by Ellie Wade
Quinn throws her hands up in frustration. “That’s the problem. You shouldn’t. Everyone needs people, Alma. You’re letting him win. Is that what you want? For him to win? It’s been six weeks, and you mope around here like Eeyore all day. He’s moved on. You need to as well. That’s why we’re staying here with you.”
“I agree. We’re not leaving,” Amos finally speaks up. “Plus, I could use another shower.”
With the last sentence, he looks at me as my mouth falls open.
I throw my pillow at him. “Jerk,” I say in jest.
He knows me too well. Truth be told, I’d rather hang out at a party in some dark corner by myself than listen to Quinn and Amos have shower sex again.
“I’ll wear black, but I’m not doing my makeup or hair. I’m going as is.” I motion to my plain face and messy bun.
“That’s fine. I’ll accept those terms.” Quinn holds back a grin. “Can we compromise on you brushing your teeth?”
I shoot her a mock glare. “Well, now, you’ve just gone too far.”
Amos and Quinn laugh, and I grab a pair of black yoga pants and a black sweatshirt and amble toward the bathroom. I put on my attire for the evening and brush my teeth.
I know Quinn’s right. I can’t mope around forever. Leo might have stolen my heart, but I can’t give him everything else. I still have three and a half years of college left. I need to start living again.
Amos drives us to the frat house. It’s a little farther out from campus than the rest of the sorority and fraternity houses. It’s one I’ve never been to before. As we park, a few girls in tiny black dresses and glow necklaces saunter up the drive toward the large house.
Quinn bends and cracks the plastic glow items to activate their light and hands them out to Amos and me.
“I’m just going to do a bracelet.” I wave off the extra pieces she’s trying to hand me.
“Okay.” Quinn doesn’t press the issue. “I’ll put the rest of yours together to make a belt for me. Won’t that be cute?”
We each take one of Amos’s arms as we walk toward the back door, where everyone seems to be entering. There are black lights flanking the steps that lead down to the basement. Quinn was right; it’s dark down here, save for the glowing items.
“Let’s dance!” Quinn pleads, pulling on Amos’s arm.
“Go dance,” I say over the music. “I’ll be over there.” I point toward the far corner of the wide-open basement.
Quinn pulls Amos over to the area where the most people are dancing, though it seems like everyone is just dancing everywhere. I wind myself through the dancing bodies and over to back of the space. I smile faintly when I see an empty barrel in the corner. I sit on it with a sigh of happiness.
Yep, this is living.
It’s cool to see what everyone has done with their glow items. Many just wear them as necklaces, bracelets, and headbands. Though some more daring people have constructed skeletons or phallic items. A few girls have glowing circles around their boobs—always classy. One girl has at least a dozen glow wands sticking up from her head in some sort of an intriguing bouquet or firework display. One guy has his in the shape of an arrow pointing toward his crotch. He gets an A for effort for sure.
I continue to people-watch and zone out to the music with my back pressed against the cement wall. I wouldn’t say it’s fun, but it’s a step in the right direction.
I feel him before I see him. The hairs on my arms rise, and my stomach immediately feels ill.
“Alma,” he says hesitantly, and I freeze.
Do I run? Yell? Ignore him? I don’t know. Why is he here?
The decision is made for me because I literally can’t move. I’m frozen to my spot on the barrel, terrified to breathe or speak.
“I thought you might be here. I knew Quinn’s sorority was cohosting, and I wanted to see you.”
He sounds like himself, the Leo I loved. But I can’t stop picturing the man I thought I knew sitting in that disgusting house with purple bags under his eyes.
I close my eyes, and my body shudders at the memory.
I pull my legs into my chest and bury my face. The movement seems immature, but I don’t care. I can’t face him.
