by B. N. Toler
He said nothing. Shit.
I let my body go limp, not fighting him. I’d asked for this after all, right? Maybe not being spanked, or getting thrown in the river, but I’d wanted his attention, no matter the consequences, and here it was. I had one hundred percent of his attention.
“Play stupid games. Win stupid prizes,” he said before he lifted me and threw me off the end. I hit the water, which was surprisingly cool for this time of summer and emerged quickly. The water was too deep for me to touch so I had to tread and as soon as my head popped out of the water, I looked up and he was standing on the end of the dock, his muscular arms crossed over his chest, watching me. I sniffled, a little breathless from treading water, but I didn’t attempt to swim to the ladder to climb out. I stared up at him, the pillar of a beautiful man he was, even wet and disheveled. His eyes—those dark and inky pools that had always made me weak—spoke every word he was thinking.
He loved me.
But he was letting me go.
He swallowed hard as he dropped his arms. The muscles along his neck and jaw were tight. Even though I knew it was hopeless, I tried one more time.
“Please don’t give up on me.” The words seized my throat, choking me with emotion, causing my lip to tremble. He closed his eyes briefly before opening them again and stiffening his back.
No, he’d made up his mind.
He was done.
I swam to the pier and reached up to hold myself so I wouldn’t have to tread. I knew time was running out for me, if I didn’t say something right now, I’d probably never get the chance to again.
“I grew up on the water. Mostly anyway.” I glanced around and peered at the river before returning my gaze to his. “It was a good childhood for a while. Really great, actually.” My voice was shaky as I spoke. “My father tried hard to give us all something really special. He did give us something special.” And that was true. Whatever had gone wrong in the end, I know he only wanted the best for us. I wiped at my nose.
“He had some bad luck, business wise. A huge client went bankrupt, and he’d owed my father a lot of money and couldn’t pay up. When the business failed, everything else started to go, too.” Wren was looking straight ahead, his eyes fixed somewhere on the horizon, but I went on. “I don’t want to go into all the details, Wren. I just want you to know there was a time, when I was a kid, where everything felt amazing and safe. A time when we had everything we ever wanted or needed. And then…we didn’t. Then I grew up, I thought I had found that safe place again, and then… I lost that, too. I lost everything again.”
He still wasn’t looking at me. My heart felt like it was splitting in two. “Lots of amazing memories on the water. Some of the happiest times of my life,” I told him. “But I think…I think I love the water so much because before we lost the house, when everything else was gone, our family, the water was still there. It was something I loved and cherished, and even when all else was lost, the lake was not. There’s a lot of comfort in knowing something will always be there. If things can be ripped away, they’re not worth holding onto them.” I was babbling now, and I wasn’t even sure if he was listening or not. “I just don’t want to lose anything anymore. Not things. Not people. I’m sorry for the way I acted when you were at my house. I just didn’t want you to…know, I guess. I’m not proud of where I am in life right now. I’m asking you to respect and accept my privacy.”
He flicked his gaze down at me and my heart lurched. “I’m sorry for you and for the hardships you’ve endured.” He paused and took a deep breath before running a wide palm down his face.” “It’s been a hell of a ride, but I’m stepping off this train, crazy girl,” he finished, leaving me broken. His tone had been soft, but the words were like a blunt punch to my chest. Crazy girl had been our little joke, something he teased me for, but now…it wasn’t so funny. My craziness was too much to handle. I was too much to handle.
As he gazed down at me, I felt the hurt and disappointment in his stare. It shot through the water and burned my insides. I was frozen, paralyzed by hurt, and I had no one to blame but myself. He didn’t say another word to me before he walked away, leaving me in the water. The slapping sounds of his flip-flops smacked as he walked the pier heading back toward his house.
