Breaking Point

“Bee? Bee, what is it?” Finn asked. He’d pulled his head up from the crook of my neck, and was staring over at me with a concerned look on his face. “What’s wrong?”

His voice snapped me back to reality. Our car was poised at the top of the wheel, no doubt offering a breathtaking panoramic view of the fair below and an incredible sunset – a fiery ball of red making its descent in the western sky. At the moment, though, it was all a blur. I stared straight ahead, unable to look at him. Completely unwilling to believe what my mind had just revealed to me.

My first instinct was to reject it outright. Utter denial. Because there was just no possible way that the sad eyed boy who haunted my memories was Finn. My Finn. It was too ludicrous to even contemplate.

My next thought was that this was all some kind of coincidence; a grand cosmic joke, played out by fate or destiny or whatever gods exist up there. Maybe one day they, in all their infinite omnipotence, were bored enough to reach down and stir the pot; to mess with us mere mortals here on earth, so that by the time we finally caught on to what was happening, it was too late. Then, when we were running around like chickens with their heads lopped off, trying desperately to do damage control on our messy lives, they could just kick back and watch, unapologetically entertained by our lack of power and foresight.

I quickly rejected that idea, partly because I liked to think I had at least a semblance of control over my own destiny and secondly because that would be one hell of an unlikely coincidence.

That left one final option – the only true explanation there’d ever really been. I didn’t want to face it. I didn’t even want to think it. All I wanted to do was rewind the clocks back fifteen minutes, to before I’d climbed on this goddamn Ferris wheel and everything had changed.

Was it only fifteen minutes ago that everything had been perfect? That I’d been happy? That I’d believed that I, for once in my life, was lucky?

It seemed a distant memory now, superficial and fleeting; disappearing with the wind on gossamer wings, so quickly it was as if it had never been real at all.

The truth was, though, a part of me had suspected all along that this, that he, couldn’t possibly be meant for me. Deep down, I’d known I wasn’t meant for good things – for lightness and love. It just wasn’t in the cards for me, and what a fool I’d been, if only for a brief span of time, to think otherwise.

Even with that knowledge firmly in my head, it wasn’t any easier to accept it as the truth. And, against all logic, I desperately wished for any other explanation.

Because if it were true, it meant that not only were Finn and the sad eyed boy one and the same…it also meant that Finn was a liar.

He’d known exactly who I was from the moment we’d met.

He’d known about my past.

He’d known about my mother.

And he’d used that knowledge to break me apart and put me back together again just the way he wanted. He’d infiltrated my life, inserted himself into each and every facet of my existence, until I fell so deep in love with him I didn’t know where he ended and I began anymore.

And he’d never said a goddamn word.

I’d trusted him; that was monumental for me. Worse, I’d let all my walls crumble, and for what? Some boy who’d charmed his way into my good graces and then wormed his way into my heart and my pants.

What was I to him? What was this mockery of a relationship? Some kind of fucked up retribution for our shared childhood?

Did he really think he could just saunter back into my life and…what? Fix me?

Did he even love me?

How could you truly love someone if everything you’d ever told them was a lie?

There were endless questions, and no simple answers. But the bottom line was that he was twisted.

He was a liar.

And he definitely, unquestionably, was not the man I’d thought I knew. The man I’d thought I loved.

I’d never before understood the term breaking point. People always talk about how they’ve been pushed to that place where you the stress and fear are so intense your mind simply can’t handle it anymore. I’d thought it was a load of crap, a concept thought up by people who are either too emotionally unequipped or too cognitively lazy to sort through their mental messes and face reality.

I understood it now.

I could literally feel my mind breaking apart – splintering into pieces as it tried desperately to reconcile the things I thought I knew about Finn Chambers with what I had just discovered. It was kind of like looking at a Picasso – all the essential parts were there, but damned if they weren’t fucked up and put completely in the wrong places.

My mind wasn’t alone though, because my heart – my stupid, blind, unprotected heart –was fracturing into pieces too.