He continues, “You don’t have to say anything, and I’ll leave in a second. I just had to tell you that I’m so sorry. You probably don’t believe me, but I am. I am sorry for all of the hurt I caused you. I’m sorry for not being stronger. I’m sorry that you had to see me like that. I’m sorry that I let you love me. I should’ve never walked you home all those months ago. I should’ve never kissed you. None of it. I was selfish, and I thought I could have you. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”
I’m trying to understand his words, and I hear the remorse in his voice, but so much of what he’s saying doesn’t make sense. Tears fall onto my pants, and I keep my face hidden, afraid of seeing him, terrified of breaking.
“I guess that’s all.” The raw emotion in his voice crushes me. “I hope, someday, you’ll understand that I do love you. I don’t love anyone else, Alma, not even myself. But I’ll always love you.”
I feel him turn away from me, and I lift my tear-soaked face. “Why?” I say into the darkness.
Leo turns back toward me.
“We were perfect,” I say. “Why’d you do that when we had everything?”
“You are perfect,” he retorts, his heartache palpable. “I am nothing.”
My lip trembles. “You were something to me.”
A slow song starts, and the ache in my chest grows. The first notes of “If the World Was Ending,” by JP Saxe and Julia Michaels, echo against the basement walls. I’ve been listening to this song on repeat over the past month every time I need a good cry. To me, it speaks to two people who desperately love each other but can’t be together. The music connects with my heartbroken soul.
Leo extends his hand, barely visible, save for the glow band around his wrist. Without thinking, I take it, and he pulls me into his arms. He holds me, and I cry against him as we sway to the melancholy music. He smells like Leo, a mixture of his natural scent and his body wash. It’s intoxicating. I breathe deep, committing the way he smells to memory. My arms circle his body. I want to remember what it feels like to have him in my arms. He’s always been so much bigger and taller than me, larger than life as he captured my heart. The way he holds me and how I melt into his body, it’s pure magic. It’s undeniable chemistry, and this is the last I’ll feel of it. This dance is our good-bye song.
Leo kisses the top of my head, his lips lingering, and his chest swells as he breathes me in. His arms squeeze me tight, and my body shakes against his as I cry. The slow song is over, but we remain in this tortured embrace. My battered soul clings to his for several more fleeting moments, and I break as he pulls away.
“I’ll never forgive you.” My lip trembles.
He swipes a tear-soaked strand of hair away from my face. “I’m counting on it,” he says before walking away.
THIRTY-ONE
Leo
I rush out of that basement as fast as my feet will carry me, needing to get distance between me and her. Getting into my car, I slam the door and repeatedly bang my palms against the steering wheel.
Seeing her was a bad idea. She looked so lost and frail, sitting alone in the corner of that basement. I’m sure her annoying roommate dragged her out against her will. She clearly wasn’t in the partying mood. I shouldn’t have gone. I know that, but she deserved some sort of good-bye, an explanation. Though I’m not sure if I adequately conveyed either.
I drive back to my house, the one I haven’t been to since Christmas Day. After my two-week bender, where I should’ve OD’d and died ten times over, I checked into a treatment center to detox and get clean—again. My life is a revolving door of shit. I’m in a constant state of fucked up or fighting to stay sober. It’s one or the other … all the fucking time.
I wish I were provided with coping mechanisms like other people seem to have, but I wasn’t. Some
times, shit gets so heavy that I need to escape or I feel like I’m going to die. I’m suffocating in the hell that is my life.
None of this is a recent self-discovery. I’ve always been completely aware of my issues, but I was selfish enough to think I could change for her. I pulled her into my shit, knowing deep down that I would crush her with the idea that maybe love would be enough.
Her love couldn’t save me because I’m irredeemable. Love is a fucking joke. It just gives you false hope, makes you think you can do the impossible, and then makes your lows that much heavier.
I pull into my driveway and park in the garage. Disappointment surfaces at the fact that my house is still standing. Part of me was hoping the Christmas tree would catch fire, so the whole place would burn down. It would’ve been easier to start over that way. I know that every piece of fabric is going to smell like her. Every surface that I ever made love to her on is going to make me hurl.
