The End of All Things Beautiful (16 page)

I want to tell the man sitting next to me exactly what’s going
to happen, because right now he’s too blinded by the money end of it to see it’s
all going to end badly. We’re going to sell off his company piece by piece to
the highest bidders; salvage is what we call it, leading us to make more money
than he’s seen in the last five years. He doesn’t want to fail and sees this as
a means to an end, but when it all comes down to it; he fails and we profit.

I often wonder if I should’ve taken a job where I help people
and not one where I ruin their lives. Would it have been my redemption for what
I had done? Would the accident and all the death no longer matter if I spent my
days helping others? It doesn’t matter, because I would still be living a lie,
carrying secrets that burden my life beyond repair.

Nothing can repair what I’ve done and nothing can bring them
back.

I’ve only been home for an hour and I’m already drinking,
drowning in it actually. I want to block it all out.

My life.

Everything.

As much as it hurt to see Benji’s name on my phone, I found some
sort of sick comfort in it. Like he might still care, like he still loves me
despite the awfulness that continually surrounds us. I left him that note, the
one that said I loved him. What more can I do? I could call him; beg him to
take me back. But then, this nagging voice at the back of my mind asks,
Who calls at three in the morning?
Drunk
people, the kind who speak the truth and tell you what they’re really thinking.

I should know, I’m drunk and right now, no one wants to know
what I’m really thinking. It’s horrible.

I wish I had died in that car accident. I wish I had the courage
to take my own life like Kelly and Tommy. Maybe if I had thought to be so
selfish, I could have ended all this pain.

To
be happy, we must not be too concerned with others.

I come back to that quote that I always believed to be bullshit,
but now I see the truth in it. Or maybe my concern for the others should have
driven me to take my own life. Concerned about how all of this affected them
and how with one simple change to the plan, maybe they all could’ve lived
normally. Were Kelly and Tommy concerned with anyone else when they chose the
route they did? Maybe they were thinking about everyone but themselves or maybe
it was always about them? The pain too much to bear, the loss and the heartache
too debilitating. I should know.

I was so distraught after the accident that I couldn’t see that
Kelly was dying too. Both of us falling apart, but I never asked how she was
doing, not that I needed to. It was clear to everyone around us that we were
all fucked up. But it was one of those stupid questions that mean nothing,
there’s no real concern in anything like that. It’s just what people ask; maybe
I should’ve asked. I never did. I never thought to. I just let her die a silent
death from a broken heart.

Had it been me who died in that accident, she’d still be alive
and so would Tommy. Neither would have had any reason to do what they did.
Their lives wouldn’t have changed and after knowing what I know now, Benji’s
life would’ve been better without me, too.

The room begins to spin as I pick up the bottle of vodka and
take another drink. Falling onto the couch, my foot on the floor in an attempt
to subside the feeling of the room moving, yet I still keep drinking. I want to
forget, but I can’t. Even the alcohol can’t make it go away.

My thoughts begin to swirl and suddenly I’m remembering Kelly’s
funeral. I’m crying now even though I didn’t cry at the funeral. Numb and
confused, lost and heartbroken was what I was back then.

I can picture her in the casket. They buried her in her prom
dress. Who does that? Who buries their daughter in her prom dress? Who buries
their nineteen year old child at all? It was a tragedy, a horrible, disgusting,
avoidable tragedy.

Her mother begged me for answers, racked with grief and the idea
that her daughter would never get married, have kids or grow old, she couldn’t
stop herself from questioning me, crying and pleading for me to give her
something. I couldn’t do it. I had nothing left to give.

Benji’s hand felt foreign in mine as we stood together at Kelly’s
funeral. I couldn’t seem to hold his like I once had, switching my grip, but
each time finding no solace in it. We were doomed.

With Benji on one side, Tommy on the other, his was the hand I
held tightly. The one I couldn’t let go of and as he stroked his thumb over my
knuckles, I watched the tears fall from his eyes. The three of us, ruined
forever.

The room is spinning faster now and I’m having trouble seeing. I’m
tired, but every time I close my eyes, I see Kelly, with her bruised neck, and
wearing her pale pink prom dress. I see Sam, laughing and teasing me, but then
I see him bloody and lifeless, a shell of what he once was. I feel Tommy’s hand
stroke my knuckles and I remember what it felt like to love Benji and have him
love me back. I’m sobbing now, uncontrollable, deep guttural sobs that make my
body ache.

It’s too much and I cry out even though I know there’s no one to
hear me. The bottle is empty now but my thoughts aren’t.

My letter,
I think as the room moves
and I climb off the couch, sliding along the wall and into the kitchen to find
something to replace the empty bottle.

Benji has my letter, my letter from Tommy. The one thing I have
left of him. I need to find my phone. I need to call Benji. I need my letter.

I need him.

I open the cabinet and find a bottle of scotch, but it slips
from my hand and crashes to the floor. The noise is loud and shattering, the
floor wet with alcohol and I collapse on my knees, crying, my tears mixing with
the mess in front of me.

How did it get this bad?

