Be My Downfall

by Lyla Payne

  “Thanks.” I glanced out the glass doors that led to a huge deck bar, then to the ocean beyond. “I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

  “I know. Ruby took her out there to talk—she’s worried, too. We all are. And she promised to keep her busy until you got here.” Her fingers tightened. “You need to be ready for whatever she throws at you. I can see how much you care about her. It’s written all over you, and she’ll be able to see it, too. The place she’s in…if she wants to push you away she’ll use it against you. It’s going to hurt. Figure out right now, before you go out there and take it, whether or not you care enough to love her through it.”

  “I’ve never cared like this, Em. I want to do the right thing for her, but I have no fucking idea what that is.” My throat burned, but I swallowed hard, determined to keep my shit together. One of us had to.

  “I know. The right thing is whatever helps her see it’s okay to want to live. You can’t save her, Toby. Only Kennedy can save Kennedy, and only if she wants to.”

  “I know. My brother was an addict. Is an addict. Heroin, mostly. I’ve been through all of this before, and apparently learned nothing.”

  Shock drained the color from her cheeks. It was followed quickly by something like pity—at least, something that looked like pity to me—which was why I’d never told anyone about my brother. I trusted Em, though, and I trusted Quinn, too. At least when it came to this, since he understood the importance of discretion as well as anyone.

  “I didn’t know.”

  “No one does. The entire country thinks he’s doing a stint with the Peace Corps, but in reality we haven’t laid eyes on him in over four years. Have no idea if he’s even alive.”

  “This has to be hard on you. To watch it all over again.”

  I shrugged. “Yes and no. I’m prepared, I guess, but I wasn’t prepared for how badly I want her to be okay. I want that future—the one with her in it. I know it doesn’t mean shit unless she wants it for herself, too.”

  Em nodded, then stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to my cheek. “Good luck.”

  The evening was cool, for Florida in May, and the breeze blowing in off the Atlantic chilled the sweat beading up on my skin. It took a minute for my eyes to adjust past the tiki torches, but then the outline of two girls standing with their feet in the surf bled out of the darkness.

  They were the same height, or close to it, and shared a slender build. Ruby’s hair was smooth and landed just a few inches past her shoulders while Kennedy’s waves touched the center of her back, and my strawberry had curves Ruby had probably dreamed of her entire life.

  As I drew closer, the sounds of their voices rose above the crashing waves, but I couldn’t make out any words. Loss hit my chest like a two-by-four when I noticed Kennedy wore one of my hoodies. She had on the same dress she’d worn the day we’d had sex on the plane to Alabama, and the moon bounced off the gooseflesh on her legs.

  Ruby spotted me over Kennedy’s shoulder and fell silent. Kennedy whipped around, her eyes going hard at the sight of me.

  “I’ll leave you two alone.” Ruby reached out and gave Kennedy’s hand a squeeze. “The offer stands, Kennedy. Our moms were like family. You’re like family.”

  Kennedy said nothing. She didn’t acknowledge Ruby’s kind words at all, and after a moment Emilie’s roommate bit her lip and walked away.

  We stared at each other in silence until she was out of earshot. My heart jammed in my throat, and I wanted nothing more than to drag her against my chest and hold on, to let the familiar smell wash over me, let me know she was unharmed. Every last inch of me knew it would be a terrible idea, so instead I fisted my hands and tried a smile.

  “How are you, strawberry?”

  “Don’t do that, Wright.”

  “Do what?”

  “Act like everything’s okay. Like I’m not wasted and I didn’t just fuck Hunter Nance.”

  My stomach burned. I wanted to hit something—preferably him—or find a way to get that image forever out of my head. She didn’t need my judgment, but Jesus I hated her right then.

  For doing it. For telling me. Mostly because she’d known how both of those things would kill me, and had thrown the punch anyway.

