Page 5 of Exclusive

Today marks one week since I’ve seen, talked to, or held her. My Presley. A whole goddamn week. Seven never-ending days, and cold, restless nights.

I miss her.

Fuck, do I miss her.

In ways, to depths, I had no idea I was capable of feeling — ‘til I felt them. But even stronger than the aching, actual, physical pain to have her in my arms just one more time, is my concern. I’m worried about her. And not just because of recent events, namely our fight, or the fact she’s gone off-radar, barricaded herself inside her apartment, refusing to answer calls, texts, or the door. I’m worried about her… overall. Scared to damn death her perceptions and pain can never be changed or healed, and she’ll never allow herself true happiness — regardless of whether that be with me or not — she won’t ever be truly happy. And that, that’s unacceptable.

Knowing all I now do, hindsight plagues my every memory with her. Certain things she said, and more so, the way she said them. Her crazy outlook on relationships, rambling, nonsensical excuses, and biggest of all, the impenetrable wall she hides behind, built of defensive deflection and empty sarcasm. I should’ve seen it. Should’ve looked harder, invested more, asked the right questions.

But I didn’t. I was just another person in the endless list of those she was able to easily fool; because they didn’t take the time to become foolproof. And now… well, I’ve never felt a bigger fool.

It literally causes my chest to seize tight around labored breaths when I think of how long my precious girl’s been hurting; schlepping through a dull, grayed life, lugging around a cross that isn’t hers to bear. But I don’t know how to help her without further betraying her, or, as is the case, if she won’t let me help her.

“Sutton, are we gonna go in, or?”

“Shit, yeah.” I turn to Brynny and smile. “Spaced out for a second, Sorry. And thanks again for helping me with this. I just, can’t afford to mess this up; because after this one, I’m out of ideas.”

“I’m still not sure if this is a good one, but if you think she’ll like it…”

“I do. But, you got anything better and by all means, please sound off. I’m all ears.” I laugh, in absolute, admitted desperation. “I’ve called, texted, banged on her door, sent flowers, presents. What else is there? I’m not above writing a poem if you think it’ll work.”

She climbs out of the truck before delivering the blow over her shoulder. “I hate to say it, but, there may not be anything else, Sutton.”

I scramble out my side and catch up to her. “There’s always something else. I don’t care how big, small, or crazy an idea, I’ll try it. Because trying nothing, isn’t an option. I promised her I’d never give up or walk away again, and I meant it.”

Her sigh rings with reality; a reality I simply won’t accept. “Okay, so, we’ll try this and keep our fingers crossed. All we can do. And speaking of attempts, I was there when JT gave her the jar you made her. Very sweet, and original.”

“Did she think so? Did she like it? Open it? Understand what it was?” I stop gushing like a twelve-year-old girl long enough to take a breath, and give Brynny room to give me the answers I need even more than the breath I just took.

She snickers, though tinged with a shred of sympathy. “Yes, to all of the above. And I probably shouldn’t tell you this, I’d hate to give you any false hope, but she got real salty, real fast, when JT didn’t properly appreciate its significance.”

“Did that fucker make fun of it?”

“No, that’s the best part. He just asked why a jar was such a big deal, and she told him alright.” She laughs once more. “Oh, which reminds me; if you didn’t already put ride acameland find a field of dandelions to make wishes alldayin there. I’d find a way to sneak them in there, or make a second jar. If I was guessing of course, since I’d never repeat P’s secrets behind her back.”

“Ride a camel, you say?” I grin; never would’ve dreamed it of my Hot Shot, or that she’d reveal even the tiniest clue as to the romantic side of herself she keeps hidden. Fromeveryone but me — I would have guessed something along the lines of the second one. Some people are dreamers, some realists. My Presley is both. “Thanks again, Brynny, for everything.”

“Don’t thank me yet; wait until I come up with something that actually works. For always.” She grants me a sweet smile. “You’re a good one, Sutton, a good man, person, and the best there’ll ever be for P. I’ve been sure of that since the very beginning. Only a blind, self-absorbed idiot doesn’t notice when they’re in the presence of a once-in-a-lifetime connection like the two of you have.”

“Not that I don’t absolutely agree, but, shoot me straight, Brynn. Do you really believe what you’re saying? That we have the kind of connection others pray to find? Should envy? So strong it can’t be broken, no matter what?”

She frets the corner of her mouth and hilts a shoulder, eyes finding the ground. “I do, and have never wanted to be right about anything more in my entire life,” she mumbles. “I want my cousin to have it. The alls and everythings, that she’ll only get from you.”

“Me too. God, me too.”

“Oh!” Her eyes fly to mine, now lively, as is her expression. “You could send her songs. Since she’s not exactly communicating with you, talk to her that way. P loves music, can’t resist it, deciphering and internalizing it, no matter how hard she tries.”

“Great idea; shoulda thought of it first. You’re really coming into your own lately, Miss Brynny, you know that? No wonder you got guys punching each other over ya.” I playfully nudge her shoulder. “The more I see of you, the more I see how much alike we are. So, it’s settled; we’re gonna have to stay best buds, no matter what.”

She giggles, the cute, shy kind. “I’d like that. We can help each other out, swap perspectives. Lord knows we’re lost on our own.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” I nod and laugh. “Alright, good talk. Now, let’s go get my girl her dog.”

“Settle down, little man, I’m trying to send your mama a song.” I pet what may very well be the most spastic puppy ever born with one hand, scrolling through music choices with the other. I’d sent her “Ain’t no Sunshine” by Bill Withers earlier and gotten no response, so this one needs to pack a punch.

Brynn, my partner in crime, had cut and run for this phase – some partner – so I’m sitting outside Presley’s apartment alone. Well, not all alone… but my company’s too busy licking his own balls to give me any advice or support, so not sure he counts. But for his sake, it really is imperative I text her the perfect song as an “opener,” to get her in the right mood before sending this poor mutt into “No Man’s Land.” He does, after all, have balls… and went to a lot of trouble of getting’ ‘em nice and clean for his intro.

“How about this one?” I ask him, hitting play on “Into the Mystic,” to which he cocks his head and whines. “Yeah, you’re right, doesn’t quite say it. Okay…” I search some more, finally choosing another. “Thoughts? Objections? You’re the one going in there, so bark now or forever hold your peace, pal.” He just sniffs his ass, so I decide for him and hit send on “Issues” by Julia Michaels before either of us can change our minds.

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