by K. B. Nelson
“I need to breathe.” I slam the door shut behind me, and head for the elevator. I expect Jensen to follow, but by the time I reach the steel doors of the elevator, there are no signs he intends to do so.
22
Apple
The hallways are empty as I sweep down the tiled floors of Jeff Hall. My body is wrapped in a flowing black dress, and the tail flirts with the floor below. Why Brick brought me here, I don’t know, but I’m prepared to deal with any situation he throws my way.
When I turn a sharp corner, I see him standing at the end of the hall with his hands folded behind his back. He’s dressed in black slacks with a white shirt tucked into his pants. A navy tie is fitted around his heck, matching colors with his slim blazer. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s the most gorgeous man on campus.
My mind begins to race the closer I get to him, and my heart begins to thump. This is some sort of trap, but I can’t figure out what.
“I thought you’d never show.” He smiles, but there’s a shadow of something sinister passing over his lips. He reaches for my hand to guide me to our destination.
The sensation of his hand entangled with mine echoes memories of the history between us. I let him guide me through an open pair of double doors, leading into a ballroom of sorts. Once we step foot inside, music begins to play over the sound system. It’s a light and airy melody, a haunting symphony of elevator music.
It’s an odd fit, but it works to soothe my worrying mind. Brick spins away from me, and dances in a quick circle before offering his hand to me again. When I take it, he tugs at my waist, pulling me into his world. He raises my hand, and we begin to dance.
He stares into me. I stare into him. We dance in a circle, without much expertise or passion. There’s a dearth of emotion, and I’m hit with the succinct perception we’re both wielding knives of malice behind our backs.
“Why did you bring me here?” I ask, and take a glance around the empty room. “Is this about Eve?”
He shushes me and readjusts his grip on my waist. “First, we dance. Everything else can wait.”
I frown, but remain as patient as I can. There’s no winning when it comes to Brick. He’ll give me the answers I crave when he’s ready. There’s a great chance I won’t like what he says, but I’ll react accordingly. I have no problem dropping him to his knees if this turns out to be another gigantic waste of my time.
The music crawls to a slow stop, and when it does, Brick looks toward the ceiling. “It’s time.” He pulls me to the opposite end of the room, and out through another set of doors which leads onto a large balcony.
The night air is warm, but breezy. He guides me to the ledge, and below us, two stories down, is a growing chorus of students, faculty and community members. Hundreds of electric candles shine dimly, painting an abstract portrait of a starry night. “What is this?” I ask in a whisper, but I know the answer.
“What does it look like?” He curls his body up against my back. “Look at their faces, so full of sadness, and despair. Some of them knew Eve, sure. But most of them are attaching themselves to a tragedy. Through the death of someone they hardly knew, they’re brought together.” While still standing behind me, he braces his hands against the railing ahead, in effect, trapping me where I stand. “That’s what tragedy does. It brings people together, but I feel as if I’m being ripped apart.”
“You told me to wear a formal gown to go to a memorial?” I push away from him then circle to face him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not in attendance.” He peers over the ledge, down at the memorial. “We’re spectators. We’re the king and the queen, watching over the peasants of our kingdom.” He nods his head, and chuckles lightly. “We’re above them.”
“I don’t know what your goal is here, and I don’t care.” I swing the patio door open, prepared to bolt. I knew I shouldn’t have come here.
He latches onto my arm with a grip strong enough where I’m no longer able to pull away. “I told you.” He drags me back to the edge of the balcony and forces me to look down upon the crowd. “We’re here to watch.”
“I don’t want to watch,” I whimper, breaking away from the tough girl exterior. I drag my palms over my eyes, take a heavy breath, and fold my lips together. “I won’t.”
“There you go,” he taunts me with a low growl. “Fight the urge to feel. It’s written all over your face.” He leans closer. “Never surrender.”
I shake my head and turn away from the crowd, and when I do, I’m able to recalibrate my emotions. “Can I go now?”
He shakes his head, no. “We’re pros when it comes to shutting down. It’s like we have a switch we can turn on and off. I can’t shut it off anymore.” He turns away from me and leans over the railing. “We ride amongst the crashing of the waves, using the emotions of others as our surfboards. How much longer can we stay afloat?”
It’s all an illusion. A coordinated magic trick. He’s up to something, but for the first time, I haven’t got a clue where he’s heading.
“Look at these people,” he whispers, but I can’t bring myself to do it. “Look,” he screams as he grabs the back of my neck and forces me back to the railing. He points to a platoon of girls, huddled against each other. “They’re all hurting.” He points to three faculty members who stand adjacent to a table of photographs. “Everyone is here, feeding and drinking on the mourning of others.” He points to a middle-aged woman, but my focus pays more attention to the man standing beside her—Jensen. “See that woman? She’s my therapist. Everyone is here, and they’re here because of us.”
“Can you stop with the philosophical bullshit and get to your fucking point?”
He releases me from his grip, and I jerk away from him. He throws his arms to the side, exasperated. “This is who we are. This is what we are.”