I step inside and flick on the lights. She’s everywhere. Her water bottle is on the edge of the sink. The blanket that she covers with while watching TV is in a crumpled pile on the couch. I can only imagine how long she sat there, snuggled in that blanket, waiting for me to come back.
The pine tree is completely brown, and most of the needles have fallen to the ground. The strands of lights swoop around the sad branches. Our presents remain untouched under the dead limbs. I wipe a pile of dead pine needles from a small gift and pick it up. My name is scrawled across the top of the package in Alma’s writing.
I pull off the metallic red paper, and there’s a note.
Leo,
New tradition. I’m going to get you an ornament for our tree every year. So, when we’re old and gray, we’ll have years of memories and love hanging from our tree branches.
I love you, more than I knew was possible. I’m yours forever. I promise.
Love,
Alma
I remove the box lid to find a flat ceramic ornament with the selfie of Alma and me at the tree farm printed on it. She chose the picture where she’s kissing my cheek and I’m smiling like a happy fool.
A fool nonetheless.
A new level of rage hits me. Fury at myself and my father and my life. I hate myself more than ever. I want to scream and cry and escape into oblivion, where I can’t feel the pain. I want to burn this whole fucking house down.
I fold the note, put it atop the ornament in the box, and place the package in my back pocket. With one jerk, I pull the dead tree to its side, and I drag it out onto the front lawn. I head back into the house and grab everything that reminds me of her and heave it from the house. I toss every blanket, towel, and linen she’s ever touched into the pile. My T-shirts that she’s worn and a chair she rode me in make it to the heap. It takes an enormous amount of strength to maneuver my king-size mattress down the steps and into the front yard, but I manage to get that in the pile as well. I can never sleep in that bed again.
Retrieving a can of gasoline from the garage, I douse the evidence of her and set it on fire. In a few minutes, I’ll hear sirens, and I’m positive I’ll be ticketed for this giant bonfire in my front yard, which is undoubtedly breaking a slew of fire zoning rules. Though, by the time it’s put out, she’ll be gone, and I’ll be able to move on.
Remembering the box in my back pocket, I pull it out, set to toss it in the flames. My hand trembles with the small gift in my grasp. Its contents are too painful.
I need to let her go.
I need to let her go.
I need to let her go.
As the police cruiser stops in front of my house, I shove the box into my back pocket.
THIRTY-TWO
Alma
My good-bye dance with Leo set me back a bit in my healing process. It did less to make me not want him and more to remind me how much I still loved him. After the night of the glow-stick party, there have been no additional run-ins with Leo, which my brain would say is good. Yet the organ that speaks the truth—my heart—would admit the sadness that goes along with that fact. Plus, I hate how the last time I saw him was in such a dark place. I could barely make him out.
That tidbit is hardly important since I scroll through the pictures of us on my phone daily and feel sorry for myself. The pictures are my Leo patch. I can get through the day without him as long as I get a glimpse. Just a glance at his smile or his eyes or his lips. I need just a brief snapshot to see his face and the happiness and love on it as he looks at me—a reminder that I was loved and it was real, if only for a moment.
There are only two weeks of school left, and I’m freaking out. I’ve been working as a tutor all year to save money, but I still only have enough for about a month’s rent. A full-ride scholarship with room and board is great during the school year, but the dorms close for the summer, and I’m expected to leave.
There’s no way I can go back home. I’ve spoken to my parents twice this year. My father called me once because he couldn’t remember the password for the cable app. My mother called to ask if I remembered where we stored the duffel bags because they were going to go stay with some friends in a hippie commune out west for a while. Neither conversation was meaningful, and though I tried to give them some details about my life here, it didn’t seem as if they were interested.
If they’re still out west, it could work. I’d just have to clean up the house so that it was livable, but who knows if they’re still there or when they’ll be back? Heck, I wouldn’t be surprised if they never went in the first place. They aren’t the most reliable in their travel plans. The point is that I can’t count on them, and I definitely can’t survive a summer with them.