“Bee?” Finn repeated, worry apparent in his tone. “What’s going on?”

I didn’t answer, but I’m sure the horrified look spreading across my face as the realization sunk in and took hold of me spoke volumes.

I couldn’t do this right now – I wasn’t about to hash things out here, on a freaking Ferris wheel hovering forty yards above the ground. In fact, I didn’t think I wanted to hash things out at all. Ever. I just wanted to run away and forget the past three months of my life ever happened. But first, I needed to get away from him. And I couldn’t let on that I’d remembered, that I knew, or he’d never let me leave without talking things out.

And I definitely didn’t want to talk. I wanted to flee. I wanted to punch him in the face, then sleep with every beautiful man who walked across my path until his scent and his touch were permanently removed from my memory. I wanted to whitewash my walls, burn my bed to ash, and throw my guitar in a gutter somewhere.

Hold it together, Brooklyn.

“I feel sick,” I lied through my teeth, my tone flat and utterly devoid of emotion. “I forgot how much I hate Ferris wheels.” That part, at least, was true – after this, they’d be forever ruined for me.

“Aw, I’m sorry, princess,” Finn’s voice was gentle, understanding, loving; listening to it felt like he’d thrown salt in an open wound. “You had me worried.”

When he wrapped his arms around me, I couldn’t help myself – I went completely tense. It took everything I had not to pull away.

“Bee?” Finn’s questioned, confusion evident in his voice.

I was really fucking up my plan to act like nothing was wrong; I needed to pull it together. One muscle at a time, I forced my body to relax in his arms.

“Sorry. I’m really okay,” I swallowed the lie. “Just trying not to throw up.”

Unfortunately, that second part was true. I’d been fighting nausea since I’d returned from my involuntary jaunt down memory lane, but it had nothing to do with motion sickness or heights.

“Don’t worry,” he told me. “We’re almost back on the ground.”

He was right; we were the next car to unload. I still hadn’t looked at him, for fear of what he might read in my eyes.

I couldn’t look at him.

Hell, I would barely be able to stomach looking myself in the mirror.

I felt used, dirty, lost, betrayed. But, worse, I felt like a child. Completely beguiled and naïve. And those were words no one had ever, in the history of my existence, used to describe Brooklyn Turner.

The emotions were threatening to overwhelm me, and I knew if I started crying now, I might never stop; I needed to be far, far away from him when the levies inevitably broke.

Hold it together, Brooklyn. You can do this. Just a little longer.

When we touched down and climbed out of our car, I immediately sidestepped Finn so I was standing several feet away. He noticed my distance immediately – how could he not? In the months since we’d met, even when we weren’t officially dating, we’d always fully invaded each other’s space, gravitating so close to one another that we were near-touching at all times.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I said, turning to scan the crowd for the nearest restroom. When I spotted the dull green concrete building several yards away, I turned on my heel without another word and began striding toward it. I made it about halfway there before Finn caught up with me, grabbing my arm to bring me to a halt.

“Hey, do you need me to come in with you? Hold your hair back or…something?” His voice was a mix of confusion and concern, the sincerity in his words burning my ears like acid.

“No,” I said, yanking my arm away roughly. “I need to throw up, Finn. Girls don’t like their boyfriends—.” I nearly choked over the word “–seeing them like that, okay? So let me go. I’ll be fine. But if I stand here another moment, you’re going to be covered in regurgitated fried dough and cotton candy.”

“Okay…I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’ll wait for you outside. Just…let me know if you need me.” He sounded upset, and for a moment I felt sorry that I was being so nasty to him; only for a moment, though, because I quickly remembered that he was a lying bastard who’d been toying with me for god only knew how long.

As I raced for the bathroom, alone this time, I had an even more terrifying thought: What if Finn wasn’t just a liar…what if he was psychotic?

Here I’d been, worried that all those phone calls and scary instances were the work of a stalker or some kind of unknown sociopath who was out to get me. But what if I’d been closer to my attacker than I ever thought possible…so close, I’d invited him into my bed and thrown down a freaking welcome mat at the doorstep of my heart?

