Starless Nights (Hale Brothers Series Book 2) (37 page)

“What do you mean?”

He raises his eyebrows at me.

Letting out a sigh, I turn to face him. “I don’t know. I just don’t know anything anymore.”

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“No.”

“Okay, but know that I’m watching you.”

I give him a small smile that I have to force out, and I head off to my room.

Picking up the picture, I run my finger over him. He’s so beautiful.

Tears fill my eyes again. I hate crying. I never cry.

Kicking off my shoes, I climb into bed with my phone and the picture. I’m so confused and I just don’t know what is supposed to happen next.

Three minutes for six and a half years of unanswered questions and disappointments.

Wednesday, I’m already awake before the alarm goes off. I’ve been staring at the shadows on the ceiling taking in one breath at a time. Throughout the night, the anger completely dissolved and in its place sadness slowly seeped in. It hurts to breathe.

I completed my shift at the café, but instead of going to school, I went home. Sitting by myself, in my room, with complete silence is my preferred activity. The blinds are drawn, the blankets on my bed have seen better days, but I just don’t have the energy or the motivation to make it better. Over and over in my mind, I replay Saturday night and Sunday morning. The last few weeks have been so wonderful and now, I’ve lost it. Thinking about the things that he has said to me, the things that I did to him, the only answer that I can come up with is he does deserve better.

Better than me.

Remembering that I have a button down shirt of his, from the last night we spent together on the beach, I pull it out of the bottom drawer of my dresser and slip it on. For the longest time, it used to smell like him, and even though it doesn’t anymore I still rub it across my face.

My phone, the picture, his shirt; anything that I can do to be closer to him, I cling to. I’m trying. These things are all I have left.

At six-thirty, Ali walks into my bedroom and turns on the light. It’s so bright that a headache immediately sets in. She sees me wince and she turns it off.

“Charlie called me. What’s going on with you and Beau?” I feel the bed dip as she sits down next to me.

“He doesn’t want me.” Saying this out loud causes a lump to form in my throat and tears leak out of the corners of my eyes.

“Did he actually say this?” She pushes my hair off of my face. The tenderness in this makes my heart ache even more.

“In so many words. He said he deserves better and he does.” The ache is now so strong I roll over onto my side and curl up.

“Well, I disagree with that statement,” she says quietly.

“Ali, what am I going to do? I’ve loved him and only him for over twelve years.” A small sob escapes.

“I don’t know. But I think if you just give him some time, he’ll come around, he always does.”

“He asked me to leave.”

“You know he internalizes everything and he needs to do it on his own. All three of them are like that. I think it goes back to their childhood and how much time they spent by themselves in their rooms.”

“I don’t know. He was so angry and so sad. The way he talked to me, it seemed so final.”

“I’m sorry, Leila.”

“Me too.”

Ali curls up next to me and lets me cry. She’s always known that I care deeply for Beau, and although she doesn’t know all of the details, she’s always wanted us both to be happy. I wanted my happy to be with him but it seems he does not reciprocate this.

Three minutes for six and a half years of unanswered questions, disappointments, and heartache.

It’s Thursday. I’ve slipped into the darkness. Shock, denial, guilt, anger, pain; they all leave and in their place comes loneliness, sadness, loss, and complete devastation. Nothing or no one could make me better, except for him. I feel crushed and depressed. How will I ever get over him? I didn’t make it to many classes this week and, as the day turned into night, I knew there was no way I was going to make it to work tomorrow. I never call into work, so when I did, I had to assure my boss that I was fine and would be back next week. I just need a few days, but would a few days be enough? I don’t want to see or talk to anyone.

Three minutes for six and a half years of unanswered questions, disappointments, heartache, and loneliness.

Days have passed and I haven’t heard one word from him. I’m beginning to realize the magnitude of this, and I know in my heart that we are most likely over. I have no idea what I’m going to do now. I don’t know a life without him. I’ve hung on to the idea of him for so long and I have loved him even when he didn’t know he was being loved. No one has ever loved him like I have, nor will they. For twelve long years, I have loved him so completely that today, on top of all of the other emotions that I am feeling, I feel broken.

Six days ago, I walked out of his loft and I feel like I am suffocating. I am overwhelmed with his blanket of complete hopelessness. I don’t know how to escape the physical pain that this is causing. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to just be.

No one can really understand how I feel. Charlie gets that I’m upset, he expects it, but at the café this morning, he tells me that it’s time for me to return to the land of the living. The truth is, I feel like part of me has died and with that went the life in me.

I feel so alone and I want to be alone at the same time. No one understands. In their minds, we have only been together for a couple of weeks, but that’s not true. What I’m feeling covers years.

Getting off of my bed, I pull a suitcase out from underneath it. I walk into my closet and grab a handful of clothes, and toss them in. Swiping a few things from the bathroom, I have all I need.

“Where are you going?” Charlie is standing in the doorway to my room as I collect a few last things and he looks confused.

“Home,” I say without really looking at him.

“Florida? But why?” He crosses his arms over his chest and scowls.

“I just need to go. I need to breathe. I don’t feel like I can here and I’m breaking. I won’t be gone long, okay?”

He lets out a deep sigh and runs his hand through his hair. “I don’t have much of a choice do I? Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, I need to go on my own. I need to say goodbye.”

“But isn’t he here?”

“I don’t know, I assume so. You don’t understand. It isn’t just him, it’s everything.” He’s looking at me like I’m crazy, but I need to go. When I’m there, I feel like I am still with him, and here I am not. Even though I know I’m going to have to let him go, I need to do it surrounded by the things that made us, us: Bean Point, the sand, the sea oats, the bench, the candy shop, the coffee shop . . . the stars. The only time in my life I have ever felt truly happy, is on Anna Maria Island, and that’s all I can think about and where I need to go.

He walks over, gives me a big hug, and picks up my suitcase. “I’ll walk you out.”

Three minutes for six and a half years of unanswered questions, disappointments, heartache, loneliness, and a realization of unworthiness.

THE FRONT DOOR opens and slams shut. Without even opening my eyes, I know it’s Drew. He’s the only one who has a key.

I hear him walk through the loft, open the blinds, grab a bottle of water out of the refrigerator, and then the covers are ripped off of me.

My eyes fly open and lock with his. “Dude, was all that really necessary? And what are you doing here?” I snap at him.

“You know why I’m here. Get up.” He slams the water down on the nightstand next to the bed and walks over to the couch.

Throwing my arm over my eyes, I groan at the light.

“You’re lucky that it’s me who showed up here. Charlie is on a rampage and wants to kick your ass,” he says as he sits down.

Charlie?

“What the hell for? What did I do to him?” Moving my arm, I stare up at the ceiling.

“You know exactly what you did.”

“No, I don’t.” Sitting up, I gulp down some of the water.

“He says Leila hasn’t eaten in a week, wouldn’t come out of her room except to go to work, and she only went to school one day out of the last five.”

I know I shouldn’t find comfort in hearing him say that Leila is miserable but I do. It’s nice to know that I’m not the only one who is having a hard time processing all of this.

“That’s not my fault.” And technically it’s not. She made her decisions. Those are all on her.

“Oh really?” he says back sarcastically to me.

“You just don’t get it.”

“No, I don’t, so why don’t you tell me,” he says while watching me.

Climbing out of bed, I walk over to my desk, and open the top drawer to retrieve the letter. I’ve memorized this letter. I hand it to him and watch as his eyes float over the lines. I see the confusion on his face as his eyes narrow and his lips pinch down into a thin line.

I relive those exact emotions from the first time I read it too.