It’s difficult to get a job off of campus without a car, and I can’t keep relying on Amos to take me everywhere. He’d do it, no questions asked, but that’s not fair to him. At this rate, if I’m not careful, I’m going to be bunking up with a crack dealer in the worst part of town. The options that I can afford are limited.
I scroll through my phone, searching online for nearby apartments to rent. There are a bunch of summer leases available because a lot of students go back to their families for the summer, but all of the apartments for lease are two or three bedrooms. Seeing that Quinn and Amos—my only real friends—are going home for the summer, I need a one bedroom, a cheap one.
A text comes through on my phone. It’s Cat. She’s been texting me on and off over the past couple of months, asking if we can meet but I always tell her no. She has definitely been persistent. I know she means well and is trying to help, but Leo’s no longer in my life, so his family shouldn’t be either. I don’t have the right to know anything that Leo hasn’t told me himself, nor do I have a reason to get involved.
Please, Alma. Just meet me for a quick bite.
I’m driving through Ypsilanti in a bit.
Just tell me where to meet you.
I’m not going to give up until you talk to me.
It’s important. Pretty please.
Her texts come through in rapid succession. I don’t have time to respond to one before she’s texting again. She seems desperate to speak to me. I let out a groan and type back.
Fine. I’ll meet you at Luca’s Coney Island, but then that’s it.
Thank you, Alma! See you soon.
I grab my purse and head out. The walk to the diner is quick, and before I know it, I’m pulling the door open and finding a seat.
Maybe I should’ve offered to meet her somewhere else. This place will always remind me of Leo. Fear courses through me as I wonder if I’m going to run into him here. Though he’s seemed to have dropped off the planet, and I know because I’ve looked. Every time I walk across campus, my eyes scan for him. Every party Quinn drags me to, I look. He’s just gone. This school isn’t that big. There’s no way our paths wouldn’t have crossed, even once, since February.
“Hello, my lady! Good to see you. Is my favorite customer meeting you here today?” Luca greets me, setting down a plastic cup of water in front of me.
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“No.” I shake my head. “I’m meeting someone else. Have you seen Leo lately?”
“Not for many months,” Luca answers with a frown.
His answer doesn’t surprise me. I knew Leo was gone. I felt it.
“Hey, Luca”—I look around at the packed diner—“you aren’t hiring, are you?”
“Why? You want a job?” He smiles wide.
“Well, I desperately need a job.” I nod, folding my hands in front of me.
“You’re hired. My waitress Sally just quit.”
“Really?” I gasp and stand to hug him. “Thank you!”
“Come in tomorrow, and we’ll get the paperwork completed and your schedule set.”
“You don’t know how much this means to me. Thank you so much, Luca.”
“Thank you.” He pats my hand and scurries off to another table.
The bell above the door chimes, and I look over to see Cat walking through the door. She waves when she spots me. I wave back and can’t help my smile. She’s just so nice. How she got mixed up with the Hardings, I’ll never understand.
I greet her when she reaches the table, and she pulls me into a hug.
“Thank you for meeting me, Alma. You look beautiful,” she tells me, though I think she’s just being polite.
“You too,” I say because it’s the truth.
“What’s good here?” she asks, looking over the menu.
“Everything. Though Leo’s favorite is the chili-cheese fries.” His name burns as it leaves my lips, but I swallow the hurt.
Luca returns to the table, and we both order the chili-cheese fries.
“Should I just get to it then?” She quirks a brow.
“That’d probably be best.”
“Well, as you know now, Leo has addiction problems,” she says softly, as if it pains her to admit it. “Stephen tells me that Leo’s been abusing substances since he was twelve. The other thing, the information that I wanted to tell you on Christmas … well, the thing you have to understand is that my husband loves his brother, but there is so much hurt between them that he doesn’t know where to start to mend it. You might see cruelty in Stephen, but it’s simply frustration. Anyway, I’m getting off track.” She waves her hand in front of herself.