I rejected that thought so fast it barely had time to fully form, expelling it from my mind with a violent forcefulness that surprised even myself. No matter what – who – Finn Chambers was, he would never hurt me. I knew that as clearly as I knew that sun rose every day in the east, that my middle name was Grace, and that seven shots of Cuervo were enough to make me forget what year it was.

I'd never had a broken heart before, but now I totally understood the term. It isn't just an emotional pain, it's a physical one – as if someone has literally reached inside your chest and ripped your heart out, leaving an aching, open cavity behind that you know has no hope of ever fully healing.

Glutton for punishment that I am, when I reached the doors to the bathroom I turned back for one final look at Finn, knowing that, in all likelihood, it was the last glimpse I'd ever have of him. The tears I'd been holding off finally broke free, building in my eyes and spilling over as I found him in the crowd. He was standing exactly where I'd left him; eyes turned to look at that damn Ferris wheel with a contemplative look on his face, as if he were seeking the answer to a particularly difficult equation.

He was perfection, from roots of his messy dark hair down to the slightly scuffed toes of his favorite black motorcycle boots. And, even though I was supposed to hate him, in that moment all I could do was drink in his image – like a woman dying of thirst in the middle of a desert, staring at the oasis she would never reach.

When the tears had begun running too fast to see straight, I turned and ran into the bathroom. Pulling my cellphone from my pocket, I dialed Lexi. Thankfully, she answered on the second ring.

“Brookie! How's your birthday going, babe?”

“Lexi.” My voice was broken. I had nothing left – no more will to even pretend I was remotely okay. “Please. I need you to come get me.”

“Okay,” she agreed immediately, no questions asked. That in itself spoke volumes about the shattered desperation she heard in my voice. “Where are you?”

I told her, and she agreed to meet me by the side entrance in ten minutes. When I made her promise not to tell Ty where she was going, I knew she was catching on that this concerned Finn, but she didn't say anything.

I slipped out the back door of the restrooms, looking over my shoulder to make sure Finn hadn't spotted me, and disappeared into the crowds. As I lost myself in the mob of joyful fair-goers, slowly winding toward the east park exit, I let my tears fall to the ground and wished, with everything I had left in me, that I could forget Finn Chambers and move on with my life.

I'd probably have had better luck wishing for a lifetime supply of calorie-free chocolate or an all-inclusive trip to the moon and back.

***

He was much faster than I’d anticipated.

The calls had started almost as soon as I’d hung up with Lexi. I’d turned my phone off, unable to even see his name appear on screen without feeling sick.

I’d been home all of five minutes when the pounding on the front door began, loud enough that it could be heard behind the closed door of my bedroom. Lexi stared at me with a bewildered expression when I walked into the kitchen and told her in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t allowed to let him in. I didn’t care what he said, what he did – under no circumstances did I want to see or talk to him.

“Bee!” he yelled, his fists slamming against the wooden door so hard it shook in its frame. “What the hell is going on?”

I leaned against the kitchen counter for support.

“Tell me what I did.” His voice was desperate, shattered. Lexi stared from me to the door and back, a horrified look on her face.

“Brooklyn! Please!”

I closed my eyes so I didn’t have to see her judgmental expression.

“Princess, just talk to me. We can fix this, please, just don’t shut me out.”

It went on like that for nearly an hour, until his voice grew hoarse and he’d run out of air. When he finally gave up, I opened my eyes, took one look at Lexi, and hightailed it from the room.

“Not so fast!” she yelled, racing after me and throwing out her arms to stop me from shutting my bedroom door in her face. “You owe me one hell of an explanation. First, you make me pick you up from the fair, in tears and barely breathing, and now Finn is here, banging on our door like a lunatic, and I can’t let him in?” She stared at me, eyes wide. “What. The. Fuck. Happened. Today?”

“He’s not who I thought he was, okay?” My voice sounded like a stranger’s.

