like to fly.”
Lincoln smirks, the sight reminding me so much of the boy I met in high school. But so much has changed since then. I’ve changed. Sometimes, I barely recognize myself as the penniless outsider I once was. I brush my fingers through my hair, passing over the diamond hair clip which sits in my low chignon. It and my white Chanel pantsuit are just some of the many things that remind me I’m no longer the pathetic little lost girl I once was.
The moment the Hollywood sign comes into view, I feel a bittersweet reminiscence swirl within, and I’m transported back to the last time I saw it.
After I said goodbye to a boy who changed my life forever, I went home and told my parents everything. It goes without saying that I broke my mother’s heart and my father was intent on committing first degree murder. But after endless hours of lectures and tears, I convinced my parents to let me move to Florida with my aunt Cora and finish my studies there. I couldn’t stay in that home a second longer. Every inch of my room reminded me of him and reminded me of what I did.
Mrs. Anthony’s suggestion became a reality because early the next morning, I was on a flight bound for Florida with no intention of coming back until I had to. My parents didn’t want me to go, but the time away to digest what I had done would do us all some good. I’ve never seen my parents so upset, but more so, they were just disappointed and felt betrayed.
I understood and gave them their space.
Another person who was affected by my astronomical fuckup was Belle. I tried calling her a week after I moved, chickening out countless times, but she never picked up, and after a while, her phone was disconnected. I took that as her silent fuck you, leave me the hell alone, so I did.
Looking back now, I know I got off easy, because I never spoke or heard from Belle or…him ever again. I could have sent her a letter, hell, I could have turned up on her doorstep with a thousand bouquets of flowers begging for forgiveness, but I didn’t.
Yes, I was hurt that she kissed my sort-of boyfriend, but that’s not the reason I stayed away. It was easy for me to escape what I did, which was so much worse, if I never spoke to her ever again. Not my finest moment, but you live and learn—that motto is still one I march to every day.
So I focused on my studies and aced a
ll my tests. It was the only way I knew how to move on. Once that welcome pack arrived in the mail announcing my official acceptance into Stanford, nothing I did ever went away, but things became easier.
Stanford was nothing like I expected it to be—it was better. No one knew who I was. No one knew what I did. There was no stigma associated with my name. We were all fresh faces, desperate to find a new identity and escape the ghosts of our pasts.
And escape I did.
I found myself in college in ways I never thought I could. I excelled and thrived in all my classes, the freedom of living on campus unleashing a new, confident me. I made friends with girls who actually wanted to be my friend and not whisper about my secondhand clothes behind my back. Thankfully, it was all the craze to wear recycled clothes in college. I was a hipster before it was cool.
I worked part time at the local Starbucks, where I got to know a lot of my peers. For two years, things were the best they were my entire life. The burden and guilt I felt for what I did never left my side, but day after day, it wasn’t as blinding as the day prior, until one night when I went to a party on campus and saw Lincoln.
He was the only person who knew the real me because the bubbly, witty Holland Brooks-Ferris my friends knew would never cheat on their best friend and casual boyfriend with a boy who was nothing but trouble. Feelings I’d tried so hard to keep at bay lashed at the surface, threatening to dredge up old memories I never wanted to relive. I thought that I finally had a chance at living a normal life without having to look over my shoulder, but when I locked eyes with Lincoln, I knew I’d never rid myself of the guilt.
He went out of his way to ignore me at first, which suited me just fine, but when I almost burned him with a scalding pot of Earl Grey, my boss insisted coffee was on us for the next month. No college kid could refuse free coffee, so even though he ignored me every morning, I got used to seeing him again.
It turned out he went to Stanford instead of Berkley, so I would be seeing a lot of him.