As I pass out I hear the doorbell go off. It keeps happening,
over and over, but I can’t move. It’ll stop and then it does.

I wake up in a pool of alcohol on my kitchen floor the next
morning, my head throbbing and my eyes burning, the sound of my phone ringing as
I try to locate it.

“Hello,” I answer groggy and disoriented.

“Jesus fucking christ, Campbell,” Jack shouts into my ear, and I
feel my stomach forced into my throat and my head split in two. “We have a
fucking meeting with Saxon about that merger in ten minutes and you aren’t
here.”

“Shit fuck,” I mumble, and Jack begins to yell again. I can’t
even begin to process it through this headache. “Stall,” I manage to get out as
I stumble to the bathroom before hanging up on him.

I down three ibuprofen and get in the shower knowing I can’t
show up to work smelling like a drunk. Who am I kidding? I am a drunk. A
borderline alcoholic. An alcoholic.

A sad thought crosses my mind as I stand under the water. In the
few days I spent with Benji, I didn’t need to drink. I didn’t need it to get
by, to fall asleep or forget. Maybe that says something. Maybe it says a lot.

I push it from my mind and finish getting ready. I haul ass into
the office, sucking on a million peppermints that I hope make me smell better
and keep the vomit at bay. I’m a fucking mess, but I really need to pull it
together.

I walk in only twenty minutes behind schedule with a fake smile
plastered on my face, greeting everyone as if I didn’t just spend last night
drinking myself stupid.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” I say noticing I’m the only woman in
the room. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic was horrendous.” I roll my eyes and
exaggerate my words as I sit down in the only empty chair.

I can function normally when I need to and it’s disgusting.

The meeting begins and the discussion goes along without any
problems. I see Jack rise from the table, excusing himself; he steps by my
chair, leaning down he whispers, “Thank you,” as he leaves the room.

I can’t help but feel a little bit pleased that at least someone
is happy in this situation. It certainly isn’t me.

I’m discussing the merging of two companies that I hope will
minimize the loss for both when I hear Claire’s voice call out, “I’m sorry,
sir, but you can’t go in there.” It catches me off guard and I wonder just who
she’s talking to. I immediately turn my attention to the door and everyone in
the room stops talking and does the same, and then I hear Jack’s voice loud and
booming.

“Holy shit, Benji Kennedy, what the hell are you doing here?”

My heart drops to the floor and I suddenly feel like I’m going
to be sick. This can’t be happening, not here, not now. I’m on my feet, staring
at where the voices are coming from.

“Campbell in here?” I hear Benji’s voice shout, and then the
door flies open and he’s standing there.

He looks like hell, not that I’m one to judge, and when he
storms over to where I’m standing, I panic.

“No!” I shout, and everyone in the room stands up. My heart is
racing like it’s going to tear through my chest at any moment, pounding against
my ribs almost painfully. “You can’t be here.”

“Campbell, no!” he shouts back, and I can feel my eyes fill with
tears of embarrassment and frustration but more than anything, I’m completely
shocked that he came. He came to find me. “I’m sorry,” he begs.

 
I shake my head. “You
can’t be here right now. I’m at work. This isn’t the place for this.”

I forgive him, I do, but not here, not like this.

“Please go, Benji.” I plead, walking toward the door with every
eye in the room on me. There must be something in my words that he hears,
because he listens, waking out of the conference room, leaving me alone.

I immediately regret everything that’s happened. I should’ve
told him I forgive him, that I love him and I’m sorry for everything that
happened while I was at his house. But none of it would transpire in my
confused and frazzled brain.

Seconds later Jack is in the room pulling me out the door.

“What was that?” he asks, the confusion in his voice pouring
through. “Do you need to leave?”

I shake my head quickly, not even thinking about what I’ve just
done. It’s my instant response to think about my fucking job over everything
else.
What is wrong with me?

“Go, Campbell,” Jack says, his hands on my shoulders as he gives
me a shake. “Go find him.” Although he’s still unsure of what is happening, he’s
pushing me, clearly aware that Benji has something to do with all of this.

“But…” I start to protest and he cuts me off.

“No. No more bullshit, Campbell. I don’t know what the fuck is
going on, but go.”

“Okay,” I stutter out as I walk to my office, confused and
trying to process everything.

I grab my bag and find myself starting to panic. What if I can’t
find him? Where did he go?

I pull my phone from my purse as I stab at the elevator button praying
for it to move faster. I get Benji’s voicemail and I leave a desperate and
disjointed message, begging him to call, asking where he is and telling him I’m
sorry and ending it with an awkward stuttered cry. I’m overwhelmed and unsure
of what the hell is going on.

I fly out the door of the building, the sidewalk and street a
sea of people and I scramble looking for Benji, but I don’t see him. This
shouldn’t surprise me; a city this large and I expected to find him
immediately, the thought is just ridiculous.

He’s gone. I’ve lost him again.

It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have behaved that way. Nothing is as
important as what I have with Benji, what we have together, and I just drove
him away.