My heart sunk to the lowest part of my stomach. I lowered my face in the water so my mouth and nose were covered as my eyes burned with tears. It was over. He was done with me. And to top it off, it ended with me getting thrown off a pier. It ended with me being exactly what he always thought I was: Crazy. I turned and gazed out at the river, telling myself not to continue to cry. Everything would be okay. I’d finish my book. Somehow. But even I knew as important as I felt Wren was as my muse, and how much I felt I needed him to complete my manuscript, this hurt more. I loved him. He’d changed me, or at the very least, he’d made me want to change. And I wanted to change for him. I wanted to be the woman he deserved. But I’d messed it all up. I needed to get out and leave, but I wasn’t quite ready for my soaked walk of shame. I needed a minute to calm down. And where better to heal than in the water?
Well, you really mucked it up this time, Hannah, I thought to myself. Taking a deep breath, I let myself sink below the water’s surface just like I had as a child. I went down until I seated myself on the muddy bottom and let my arms drift out to my sides.
You tried, Hannah, I told myself. But had I? Had I really tried? I wasn’t sure I could honestly own that. I’d behaved poorly, and now I’d lost him. After a minute, I pushed myself up in need of air.
Glancing out at the water, my body racked with guilt as I fought my sobs. It was the first time I could remember the water not offering me comfort; not washing away my woes. I’d lost that, too. Slowly, I swam to the ladder and climbed out. I walked the pier and grabbed my shoes as I made my way to my car. Wren was inside, his house seemingly locked up tight. He’d even closed his garage doors—reaffirming I was no longer welcome here, that I was not part of his life anymore. As I pulled out of his driveway, the fan belt in my car squealed loudly, only adding to my humiliation. I didn’t fight it. I didn’t try to talk myself out of it.
I just let the tears fall freely.
“Words have no power to impress the mind
without exquisite horror of their reality.”
-Edgar Allen Poe
Skin.
The thin layer of tissue forming the natural outer covering of the body of a person or animal.
Our bodies are covered in it, our insides packaged within the soft feeble, yet durable layer of tissue. Most probably don’t take the time to think about how awing skin is. I hadn’t thought about it either, until I lost him. Or pushed him away. It was only when my body wanted to mimic my mind and melt into nothingness I realized how resilient skin truly is. There I was, the hurt I felt so crippling it pained me physically, but skin held me together, kept me packaged, kept me whole.
What was it like to lose Wren? What was it like to have felt a man like that and know you’d go the rest of your life without feeling him again?
It was an endless goodbye. It was pressure, unrelenting heaviness upon me, weighing me down so deeply I felt like it was hard to breathe.
Two weeks went by.
No word from Wren.
My friends had called, attempting to coax me out, but I feigned hitting a creative streak, telling them I couldn’t get away from my computer because I didn’t want to lose my writing streak. And in part, that was true.
I believed Ernest Hemingway was quoted as saying “We are all bitched from the start and you especially have to be hurt like hell before you can write seriously. But when you get the damned hurt, use it—don’t cheat with it. Be as faithful to it as a scientist.”
I wrote everything I thought and everything I felt, and I used Alex and Katrina to play out every bit of it. I knew with certainty much of what I had written would later be deleted because the story would sound too depressing, but I also knew there were good parts. There’s som
ething about losing someone you love and having a broken heart that makes every memory you shared with them seem so much more intense; incredible.
In my solitude I found myself falling into a little bit of madness. Hurt can twist us sometimes. My little hand notes turned darker and I started writing words other places too, like my legs and my arms.
You fucked it up, Hannah.
You’re an idiot.
You deserve to be alone.
Brigham texted and called, blasting me for missing our last games, but I didn’t respond. Not until he sent a text one night that was completely out of character.
Brigham: I’m the friend you can be your worst with. You know that, right?
I reread the text several times, wondering what provoked him to say that to me. How did he know I was at my worst? And even at my worst, did I really want to be around Brigham? But I refused to go to my amazing friends with my stupid problems anymore. I’d avoided them for weeks and now, when I was ready to talk, it seemed selfish. I wouldn’t tarnish their happy lives with my mistakes, failures, and misery. But Brigham, I could do that. I could purge my woes on him. He was the only person I could go to now. And I knew I had to go to someone at some point.