“Uh, no. Not okay,” Lexi said, pushing my door all the way open and forcing me to back up from the doorway as she stormed into my room. She sat on the bed, crossed her arms over her chest menacingly, and leveled me with her best glare. “Now explain, or I’m not helping you anymore. Which means, I can answer the door for whoever comes a’knocking.”

I glared at her.

She tapped her foot impatiently.

“He lied to me. About how we knew each other, about how we’d met. About everything. He’s been lying to me since that day I tripped over the fire hydrant, Lex. And I can’t talk about it,” I said, my voice cracking as I pleaded with her to understand. “Not because I’m being a bitch, and not because I want to shut you out. Because I literally cannot talk about it. It hurts too damn much.” I took a deep breath and tilted my head upwards to fend off the building tears.

“Oh, Brooklyn,” Lexi whispered, tears filling her own eyes. “Come here.” She pulled me down into a bone-crushing hug, and suddenly, I was weeping in her arms, gasping for breath as I swam upstream in a tidal wave of grief and heartbreak and betrayal.

I don’t know how long we sat there on my bed, both crying our eyes out, but when I eventually ran out of tears it was pitch black outside my windows; full night had fallen hours ago. Lexi kissed my cheek and said goodnight, wiping her eyes as she headed out into the hallway. When the door closed behind her, I collapsed on my bed, curling up in a ball of misery.

I must have drifted off to sleep at some point, exhausted from my crying jag.

I jolted awake at the sound of my window sliding open. Sitting up on my bed, I grabbed for my cellphone on the nightstand and frantically pressed the button to turn it back on. I could hear someone maneuvering through the window just as my phone blinked alive.

I was halfway through dialing 911 when I saw that the feet descending through my open window were stuffed into familiar black motorcycle boots, their scuffed toes apparent even in the dark room.

Resignedly, I switched off my phone screen and stowed it back on my bedside table. I sat on the bed, arms crossed, and watched as Finn tumbled through the window, losing his balance and nearly face-planting in the process.

When he righted himself, his eyes instantly cut across the room and locked on mine.

“Hi,” he said, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and making no move to approach me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my tone unwelcoming and my demeanor frigid.

“Well I climbed the tree–” he began.

“I asked what not how,” I said, cutting him off.

“I had to see you, Bee,” he said, staring at me with a desperate look in his eyes. “I don’t know what’s going on. It’s not fair that you’re clearly so angry, when you haven’t even told me what I did to piss you off.”

“Not fair? Not fair?” I asked, my voice scathing. “That’s rich – you talking about what’s fair.”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb, Finn. If you’re going to be here, wasting my time, the very least you can do is be honest.”

“Brooklyn…” He held his hands out in surrender, as if he was trying to calm me. As if I could be calmed, at this point.

Is he freaking kidding me?

I’d thought I had it under control, thought I could get through this confrontation without losing it, but it was just too much. Seeing him here like this…still lying to me, still pretending…

I snapped.

“Tell me a story, Finn,” I said, my voice bleak. His face drained of color as the familiar words registered with him, and he realized that I knew.

That I’d remembered.

I walked across the room, approaching him where he stood utterly still. I could see the vein in his neck throbbing with each heartbeat, his neck and shoulders straining with tension as he held himself immobilized. His eyes were slightly narrowed, filled with wariness, indecision, and what looked a lot like fear as he waited to see what I would do.

When I reached him I got right up into his face, pushing aside my pain and channeling every swirling emotion inside me into one singular feeling: betrayal.

“TELL ME A STORY,” I screamed in his face, my control shattering to pieces.

He flinched, but otherwise remained still and silent, with his gaze locked on mine.

“Fine,” I said, my breathing labored as I looked into his dark eyes. They were heavily guarded, concealing whatever he was feeling from me. “Then I’ll tell you a story. It’s about a little girl who lost everything, who had nothing left. Nothing and nobody to call her own. Until she met a boy, and for a while he became her everything.” My voice broke on the last word and I cursed inwardly, determined to hold myself together through this.

