Breaking Everly

by Jessop, K. L

  I know I need to overcome my ridiculous dress sense. I want to. But although part of me knows Mum is right and that I need to look my best for Dad, she’s doesn’t understand that she’s asking too much from me on a day that is already going to be unbearable.

  I can’t breathe.

  “Come on,” Anita whispers, coming up beside me to take my hand. “I’ll do your hair.”

  16

  Adam

  I place my suit jacket on and look at myself in the mirror, feeling nauseous and wanting to get this day over with. I’ve been up since sunrise and all I can think about is Everly and Mrs B and how they must be feeling. God only knows, but I know their heartache is mine multiplied.

  After seeing Everly the other day, I’d continued to drink away my sorrow once I’d arrived home, and just like when she first left me, all the songs that’d played on the radio had reminded me of her. I don’t want to admit it to myself, but I still care.

  In the short time she’s been back, she’s spun another whirlwind on my heart and awoken all those feelings that have been in hiding for so long that I’d forgotten what they felt like. And now, today being the day she lays her father to rest, I’m going to be standing on the other side of the church when I should be next to her ready to catch her if she should fall.

  “You ready, son?” my mum asks with a flat smile. I can see in her eyes a reflection of my own emotional state. Finishing my whiskey, I grab my house keys and my mum’s hand as I head for the door, not caring that it isn’t even eleven a.m, and I’ve already had alcohol. I need it for Dutch courage. I need it to get through this day of deep mourning and loss.

  As we head down the street towards church, it’s like something out of the olden times. The sky is now overcast, and people are standing outside their houses dressed in black with their heads down, some already wiping their tears away; some talking quietly to each other as they speak about the great Robert Braithwaite. People in their dozens enter church, and as soon as I take my seat, I let out a heavy breath as I hold the order of service.

  “I can’t believe I’m sitting here,” I murmur to Mum. “It’s just wrong. Why do all the good ones get taken first?”

  “That’s something that no one will ever be able to answer, Adam. Unfortunately, that’s how life plays us.”

  “Life is bullshit.”

  “Language—we’re in church.”

  “I need to know she’s ok, Mum, and it’s driving me crazy that I care.” I press at my temples, trying to ease the tension in my head. “Why do I care?”

  “Because despite everything that’s happened over time, I raised a gentleman.” She places her hand on my arm and looks at me with awe. “I know this isn’t the right time and I know I haven’t told you enough, but I’m proud of you Adam. I always have been. I’m glad you’ve turned into the man that you’ve become. I’m glad I didn’t lose you.” Her eyes now glisten, and a soft smile graces her face as I cover her hand with mine.

  “I’m glad you didn’t because I can’t imagine life without you. And I’m proud of you, too.”

  She kisses my cheek and bats away a tear that’s fallen as the classical music that’s playing stops, indicating that the service is about to start.

  We stand, and even though as the family members of Mr Braithwaite enter the church their sniffles whisper in the pews, you could hear a pin drop.

  Mrs B is already tearful and my gut twists seeing her that way, but my eyes only search for one woman, and when I see her, a swell of longing surges through me. The first thing I notice is her outfit. She's in a dress that shows off her figure and her slim legs. It’s formal and plain, but she somehow makes it look incredible, or at least I think that. It’s the first time I’ve had a chance to really see her out of those big clothes. Her body has changed, just like anyone’s would over the years that’ve past, but if anything, hers is thinner. She didn't need to lose weight: she was perfect the way she was.

  The way her body had dipped and curved in all the right places was just one of the many things that I’d loved about her back then, and I have to block out the visions I now have of her because the desire is taking over fast.

  You’re in church Adam.

  But as she stands there in that dress, I can see she's uncomfortable. I can sense it radiating from her. She is trying to hide the fact she's picking at the skin of her fingers, her head low, but I can see it.

  Everly never used to be an anxious person, but what I've witnessed recently, I'd say she is now.

  As if she can feel me watching, her head turns and our eyes meet. I can’t read hers because they are glassed over, and as the light catches her falling tear, my jaw tightens. I swallow hard, wanting to charge through everyone and hold her, comfort her, but I don’t. I can’t. I have to try to keep this distance between us because I’m yet to work out where we are in terms of friendship. I don’t know if we have one. I don’t know if she even wants one.

  When she sits down and grabs hold of the edge of the seat, her knuckles turn white as if that’s the only way she can keep it together. My eyes remain on her throughout the entire service, and as Mrs B cries for the loss of her husband, I can’t help but notice that Everly isn’t affected by her mother’s outburst. It’s her friend and other family members that comfort Helen while Everly just sits looking straight ahead as if she’s in her own world and is oblivious to what’s happening around her.

  I understand that people deal with loss in different ways, but this isn’t right. Something isn’t right.

  * * *

  “It sounds wrong, but it was a beautiful service. Don’t you think?” Mum asks as she comes back to our table with a whiskey for me and a glass of wine for her. We are at the social hall waiting for the Braithwaite’s to return back from the graveyard. They’d asked for family only for that part and I am somewhat grateful as I need a drink.