“No.” I shake my head. “This wasn’t us. Eve took her own life.”
He tilts his head. “Don’t you find it strange that I’m the one taking responsibility for this?”
“Fucking stop it,” I bark at him. “Don’t pretend to be some fucking knight in shining armor.”
“No, you stop it. I’m changing. I’ve changed.” He points to himself with a trembling finger. “I’m trying to be a better person, but I know that underneath everything, I’ve always been a monster.”
“You always will be. You can’t change Brick.”
“And you can?”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“Because I was your victim once.” I step to him, intruding into his personal space. I’m amped, and on the offensive. “This all comes back to you. Do you have any fucking idea who I was before I met you?”
“And do you know who I was before I met whoever the fuck made me this way?”
“You made yourself this way.”
“So, you get an excuse and I don’t?”
“It’s not an excuse. It’s the truth.”
“How about you fucking listen to my truth? And stop pretending as if I like being this way.”
“Fine, spill the beans Brick. Tell me all about how you were this sweet, innocent little boy. Give me your little spiel.”
He laughs to himself and pets a finger across his face. “I might be an asshole, but at least I own it.”
“But it doesn’t mean anything,” I say, exhausted from trying to figure out his motive. “Everything with you is a coordinated effort. It’s all a game.”
“Look at these people. Look at their faces. I know you feel their pain, because I do too.”
“Congratulations.” I clap wildly for him, as if I’m his biggest supporter and devoted fan. He’s giving one hell of a performance, and it’s almost award worthy. “You’ve discovered basic human emotion. Achievement unlocked.”
“She’s dead,” he spits, and a freezing chill falls over me. When the words are said, there’s no more denying it’s real. “This is what we wan
ted, right? We wanted her out of our lives forever.” He shakes a finger at me, but I get the distinct feeling it’s directed at himself. “Be careful what you wish for.”
I’m stone-faced because I have to be. Internal collapse begins with the crumbling of the exterior façade. Once that wall’s been breached, everything else begins pouring out. I’m on the precipice of a relapse, back into the girl I used to be, and I can’t risk exposure.
Instead, when he’s caught off guard by the low chants of the crowd, I turn and flee.
23
Brick
I let down my guard, and she escaped. I stormed into the ballroom, and saw the trail of her dress sweeping along the floor, and quickly gave her chase. I scrambled into the hallway, and lost control, ending up on my ass as she stormed toward the stairwell.
I groaned in pain as I jumped back to my feet, rushed toward the door, pushed it open, and bolted down the steps. Once I reached the landing, she was gone.
* * *
I push through the mourning crowds, trying my damnedest to find her. She’s wearing a fucking ball gown, how hard can it fucking be? Among a sea of casually dressed memorial goers, she’s marked by her beauty and composure, while everyone else struggles to keep their emotions in tact.
To the right, I spot her black dress fading into the darkness as she makes a beeline for the cemetery that rests along a shallow hill. I kick into gear and give chase, refusing to let her out of sight. My feet pad against the damp grass. She’s always a few steps ahead of me, and I’m not sure she even notices I’m stalking her.
She comes to a halt, and I hear her sniffling cries as she leans her back against a thick tree. Ahead of her is a large tombstone, painted with the destruction of time.
“It’s fitting we’d end up here tonight,” I say, causing her to jump in place.
“God dammit, Brick,” she howls as she turns to face me. Her tear-stained face glimmers under the light of the rising moon. “Why can’t you leave me alone?”
“Because I’m not finished yet. There’s still so much left to say.”
“There’s nothing left for us to talk about. We’re done, dead, and buried.”
I nod my head with an honest understanding of her words, but I need to hear her say something in particular. “Tell me you don’t love me.”
She drills into my soul with a reckless, dangerous glare. There’s a long pause where either of say nothing. “I don’t love you. See how simple that was?”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Because you don’t want to believe me.” She lets out a frustrated sigh. “You’re not in love with Tyra. You’re in love with me, and conquering her is just a game to you because of a stupid bet we made.”
“I do love you, Apple, but I think I love her too.” I dig my hand into my pocket and claw at the flesh of my leg through thin fabric. “I love her in ways I’ve never loved anyone.”
“You barely know her.” She has a point there, a sentiment with a solid foundation beneath it. I would have agreed with her last week—you can’t fall in love with someone in a matter of days. Love is quick. I could never wrap my head around it before.
And maybe it’s not love. Maybe it’s some less destructive form of lust, but I know Tyra lights a long-suffering fire within in. “I’ve known her for months, which is longer than you knew Jensen when you decided you loved him more than you loved me.”
“Leave him out of this.”
“You feel something for me, don’t you?” I press on and take a step toward her.
“You make me sick. I am choking on my own vomit as we speak. Does that sound like the words of someone who’s in love with you?”
“You say it…” I shake my head, and my eyes grow heavy. I’m tired, and I just want this to end, but I need to get the truth out of her before I can rest. “You say it, but you don’t mean it.”