There were things that needed to be said, and since he’d forced this confrontation, they were going to be said right freaking now.

Hauling a breath into my lungs, I forged on. “But that boy, the one who gave her back a piece of herself? He’s a liar. He’s a manipulator. So even though that little girl, who wasn’t so little anymore, had trusted him to glue back together her broken fragments…even though she thought he could make her believe in happy endings again…even though she thought he would be the one to erase all her scars…”

Tears were leaking from my eyes now, and my voice grew shakier with each sentence I forced out.

“The little girl was wrong. The boy couldn’t be trusted, any more than all the other men in her life who’d let her down. He’d spun deceit and deception until she couldn’t tell reality from the lies anymore; until she knew there would be no happily ever afters for her. Not ever.

“Because she was broken, irreparably, for the second time in her life. That glue the boy had used to piece her back together wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t true enough, to hold her together. It slipped and crumbled, and all her pieces fell and shattered worse than they’d been in the first place.”

I’d lost all control by this point; tears were streaming down my face and Finn looked like a shadow of the man I’d come to know; he looked as haunted as I felt inside.

“I suppose I should thank you,” I said, a bitter laugh slipping through my lips.

He held his silence for a beat, then whispered, “Thank me?” His voice was rougher than I’d ever heard it, devastated and lacking any of his typical self-assurance.

Good. He should be broken too.

“I thought that I was strong, that my walls were impenetrable, until you came into my life and proved just how weak I really was. I actually thought I was safe with you,” I laughed mirthlessly, looking up at the stars painted across my ceiling. “So thank you, Finn, for showing me my own fragility. I’ll be sure not to make the same mistakes in the future.”

“Bee–” he started.

I cut him off. “Don’t. You don’t get to call me that anymore.”

His eyes were glassy with unshed tears, full of hopeless resignation.

Nodding, he took a step back, out of my space, and turned his eyes to stare at the floor. “I’m sorry, Brooklyn,” he whispered. “You have no idea how many times I tried to tell you…how close I came–”

“Close only counts in hand grenades and horseshoes, Finn.”

“I know that,” he said, reaching up to run his hands through his hair. “But how do you find the words for something like that? How do you tell someone that you’ve spent your whole life looking for them?” He laughed, a bitter sound escaping his lips. “Brooklyn, since we were separated as kids, I’ve been trying to track you down. I begged my adoptive parents to go back for you, to let me call you or even write to you. By the time they relented and I called the group home, you were already gone. Eva wouldn’t tell me anything. Your adoption files were sealed; I never thought I’d actually find you. And then, one random Tuesday afternoon two years ago, I typed your name into a Facebook search engine and bam! There you were.”

I thought about the long-dormant social media account Lexi had insisted on setting up for me when we’d been accepted to the university. She’d posted a photo of the two of us wearing new matching college sweatshirts that advertised the university logo in proud orange across the front. I wondered if that was how Finn had tracked me down.

Since I’d never really used the site, I’d assumed it would deactivate after such a long period of inactivity. Apparently, all that preaching my professors did about permanent Internet footprints really was true after all; Facebook is forever.

“I knew it was you immediately – you were beautiful as a little girl, and you’re even more gorgeous now… those eyes, that smile. There was no denying it was you.” Finn continued. “But I still needed to see that you were okay, Brooklyn. I’ve worried about you for years. You have to understand, when I got adopted, when I left you…I felt like I’d abandoned you. And I knew I’d never put that to rest until I’d seen you again, face to face.”

“So, when you found me, what then? Was the plan to screw me back to normal? To fix me with the sheer will of your penis?” I bit out. “You could have checked on me and walked away, without speaking one single word to me. I was fine before I met you. The only thing you’ve done is fuck me up even worse than I was before.”

