Page 69 of His Heart

Brooke

Sunlight peekedthrough the gap in the curtains, creating a slice of brightness across my sheets—right in my eye. I groaned and turned over. My head hurt and the stupid sun was pissing me off.

The last few days had been gray and cloudy—matching my mood. Fall weather. It was September, and I’d been living in Iowa for over five months.

I grabbed my phone to check the time. Eleven. I was going to be late for work if I didn’t get up. My entire body felt heavy, like I couldn’t lift my limbs. Even rolling over had been hard. I wanted to sink into the softness of my bed, close my eyes, and pretend the world didn’t exist.

I’d already missed the last two days of work. Joe would be pissed if I called in sick again, even if he didn’t find out I was lying. I wasn’t sick. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. But I couldn’t muster the energy to get up and do anything.

I hadn’t felt this lethargic since before I’d moved to Iowa. Even my bad days here hadn’t been anything like this. The deadness was eating its way through me again. Seeping into the cracks in my psyche, worming its way through my veins. A parasite, devouring my spirit.

It had started with a crying spell a few days ago. I’d come home and the tears had burst out of nowhere. Shaking with sobs, I’d curled up on the couch and cried until my back was sore and my throat raw. Afterward, I’d dug out a bottle of Vicodin I still had from somewhere. I hadn’t taken any pills—hadn’t even had a drink—since moving here. But I’d dumped a few into my trembling hand and swallowed them, desperate for anything to make me sleep. To turn off the deluge of pain that had suddenly gripped me.

The next morning, I hadn’t felt any better. If anything, I’d been worse. I hadn’t cried again. Hadn’t even wanted to. But it had taken me four hours just to get out of bed for the first time.

Nothing had happened. I didn’t know what had changed to send me spiraling into this decaying orbit. It wasn’t an anniversary, or Liam’s birthday. I hadn’t gotten any surprising or upsetting news. Things had been fine at work. I’d seen Sebastian a few days before. We’d watched a movie with Charlie. Nothing unusual.

But I was back to feeling like a ghost. It had hit me so hard, it was as if all my color and substance had been ripped away, like the siding on a house in a tornado. I was formless. Transparent. Fading into nothing.

I texted Joe to tell him I was still under the weather, and went back to sleep.

It was dark when I woke up. My bladder screamed at me, so I dragged myself out of bed and went to the bathroom. The clock said nine. God, I’d slept all day. I hadn’t even taken anything. That was crazy. I probably should have been alarmed, but that required too much energy. I didn’t have it in me to care.

I had a text from Joe, saying he hoped I got better soon. But if I was going to be out for a while to let him know so he could hire someone else in the meantime. I wanted to feel bad about that, but I felt nothing. So I’d lose another job. I’d lost a lot of jobs in the last several years. Did it matter?

Another text was from Sebastian, asking if I was busy tonight. He always seemed to know when I was having a tough day and he’d invent reasons to get together. Usually it worked. Tonight, I didn’t bother to answer.

I glanced into my open closet—to the bag I’d carried around with me in Phoenix. I’d taken most of my stuff out. The only things left were my treasures. My mementos of Liam.

My rational mind knew that now was not the time to get them out. I wasn’t in any state to handle it. But I did it anyway. I pulled out the dance photo and the box with my ring, and brought them over to the bed.

Seated cross-legged among my tangled covers, I stared at the photo. Traced my finger across it. Liam with his cocky teenage smile—the look of a young guy without a care in the world. I had stars in my eyes bigger than the ones in the Hollywood Nights backdrop. That evening had been pure magic.

A few tears slid down my cheeks. They were more painful than the deluge from the other night—hot and dreadful, rolling silently down my cheeks.

How you doing, Bee?

“I’m dead, Liam,” I said aloud. I knew he wasn’t talking to me, but the memory of his voice still echoed in my mind. “I died too, but I’m stuck here.”

There was no answer.

The strange thing was, I wasn’t pining for Liam anymore. I missed him, and I probably always would. My love for him had been real, and I’d carry it with me for the rest of my life. But the grief that plagued me now wasn’t for him. I didn’t understand it. If I could gaze at his picture and know my sorrow for him was no longer drowning me, why was I still so broken?

Suddenly the walls felt too close, the air stifling. I had to get the hell out of this house.

A voice in my head told me to call Sebastian. Tell him I wanted to get together. That would be the smart thing—the safe thing—to do.

Fuck safe.

I needed a rush. Speed. Intoxication. I needed to bury my pain, blur it out. I rooted through my things and found the bottle of Xanax. I took the few that were left, swallowing them without water. I didn’t have any booze in the house, so I threw on some clean clothes—a loose floral blouse with wide sleeves and a pair of tight jeans—put my hair up, and left.

Standing outside, I ordered an Uber. The Xanax kicked in while I waited. It had been so long since I’d taken anything, and it hit me hard. My eyes grew heavy, but I embraced the numbness that stole through me. It felt so good. The edges of my mind went smooth and fluid, my thoughts dancing across the surface of my consciousness. Nothing mattered tonight but finding a distraction. Having fun. Making myself feel alive, somehow.

My ride arrived and I got in.

The driver was a young guy wearing a U of I shirt. Skinny, with sandy blond hair. “Where do you need to go?”

“I guess I need to figure that out.” I blinked sleepily at him. “I want to go out and have a good time. What do you suggest?”

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