Page 140 of My Lovely Tragedy
Their voices blur over one another, and it’s painfully obvious none of us know what to do or how to fucking act around one another. But it is nice knowing I’m not the only one falling on my face.
I’ve never been uncomfortable in my own skin around them before. They’ve always been my family—and they still are—but everything is different now.
I’m different.
Everything about me has changed over the course of a few weeks… months? I don’t even know how long it’s been. And now… I’ve gotta learn how to live with this version of myself. Someone… somehow more broken than before. Yet pieces of me that were lost are now in place. The edges are splintered and uneven, but they are there, regardless.
And they fucking ache as deeply as they itch.
I rub my free hand over my forearm to feel the rough drag of the coat over my scabs. And it’s hot. For the first time in longer than I can remember,I’m too warm.
A light flickers across the floor, so I focus on that through blurry eyes. Watching the waves over the carpet fibers, listening to the cadence of voices through the speakers. Crackles and questionable music notes.
Just take a step, Brooklyn. One step. Another.
Don’t focus on how light your arms are or how each step doesn’t make your wrists throb.
Tobias let you go because you were never supposed to stay.
We can’t be.
We won’t ever.
This is your life, as it was. As it should be.
Dexter and Benji scoot over to the other side of the couch, giving me the entire left half to myself. I lower myself slowly, then bring my knees to my chest with my notebook trapped in the middle.
Dexter leans over but not enough to be in my face. “So, whatcha got?”
“Hmm?” I ask, turning slightly from the rectangular blob in front of me. I follow his line of sight to my notebook. “Oh. My notebook.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, I can see that.”
“Sorry.” I try to sound contrite, but it comes out bland.
I hear his inhale, feel the words ruminating in the air. “Brooklyn, you don’t have to be sorry about anything.” The sound of the TV stops. The chair Cobain is sprawled in creaks as he sits up, bare feet plopping onto the floor. My eyes drill into my kneecaps, zeroing in on the texture of Tobias’s pants. Following the line of the edge of the coat. Fleece and so soft.
I turn into the collar and inhale. My eyes pinch closed, nose and throat burning as a wave of vanilla and honey scorches its way through every vein. My carved bonesacheat the thought of him. My mind is never— “We know something happened.”
That draws my head back, eyes slowly traveling up until they land on the smooth expanse of the ceiling. It’s not textured like Tobias’s. Or black. Just plain, old white.
I pull in a breath. Hold it. Wait until the pressure has built and my lungs spasm. Out. A slow, steady stream between parted lips, still dry and cracked. Abused from Tobias’s teeth. Vicious and gentle.
Goddamnit.
“You don’t.”
“Don’t insult us by saying that shit, B,” Benji cuts in from the other side of Dex. Cobain lets out a soft squeak of protest, but it’s cut off. “We know you, and you fucking know that.”
My eyes roll to the right, where Ben is sitting, pressed against Dexter. I avoid his gaze but follow the length of his black hair, dyed red at the ends, to the line of his shaven jaw, and down to where his hand is in his lap, encased by Dexter’s.Thatmakes me lift a brow, but honestly, it’s not that surprising.
“Yeah, I know,” I concede.
“Good.”
“Good.”
Benji scoffs and flops back with a sigh, leaning into Dexter’s side. He drops his head atop Benji’s with a soft smile, and it’s a fucking punch to my gut. I dart my eyes away, back to the ceiling—where it’s safe—while my fingers clamp tighter around the edge of my notebook. My nails scrape over the soft, matte texture. It sends vibrations up through my fingertips.