“It wasn’t like that, Brooklyn,” Finn said, anger infusing his tone. “I never planned on this – on us. I didn’t want to fall in love with you, any more than you expected to fall for me. I transferred here when I learned you’d be attending last fall. But did you see me at all, your entire freshman year? No. I didn’t approach you. I didn’t mess with your life. I was just there, in the off chance that one day you’d need help – that you’d need me. I wasn’t about to fail you again, regardless of whether you even knew I existed.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. He’d transferred here for me? That was crazy. Not the good crazy either – the stalkery, obsessive kind of crazy I wanted nothing to do with.

“I think you should leave now,” I said, backing away from him.

“Bee…Fuck!” He buried his hands in his hair. “Please don’t be scared of me. I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I tried, so many times. I just couldn’t find the words. That day, when you fell over that hydrant and hit your head – it seemed like fate. You were right there in front of me, injured and needing help. I thought maybe I could get close to you, just to be your friend. I swear my intentions never went further than that.

“But I fell in love with you, Brooklyn. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment I realized that you were everything that was missing in my life, but I knew – just like I had when I was a ten year old kid – that I couldn’t be without you anymore. Still, I tried to push you away, tried to keep boundaries between us when I realized that you didn’t remember me...But I just couldn’t stay away from you.”

“Finn, this…it’s just so messed up,” I whispered, at a loss. I was way, way out of my emotional depth. I wasn’t just swimming in the deep end, here – this was the freaking Mariana Trench.

“I know that, okay? I know how fucked up we are. With you, it’s one step forward, and three monumental fucking leaps back. But I also know that you can be incredibly sweet when you aren’t too busy slapping me, or glaring at me, or hating my guts.”

At that, I glared at him and crossed my arms over my chest.

“You don’t want anyone to take care of you – I get that. I respect it, even,” he continued, heedless of my glare. “But sometimes, behind that icy, impenetrable front you show the rest of the world, I catch a glimpse of that fiercely vulnerable, heartbroken little girl who still needs me. And I like that I’m the only one who gets to see her and protect her.

“I know this is a lot to think about – I know you probably hate me. And maybe it makes me a total bastard, but you should know that I don’t regret a single second of our time together, Brooklyn. With or without the lies, this relationship has been – and always will be – the most important, beautiful, goddamned sacred part of my life. And I’ll wait for you – as long as it takes, I’ll wait.”

I’ve already been waiting forever. He’d said those words before and I hadn’t understood them at the time, but I comprehended them perfectly now.

“I need time, Finn,” I said. “I feel broken, betrayed, confused, and frankly just…exhausted by this. I don’t want to lie to you or give you false promises that everything is okay between us. None of this is okay – I am not okay.” I dragged a deep, calming breath in through my nose. “I need to be alone right now.”

“I can understand that,” he said, nodding. I thought I saw a flicker of hope flash through his eyes as he stared at me.

“I’m not saying this to hurt you because, as insane as it sounds, I believe your story. But that doesn’t change anything. For right now I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to hear from you. And I can’t promise that I will ever be ready to be with you again.”

He nodded, his jaw clenched tight and the hope in his eyes extinguished.

“Goodnight, Finn,” I said, walking over to my bedroom door and opening it. “Use the front door this time, will you? Your hands are torn to shreds.”

Between the pounding he’d given my front door earlier and scaling the rough bark of the giant maple outside my window, he’d wreaked havoc on his palms and fingers; the knuckles were swollen and bloodied and at least two were turning an angry bruised-purple color, which meant they were likely broken.

He made his way to the door, pausing in the frame for nearly a full minute. Keeping his back to me, he whispered into the dark hallway so quietly I could barely make out his words.

“I love you, Brooklyn Grace Turner. I always have, and I always will. It took me nearly thirteen years to find you; I’m not about to lose you now. And if you decide you never want to see me again, I’ll try to live with that decision; but you should know that the way I feel about you? It’s been the one constant in my life. This is permanent for me. You are permanent for me.”

With those words hanging in the air, he disappeared out into the hallway. I listened until I heard the front door click closed, then headed across the room to lock my window.

I’d thought I cried out all my tears earlier, but as I climbed in bed and hugged my pillow to my chest, I found there were still more to be released.

Date: 2015-02-16; view: 547