  I swallowed hard, then again, knowing I’d completely failed at keeping the revulsion from my face. Hitting back would make me feel better for tonight, but not longer. I had no idea what this meant, or if I’d ever be able to look at her naked body again without seeing him touching it. My dinner threatened to spill out on the sand, and my hands shook with rage and disgust. And hurt. Devastating, burning-hot hurt.

  I forced it down. “I’ve been worried about you.”

  “I’m sure. That’s what golden boys do. They worry about the girls they’re trying to rescue.”

  “I’m not trying to rescue you, strawberry. I’m trying to love you. I thought you were trying, too.”

  “I am, Wright. This is what me loving you looks like.”

  “It looks like ripping my heart out?” This isn’t about you, dumbass. “It looks like you destroying yourself?”

  She bit her lip and stared out at the ocean, tugging my black Whitman hoodie tighter. Her knuckles were white. “No,” she whispered. “Me loving you looks like not making you watch.”

  I took a step toward her, unable to bear the distance between us and sick over the idea that she’d smell like Hunter Nance if I got any closer. “Don’t I get a say?”

  “No.”

  “Tell me why. Can I at least know that?” I found the switch on my emotion and shut it down. Nothing good would come of me freaking out. A breakdown would only push her away faster.

  I waited her out, breathing through the pain and loss, trying to be content with the knowledge that she cared and that she was alive. It wasn’t enough, but it was more than I’d expected.

  “I read your screenplay,” Kennedy whispered.

  It barely made it to me above the sound of the wind and the waves, and still it confused me. “What? When?”

  “While you slept Friday night. I woke up after an hour or so, but you were so tired from all of the studying and I didn’t want to bother you. I grabbed your computer to send in my calculus final, and the script was up on your screen. I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t care if you read it, but why does that matter?”

  She turned her ocean-blue gaze on me, determination and, I thought, love burning bright. Her hair whipped on the wind, pieces sticking to her lips when she licked them. Kennedy looked like she belonged to the wild. Not to me. Not to Hunter or Sebastian or Whitman, maybe not even to this earth. For a moment, I wondered if she’d been right about not being meant for the world.

  “The boy in the script is your brother?”

  A knife twisted in my chest at the mention of Trent, and at the fact that she knew me better than most people, even after only five or six weeks. I couldn’t lie to her, even if I wanted to. “Yes.”

  A small smile played on her lips, gone before it really materialized. “You never talk about him. Why didn’t you tell me the whole truth that night at Harbor House?”

  “It’s not a part of my life I like to remember, for one. For another, it’s a family matter, and given how my father handled it with the press, it’s something we don’t talk about with anyone. Why does it matter, Kennedy?”

  “Don’t you find it odd? That your brother broke your heart when he chose heroin over your family, and then the very first girl you ever fall for is a fucked-up addict, too?”

  “I find it annoying,” I replied, feeling honest. “I didn’t choose to have feelings for you, but I wasn’t going to run away from them because you’re dealing with more shit than the average sorority girl. I like that you’re different. But do I want to go through this again? Fucking no.”

  “There’s my golden boy. Honest as the day is long. Always around to bale my hay.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  She shook her head, looking more exhau
sted than any eighteen-year-old had the right to. “Nothing. Toby, I read that script. The way you saw your brother, like he was hurting you on purpose…I can’t be that to you. I’m not ready to be better. I’m not sure I ever will be, and there is no way in hell I’m going to let you feel that way about me in six months or a year. I can’t.”

  “Strawberry, you don’t understand.”

  “I do. I’ve spent the last six years disappointing everyone and honestly, I don’t give a shit what they think. But for some reason, I give a shit what you think. I don’t want to be the girl who didn’t love you enough to get clean. So we’re going to end this now, before I disappoint you.”

  The resolve around my emotion sprung a leak, then another. Anger and grief and mortification drained out, mingling as it raced through my blood. My throat ached, my eyes ached, my heart ached, and the worst part was, I couldn’t even decide if she was wrong.

  “Where will you go? I can’t just walk away without knowing you’ll be okay. That you have somewhere to sleep.” Thinking of her in pain, or alone, hurt almost as much as losing her.