“Why is this so important to you? Why does it matter what I do or don’t feel for you, if you know I would rather die than to ever be with you?”
Ouch. I’m asking for the truth, and she’s giving it to me in tiny sharp fragments. “I deserve that.”
“Yes, you do and a million things more,” she raises her voice, building a bridge to the ultimate truth on the back of my own admittance.
“Do you love me?” I ask with increased urgency. I need to hear the words, whatever they may be.
“Oh my God, are you a child? Leave me alone.”
“Just give me the honest truth.”
Her strong-girl exterior breaks and she speaks softly for the first time, “Why is this so important to you?” She asks the question in a tone which indicates she’s on the verge of giving me what I want. But I’m exhausted from trying to break her down, and I surrender first…
“So I know if anyone is capable of loving me!” I scream, my voice breaking into serrated, hollow cries. My lips form into a desolate pout, and I’m left frozen on the ledge of a breakdown. This is what it feels like to feel, and it fucking hurts.
“Oh my God…” She breaks into a hysterical fit of laughter, bowing over and clutching her stomach. She continues on for what feels like hours as my world slows to a mind-numbing crawl. “The machine has feelings.” She braces a firm hand against the tree to leverage herself as she bumbles through another tear-inducing laugh. “I am going to have a fucking heart attack.”
“I was so cruel to you—“
“We were cruel to everyone. Apologies are worthless coming from people like us.”
“Don’t you think I know that?”
“It’s hard to comprehend what you’re capable of knowing.” She cuts her hand through the air. “You don’t give a shit about any of this. It’s all an act, but you’re forgetting I know better. I’m not Tyra.”
“You’re right. You’re not.” I shrug. “She believes in me.”
“She doesn’t know you. Trust me, I tried getting through to her, but she wouldn’t listen. She’s falling for you, and you’re going to win.”
I swipe my tongue across my lip and come to a stunning revelation. I think it, but I don’t mean to say it out loud. “I don’t care about that anymore.”
She scoffs and chuckles again. She’s had enough of what she perceives to be my bullshit, and she shifts past me. “Save it for someone who doesn’t know better.”
“I’m being serious.” I latch onto her arm and gaze into her eyes. “If you want me out of your life, then I’m out.”
“It’s never that simple with you.”
“I’m making it that simple.” I dig my feet into the earth. “I promise.”
“I want you out. I want you so fucking far gone that I never have to hear your name again.”
I want to promise her just that. Here I am, buckled underneath the weight of my own actions. It’d be so easy to say those words. It’d be the best thing for the both of us, but I hesitate because the last thing I want is to say goodbye forever. She’s not just one of my girls—one of my victims—she’s much more important than that. She’s the reason I used to breathe, and the reason I’ve done most of the things I’ve done over the past few years.
Letting her go is more than never seeing her again, it’s akin to printing our memories out onto photo paper, tossing them in a rusted trashcan underneath a bridge, and setting it aflame. To become someone else, I must let go of the past, and my heart begins to crack in half.
“You’ll never hear from me, again.”
“I couldn’t get that lucky,” she snipes and storms away from me, and down the hill. And for the first time in my life, I let her go.
“I’m serious,” I scream at her, my voice cracking in half, filled to the brim with the precursor of loss. It’s when she’s gone, I’m finally able to breathe. It’s when she’s gone that reality hits.
Brick Valmont is dead.
24
Apple
I think I sat in my car crying until sunrise, though I passed out sometime after four. The tears never stopped flowing, though. Even
as I slept, and I dreamed of living a life that wasn’t so complicated and full of heartache, I still cried.
Bricks words, ‘this is who we are. This is what we are,’ echo through my mind like a phone that won’t quit ringing. Like a broken clock, even the Devil can be right a few times a day. But Brick… He always seems to be right about everything. He was right last night.
Brick and I are monsters, and Eve is dead because of our actions. Our once solid justifications for what we did to her have faded into obscurity, leaving us bobbing atop the water, fighting against the inevitable moment we slip under the currents. It’s a waiting game and nothing more. The first one who cracks will lose, and the last one standing will wade in an ocean of grief.
Neither of us will have claim over our souls.
On my way into the living room, I see a silhouette through the plastic I’ve taped over the hole in the window of the door. The shadow belongs to one of two people—Brick or Jensen—and I’m not in the mood to deal with either one at the moment.
The knob twists—must be Brick, because Jensen always knocks—and the door is pushed open.
“What happened to knocking?” I ask Jensen as he closes the door behind him. “I could have shot a hole in your chest.”
“Impossible.” He scratches the back of his head. “You don’t own a gun.”
“I’m starting to think I should.” I shove my hands into my pockets and look away from him. “What’re you doing here?”
“Am I not allowed to see my girlfriend?”
“Are you going to be honest with me?”
“That’s a two way street.” He scratches the back of his head again—I’m starting to think he has lice. “I followed you into the cemetery the other night.”
“You were spying on me.” It’s not a question, it’s an under my breath statement, a realization. “What gives you the right?”