  It was a lovely service. I can’t deny that Robert Braithwaite looked for perfection and professionalism with his work, and the way he arranged his own send off was just what I imagined it would be.

  “Yeah, it was.” I take a mouthful of whiskey and let the burn sooth my throat and chest as it goes down, easing the ache of my emotions as I wipe my eyes once again. “He did himself proud. He was always good at organising. Everly always took after him for that.” I think about the time she arranged her dad’s birthday and chuckle. “When it was Robert’s birthday and Everly and I were sorting out things for his party, she was like this crazy girl running around like a professional party planner. She had a clipboard in her hand, a pen stuck in the bun of her hair and two red cheeks from being so flustered. When I asked if she needed anything, she looked at me with wide-eyed and a knowing look as if I’d ask the most ridiculous question in the world.”

  “What was her reply?”

  “That the first thing on her list was wine and why hadn’t I got her a glass yet. I just laughed at her because she looked so damn cute, then laughed even harder when I saw her scowling at me.” My smile turns with the reality. “We had some good times,” I sigh, wondering if any of it meant anything to her at all.

  “You’ll get that back, Adam,” Mum says, just as the Braithwaite’s enter the hall. “Maybe not with Everly, but you’ll get that with someone else.”

  What if I don’t want anyone else?

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because you have a heart of gold and the right person will come along that deserves to have it as part of theirs.”

  The hour passes on in slow motion and when I get the chance, I go and pay my respects to Mrs B and hug her tight. I don’t ask her how she’s doing because it’s obvious she’s struggling. Instead, I whisper to her that she’s amazing and that Robert would be so proud of her. I’m yet to speak to Everly. Every time I try and get close to her, she heads in the opposite direction. I don’t know if it’s deliberate and as much as it irritates me, I let it go. Not only has she got today to contend with, it hasn’t escaped my attention that the last
time we were in this hall together was the night I got down on one knee. I’m feeling it, so I know damn well that she is too. However, watching her this closely is interesting. I'm yet to see her cry, and there's no wrong in that because I can see she's trying to be strong for her mum, but what strikes me odd is her body language towards others. Every time someone gets close to hug her, she's rigid, like she doesn’t want to be touched. The longer it goes on the more flustered I can see she's getting. Everly loved her cuddles no matter who they were from. Now it's like she's having sensory overload.

  “She's stronger than she gives herself credit for you know, but that doesn’t mean she is brave all the time,” Anita says, coming up behind me as I continue to watch Everly. “Just because she’s walking around and is yet to truly cry today, doesn’t mean she won’t crack. She’s learnt to use that poker face well when in front of people.”

  Narrowing my brows, I turn to Anita. “Learnt to use it well?”

  Anita sits down next to me and has a look on her face that tells me she’s about to divulge something she probably shouldn’t. “When she first turned up in Milford Haven, she was a mess. She hid herself from the world, didn't speak to hardly anyone and I had to work like hell to get her to open up when I would hear her cry herself to sleep. It went on for years. Now she…” She looks over at Everly before her eyes find mine again, and this time they tell me that she really needs to stop talking, but she doesn’t. “She’s fragile, Adam. She will no doubt kill me for telling you this but she takes anti-depressants and has regular counselling sessions—when she goes that is.” Her words are a blow to the gut. She’s living in Milford Haven, Wales I believe. Something should have twigged at the sound of Anita’s accent, I suppose, but right now, where Everly is living is irrelevant in comparison to the information I’ve just heard.

  Anti-depressants and counselling.

  The two words circle my mind like a merry-go-round and cause my stomach to twist. That’s because of her Dad, isn’t it? He said himself she was hurting. Maybe it’s to do with his illness… But as I try to work out one part of the puzzle, another one needs to be connected.

  “How long have you known her?”

  “Ten years.”

  I close my eyes at her words, the ones that have just confirmed what I was thinking. When Anita first met Everly, she said she was a mess and if she’s known her for the length of time she has said, it just proved one thing.

  She’s a mess because of me.

  I am the reason she left. I did break her.

  “Her dad told me she's hurting.”

  “And he was right, but they only saw her a few times a month. I live with her, Adam.”

  I turn back to Everly, shocked at what I’m hearing. “I don’t get it. That's not the Everly I knew.”

  “You remember the old Everly. The one standing over there is just a shell of the one you remember, but she's in there, believe me. The old Everly is in there, she just needs the right person to find her.”

  I look back at Anita, needing the answers but not wanting to hear them. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I know no one else will and you deserve to know something at least. Adam, it's not down to me to tell you why Everly is like she is, but I'm telling you because no matter how much you try and fight it, I can see you still care.”

  My eyes once again go back to watching Everly, and I can't deny it any longer. “I do care. She’s like this magnet that keeps drawing me back in. I shouldn’t want to care because of the way she treated me but I've no control over anything when it comes to her and it pisses me off because I don’t want to be feeling the way she’s making me.”