Me: Meet for drinks?
Brigham: I’ll text you the address. Just be there at six. I’ll bring the booze.
It was a park, one a bit off the beaten path, but only twenty minutes from my house. We met in the back where several picnic tables were lined up in an area that didn’t have anything particularly grand about it. There was no water or epic view. Just old wooden tables in a small, open space surrounded by woods.
When I approached him, he’d already broken the seal on a fifth of Jack Daniel’s and had it placed beside him. “Why in the hell did you pick this place? You planning to murder me out here or something?”
He snorted as he twisted his neck to look at me over his shoulder. “Well look at what we have here. She is alive and well after all.”
Something tickled my arm and I smacked it. It was a mosquito. “Brigham, why meet here?” I asked again. “Why couldn’t we meet at a bar?”
He scoffed as if I was the most impotent person in the world. “Why would I take you to a bar? I’m not trying to sleep with you.”
I rolled my eyes as I plunked down beside him and took the bottle, twisting the cap off, wondering what in the hell told me meeting with him was a good idea. He always said something terrible. But it was too late to really let myself overthink it. I was here. There was booze. I would just go with it. “Here’s to life,” I toasted before taking a long swig, wincing when it burned my throat.
He leaned back, giving me a good hard look. “You’re heartbroken,” he stated before facing forward. “It’s written all over ya.” He waved a dismissive hand at me.
And that’s when it happened. I purged. It all came out in a long emotional seam of angst and heartache. I told him everything, things I’d never told anyone. I knew with certainty he had to be wishing he’d never asked to meet up, but I didn’t stop. He’d used me once one night not so long ago as his confessional, and tonight he would be mine. When I’d said it all, told him everything about Wren, he shook his head.
“I fucking told you, man,” he mumbled. “I told you not to mess with a guy like that.” Then turning to me, his brows lifted, he jabbed his own chest with his finger. “I told you not to mess with a guy like me.”
I nodded, my buzz making my motions slow and heavy. “You did.”
“And now look at you, Hannah,” he motioned a hand down me. “You’re even more fucked up than you were before.”
I frowned. “You thought I was fucked up before?” I knew I was, but I didn’t know he thought it, too.
He cut a sideways glance at me that said, are you serious right now? But staying true to the Brigham I’d come to know, he moved on without addressing my question.
“You’re just like her…” he mumbled. “I told her who I was, and she didn’t listen.”
“Who?”
He shook his head as if frustrated. Again, he ignored my question. “Women like you think they’re going to change a man, but you’re not. Doesn’t matter how perfect you are, you won’t.”
I frowned harder. I didn’t want to burden my friends anymore with my problems, which had been one of the biggest reasons I agreed to meet with Brigham. I could unleash on him guilt free. And maybe a small part of me believed he’d tell me what I wanted to believe—that it was Wren. It wasn’t me. My only fault was believing he could change. But he hadn’t. Not really. He’d basically said my hurt was my own fault for not taking Wren as he was. But even under the lovely haze of the amazing Jack Daniel’s and my own desire to make myself as faultless as possible, I knew better. Brigham was wrong about Wren. Wren wasn’t like him. But Brigham was like me. Broken. Hiding. Moving through life with a skewed perception. Living unattached to anyone or anything. He flew through women because he never wanted to belong to something. I hid from everything because I couldn’t stand to lose anymore.
“Why did you want to be my friend?” I asked.
He smirked sadly. “You needed one—one like me anyway. I hope someone saw that in her and was there for her, too.”
I cried, warm tears gliding down my cheeks. “I know you, in your own twisted way, meant well Brigham, but I think you messed me up, too. You were wrong. Wren isn’t like you. Not all guys are like you. And now…” My lip trembled. “I’ve lost him.”
“And that’s my fault?” he asked defensively.