  “I’ll be fine. It’s not your problem anymore.”

  “I didn’t just fall in love with you, strawberry. You’re my friend. I care about you. I can’t turn it off like a switch.” I took a deep breath, determined not to grow a vagina now. “You don’t want to see me anymore? Okay. But promise me you’ll check in with Ruby every day. If you don’t, I’ll know something’s wrong.”

  “I’ll try.”

  This time I didn’t stop myself from stepping forward and pulling her into my arms. If this was goodbye, then I was going to hold her for a minute. Maybe she would figure out a way to get better. If she remembered how this felt, to be safe and loved, maybe she would come back to me.

  Her arms went around my waist and we held on for several minutes. I held my breath for a minute, scared that I couldn’t deal with the fact she’d just slept with someone else. To my intense relief, she smelled like fresh air and seawater mixed with my deodorant and dandruff shampoo—like a perfect mixture of Kennedy and me—and I would have stood there and held her forever.

  She pulled away first, stuffing her hands into the pockets of my hoodie. I was glad she hadn’t thought to give it back to me. The more reminders she took away with her, the better.

  Tears clung to her eyelashes, sparkling in the starlight. “I never lied to you, Wright. About anything.”

  With that, she turned and walked back to the house. I stood rooted to the spot while the night grew chillier and the water froze the tops of my feet and my toes. Now I knew exactly how Humphrey Bogart had felt in the closing moments of Casablanca, standing on the tarmac and watching Ilsa’s plane taxi away. Glued to the spot. Helpess. Unsure if he’d done the right thing.

  At least Bogie had a friend. And his principles.

  I thought about Kennedy’s parting words—about how she hadn’t lied about not wanting to be happy, or not being ready to be in a relationship with me.

  It meant she loved me after all.

  Eight Years Ago

  “Mom! Wake up!”

  The sun had barely peeked through the slats on her blinds, but even though the girl was supposed to stay in her room on Saturdays until eight, she couldn’t wait.

  “Kennedy Anne, what time is it?”

  “Give her a break, George. It’s her birthday.”

  Her father opened an eye, and fixed the girl with a look of amusement. “Oh, that’s right. How old is she today? Eight? Nine?”

  “Daaaaddy, it’s my double digit party, remember? I’m ten!”

  “I don’t see how that’s possible. Is that right?”

  He leaned over and grabbed the girl when she giggled, pulling her into the bed between them and rubbing the dark scruff on his cheeks and chin across her neck until she squealed. The girl’s mother came to her rescue, tickling her husband right where she knew would be most effective, until her daughter could wriggle loose. The three of them lay there, grinning and catching their breath, while the day rose to greet them.

  “Well, I suppose we should get up and get this party going. Your friends will be here in a few hours.”

  Before the girl could bound away, her father snagged her in a tight hug. Her mother snuggled in close and the girl breathed in, content in between them for the moment. She was starting to spend more time alone, and sometimes they made her mad, but other times she wanted to be little again. Like now.

  “You’re absolutely the best thing that ever happened to me, Annie,” her mother whispered.

  Breath tickled the girl’s neck but she stayed perfectly still.

  “I know we always tell you that you have to work hard to be special to the world, Kennedy Anne,” her father added. “But you are the most special girl in the world to me, just by being who you are every day.”

  The serious moment dissolved as her father scraped his face across her cheek again, and the girl squealed and escaped down the hall.

  Chapter 23

  I left without going back into the house. I couldn’t bear to see her with Hunter, and I didn’t want to watch her get drunk. Instead, I walked around the outside of the mansion and steered myself back to the SEA house on autopilot.

  A call to Quinn got me Ruby’s phone number, and I left her a message about my tentative arrangement with Kennedy to check in, and asked her to please call me if she got concerned. She texted me back and replied of course as I pulled into the parking lot at the house.

  I tore the sex sheets off my bed before flopping on the bare mattress under a Whitman U blanket my parents bought when they were in town for a football game. My dad thought it was hilarious that the bookstore for a college in Florida sold fleece blankets.