  “I only know of you from what Everly and her mum have told me, but I know she broke your heart and her return has churned up unwanted memories. I’m not justifying that the way she left you was right, but please don't give up on her, Adam. She is wounded a lot deeper than you realise.”

  With that, she steps away, leaving me with an onslaught of emotions I have to swallow down and a tightness in my chest I can’t seem to shift. Everly’s father pretty much said the same thing. Not to give up on her. What do they mean? Why is Everly hurting so badly? Then again why should I care? She hurt me too. She broke me. But with that being said, I still want to go to her. I'm still here fighting my demons, my feelings, but my urge to be with her takes over all of it. And as myself and her mum both notice her escape out of the door without a word to anyone, I nod in acknowledgment to Mrs B and head out after her.

  17

  Adam

  I can hear her deep, uncontrollable sobs before I reach the gates of the cemetery. Kneeling by her father’s graveside, amongst all the bright flowers that have been laid today is a broken woman, ripped with grief and one that’s clearly been holding it in for too long. Seeing her this way has my body in a desperate ache to hold her, shield her in my arms, protecting her like I always promised despite everything that has happened and the damage that it caused to my heart. How I feel doesn't matter right now. In this moment, on this very day, all that matters now is helping Everly get through this distress as best as I can. But as I walk towards her, the words she cries have me stopping in my tracks.

  “Why Dad? Why would you make me promise to come back here when you knew I wouldn't be able to say no to you?” She breaks, hitting the ground with her fist as her frame trembles. “I can’t do this, Dad. There’re too many memories for me here. It hurts too much.” She’s curled into herself, her knees to her chest as she beats the ground and weeps. It’s gut wrenching. My body burns at what I’m witnessing and the raw lump that’s now formed in my throat is suffocating as my eyes glass with unshed tears. I can’t bear to see her this way. I can’t bear the thought that coming back here and seeing me has added to her suffering. But I’m not going to walk away either.

  I can’t.

  Removing my suit jacket, I take a deep breath and go to her.

  She’s unaware of my presence as I kneel beside her, but when I place my hand on her back, she freezes.

  “Everly.”

  She doesn't look up. She doesn't move. All that’s shared is a whisper of my name, breaking through her distress. I sit on the ground beside her and stroke her back to try to comfort her, but that urge is back thick and fast and the need to have her close overpowers everything else. When I pull her closer so she’s between my legs, her vulnerable frame willingly falls into my chest, clutching onto my shirt as her head rests in the curve of my neck. My body now roars with her touch. My blood pounding in my ears with every heated breath of hers that strikes against my skin. I’ve long for this, to have her in my arms again and its wrong that the only reason she’s in them is because of today: the loss of her father.

  Controlling the reaction she's having over me, I swallow down the feeling and wrap my arms around her, combing my fingers through her hair as I hush her to try and calm her down. Her breathing is erratic, her body hot and clammy as the strands of her hair stick to her face.

  “This is killing me, Adam,” she weeps, and I'm unsure if her words are about her father or of us. What we once had. A connection that is still very much there between us despite the history that's played. Either way, I know her tears need to fall. No matter what and who they may be for. I know my Everly, and it's not until now with her clinging on to me like her life depends on it that I realise just how broken she truly is. I may never know of her reasons and that is something I will have to live with, but right now, as I stroke her hair, she has me in whatever way she needs. “I've got you, Everly. I’m here.”

  * * *

  I don’t know how long she’s been in my arms, but as she moves out of my hold, I instantly feel the emptiness. Her tears have subsided but the after affects of her onslaught still take her breath unexpectedly at times. As she sits beside me in silence, I lean forward and pick a flower from one of the bouquets that have been left from today and give it to her. The corner of her mouth ticks as she accepts my gesture, but her words s
urprise me.

  “Why are you here with me, Adam?”

  “Why would I not be? I couldn't leave you upset.”

  “I would have left me if I were you.”

  “Charming.” I chuckle softly, trying hard to lighten the sadness in the air. “I saw you leave and knew you needed someone. So here I am.”

  “Do you always comfort those you hate?”

  I look at her and frown. “You think I hate you?”

  She shrugs. “It would be completely understandable if you did.”

  I could never hate her.

  I tried so hard for so long to hate her, but the more I tried the more I felt broken. Hating her wouldn't have changed the fact she’d gone and loving her more would never have made her stay. “I don't hate you, Everly. I may have wanted to, may have tried to but I can’t. And I’m not that much of an arse that I would leave you like this either, despite what I feel.”

  She looks away from me and whispers. “I don't deserve your kindness.”

  “No, you don't. But you don't deserve to deal with grief alone either.”

  “I have Mum.”

  “And her grief is completely different to yours.”

  “Grief is grief, Adam.”

  “Yes, but while you’re consoling her, who is there for you?” She doesn’t answer. She just takes in what I’ve said as she rolls the stem of the flower between her fingers.