I shook my head. “No.” And it wasn’t. It was mine. Brigham only spoke to my own insecurities and worst fears. I’m the one that chose to listen and let his words fuel them. “I lost him. And it’s all my fault. I was scared and stupid.”
He stared straight ahead, his face slightly contorted as if pained by my emotion. “I only wanted to help you. Be your friend. If you feel I steered you wrong, I’m sorry for that.”
I sniffled, wiping at my nose with my wrist. Leaning my head on his shoulder, I sighed. “We’re broken messes, Brigham, you and I. What’s wrong with us?”
“No, Hannah. We’re just some of the few that choose not to live blinded to the truth. Well, I thought we both were.”
“What truth?”
He chuckled, the sound deep rumbling in his chest. “That nothing is forever. And you and I are a lot alike, but we have two big differences.”
“What?”
“I’m okay with it. With me.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and squeezed me once before dropping it. “You…you’re not okay with you. And you want something you won’t let yourself believe in.”
I nodded.
“All I can tell you, friend, is if he is the real deal…if what you had with him was real…he’ll come back. But you need to figure out how to be okay with it if he doesn’t.”
I didn’t argue with him. What he’d said about me was true. But what he’d said about himself…I wasn’t sure I believed that. There was a story there. I knew it. Brigham had been bent by life just like me. I wanted to press him, ask him what who it was that made him this way, who did I remind him of, but I didn’t. Because I knew I had more time to find out. That was the moment I decided Brigham would be one of my people. There was no choice in it anymore. I was always one to love the complicated, and complicated was Brigham’s middle name. He was a mess, like me. He was far from perfect, even though he’d beg to differ. Nothing about our friendship, or how it came to be, made sense. The day I’d met him, I’d been intrigued by him, my mind stretching and twisting, wanting to make him a character in one of my fictional worlds. I hadn’t found a place for him to fit just yet, literary or real-world wise. But either way, he was here. Sometimes life was like a puzzle, the many people we encounter scattered pieces that we fit together creating the bigger picture. Every once in a while, the round edges of one of those pieces are frayed and they don’t exactly fit smoothly, but they find a place within your life, even though they never blend flaw
lessly into it. But regardless they are still part of it. In all actuality, had Brigham not pushed for it, we wouldn’t have a friendship, but he did and now…we were connected. It wasn’t romantic or sexual…and it wasn’t like any friendship I’d ever had. It wasn’t smooth and seamless. We were so different, yet we were kindred spirits and instead of dissecting each other, or trying to fix each other, we would just accept each other as we were, frayed edges and all. There was something very special about that to me. In the end, however broken he was, I would care for him, and I would call him my friend. I wouldn’t try to figure him out, or attempt to put him back together. I’d simply love him as the imperfect piece he was. And I knew he would do the same for me.
Watered Down
Two months had passed since Hannah left my house. I tried not to think about it. I refused to let myself think about it. Throwing her in the river was a mistake. I shouldn’t have done that. But I was done with the theatrics and her pull and push. One minute she shut me out, the next she was trying to pull me back in. I’d just wanted to meet her ridiculousness head-on and show her what it felt like. It was immature. The sadness in her eyes when she stared up at me from the water hit me in the gut. She was crazy as a bedbug, as my grandmother used to say, but I loved her. I couldn’t bend, though, not with her or for her, even after she tried to explain to me why she was the way she was. So I’d left her in the river and walked away. Once inside my house, I’d lain in my bed, and when I heard her car make a squealing sound as she pulled out, I tried not to grimace in frustration. I wasn’t throwing her away. I was setting her free. And it had hurt like hell.
Henry put me back on the schedule, and I threw myself back into my work. I stayed with work, the gym, and projects because if I was busy, I wouldn’t think about her. For the most part, things at work between Henry and I had been harmonious, mostly because we avoided one another. There were a few hiccups, heated moments, but I did my best to stay away from him knowing my temper and patience were limited when it came to him. But try as I did, it wasn’t enough.