  Everything assaulted me with thoughts of Kennedy. The lingering scent in my room. The blanket, because we’d met in a different world, one filled with snow. My laptop on the desk, and the screenplay that had scared her away.

  I still needed to fix that damn thing, but right then, there wasn’t the slightest desire to move a single muscle. I hadn’t cried since the week Trent disappeared, and I didn’t cry now, either. My insides were scooped out. Hollow. Dead.

  I wondered if I would ever feel anything again, and that made me think of her, too. Is that how Kennedy had existed these past six years? Just…empty? If so, it finally made sense why she tried to make herself feel anything she could, even the bad things. I wanted to crawl out of my skin.

  There was nowhere to go. Thank God I was finished on Friday, and out of Florida a week later. Laying here in this space we’d shared so often couldn’t be helpful. It was strange, that this room had been mine for over a year, and had only been sort of ours for a few weeks, yet I had hardly any memories of what it had been like before she’d come.

  *

  My alarm went off a couple of hours after I’d finally managed to fall asleep. It felt as though someone had dumped Grape-Nuts in my eyes, and the bloodshot gaze in the mirror confirmed that wasn’t far from the truth.

  I grabbed my bag and headed to my business ethics final, which could have gone either way based on the zero memory I had of taking it the moment the door closed behind me. Sleep came easier that afternoon, since I’d been up half the night, and, apparently, having all of my emotions punched out through my ass leeched a good amount of energy.

  The rest of the week passed the same way. I didn’t hear from Ruby, and when I called on Friday afternoon, she promised Kennedy had been checking in, if nothing else. It gave me the kind of flickering hope that I didn’t want. At all.

  My finals were over, but my internship didn’t start for another week. I packed up my room and worked on my screenplay some more, since it had to be turned in by tomorrow—Sunday.

  Writing took my mind off Kennedy and my whole fucked-up head, and I buried myself in it for the rest of Saturday and on Sunday, the problem with my script went off like a light bulb—I’d been writing my brother’s character from the perspective of someone who want
ed him to change, as opposed to through the character’s eyes. I wasn’t being honest about how Trent might have felt, because it hurt too much to believe I hadn’t mattered. That my parents hadn’t mattered.

  But it wasn’t my story. It was his.

  After watching Kennedy struggle with the simple idea of being happy, it made me realize that the battle she’d been fighting inside herself for the past six years—the one between living and dying—was so strong there wasn’t room to care about what anyone else wanted. I believed her when she said she loved me. I still thought she did, but maybe my expectation that she handle her own issues and incorporate me into her life at the same time had been the problem. My problem.

  The night we’d fought the first time, I’d asked what about me. It blared so clearly now that expecting my feelings to make some kind of difference had been wrong. If I put myself in Kennedy’s shoes, it was such a feat to just feel okay. Worrying about making someone else feel okay couldn’t even make her radar, and my expectation put more pressure on a girl already trying not to explode.

  I even understood her reasoning for running out. I didn’t like it, but after she’d read my projected perceptions of addiction in the main character of my script, she must have felt as though there was no way to end except in disappointment. No way she could win. In some ways, her leaving left us on a high note. We’d never had the chance to fuck it up.

  The sad part was, it made the whole thing feel like a dream.

  The script was rewritten and tweaked with an hour to spare. It was good, the pacing felt right, and more importantly, the character had become an authentic blend of Trent and Kennedy. He was focused on his own issues, on the running emotions that made him unable to stray from his dark path, not how his choices affected anyone else. He felt brutal and desperate, lost and broken, but most importantly, hopeful.

  It was better for the insight she’d given me, unwillingly or not. I wished she could read it.

  I printed three copies at the library and ran it to the communications building, putting it straight in the prof’s hand. A weight lifted off my shoulders, and my feet felt lighter on my way back out to the car. It had a little to do with getting that script off my plate, more to do with knowing I’d gotten it right, and a lot to do with the fact that I finally understood.