I sit down on a bench outside the building as I catch my breath,
trying to settle myself down. I call him again, but I get no answer.

“Please, Benji,” I beg, as I leave another message. “Call me.
Tell me where you are. I’ll meet you there. I love you.” My sentences are short
and choppy, but hopefully getting my point across should he listen to my
message.

After a few minutes of staring at my phone, I hail a cab back to
my house. I was in no shape to drive to the office today and I’m glad I didn’t.
The encounter with Benji was both emotionally and physically exhausting and as
I fall into the cab, I start crying almost immediately.

The ride feels long and I check my phone obsessively, only to
find nothing. I need to get home to the quiet and comfort of my house. Everything
is accentuated, the city noise, the cab ride; I’m nauseous and I just want it
all to stop.
 

The cab pulls up to the front of my house and I pay the driver
without ever acknowledging him, and when I look out the window I see Benji
sitting on my front steps with his head in his hands.

I can’t get out of the cab fast enough.

Scrambling from the cab, I call his name and he looks up at me,
but his face is sullen and I long to hold him in my arms and tell him
everything is going be fine. We’re going to be fine.

Before I can even reach him, he’s standing in front of me,
grabbing me and pulling me into his arms.

“I know you hate me,” he says, and his voice sounds strangled. “But
I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be right now than with you.”

“I don’t hate you. I never have and I never could.” It kills me
that he thinks this. He’s all I have left of what was once my entire life,
everything I ever knew and loved. And he was the biggest part of that.

“You should,” he stutters out, and I can tell he’s on the verge
of tears. “After what I made you do. I made you leave the accident. You didn’t
want to and I made you.”

“Benji,” I say, taking his face in my hands. “You didn’t make me
do anything.” I’m shaking my head, again in disbelief that he considers this to
be true. We all made a choice that night, and whether we believe it was wrong
or right, there’s no going back now. The damage is done and I blame no one,
each of us equal partners in what occurred. But that doesn’t mean I don’t blame
myself for all the tragedy that came afterward.

I ran away from it all. I left Benji and Tommy alone and
grieving, never to wonder what it would do to them, never thinking about how
much they would struggle. I watched Kelly die a slow death, one that I could’ve
stopped, but I was too far gone at that point to intervene. If the blame falls
on anyone, it’s me.

“It’s my fault,” I tell him, finally getting it off my chest;
this thought that has dictated my life until now. It’s almost a relief to say
it out loud, but then I realize maybe we all blamed ourselves for some part in
all of this. I wouldn’t know, because I disappeared and it was never something
any of us dared to discuss with each other.

But that all needs to change now if Benji and I are truly going
to make this work. No more half-truths and avoidance, no more running and
disappearing; we need each other and we need to finally grow up and face what
happened.

“None of this is your fault,” Benji says sympathetically, and I rest
my head on his shoulder, his arms encircling me.

“Then none of this is your fault either.”

We stand holding onto each other for what feels like forever,
neither of us speaking, just standing in each other’s arms, finding the comfort
we both need. Benji presses a few kisses to the top of my head and each time
his lips connect, I feel myself shiver in his arms. His touch, the smell of his
body, everything about him is perfect and I’m not certain I would’ve lasted
another day without him.

With his lips next to my ear, he whispers, “I’m sorry my first
instinct was to push you away.”

“I want your first instinct to be to pull me closer,” I answer
back, my lips pressing a soft kiss to his neck.

“It will be. Always.”

It’s these words that correct everything that has been wrong
between us. He will always be my salvation, my redemption; the person I cling
to and the one who put my heart back together. I love him.

Benji’s hand slides into my hair and I trail my lips along his
cheek before finding his mouth. He pulls me closer and this kiss isn’t just about
finding each other again or the apologies, it’s for everything we both know we
did wrong over the last few days and the last nine years. It means so much.

As we separate, I take his hand in mine, leading him up the
steps and into my house.

Forgetting that I left in a hurry this morning and after the
night I had, the place is a mess.

“Jesus, Campbell, what happened?” he asks as he looks around.
The empty bottle of vodka lying next to my couch, the kitchen floor covered in
glass and spilled scotch, while the place smells like a liquor store.

“My life,” I tell him, and he lets out a long, slow breath as he
pulls a white envelope from his pocket. I catch it out of the corner of my eye
and I know immediately what it is.

“Alex?” I ask.

 
Benji nods his head.
“How’d you know?” he asks.

I saw Alex just before I was leaving Benji’s house after we had
the argument about him finding Tommy’s letter. I saw the flash of white in Alex’s
hand and for a fleeting second I thought it might have been a letter for Benji
from Tommy, but in that moment, it seemed ridiculous. Like I was holding onto
some false bit of hope that maybe a letter from Tommy would change Benji’s view
of all of this as it did mine.

“I saw Alex before I left and he was carrying something. Why did
Alex have your letter?” I ask, hoping it’s a letter from Tommy, one that should’ve
arrived and explained everything, so he didn’t have to find out through the
secret I was keeping from him. I didn’t want him to find my letter. I wanted to
be the one who told him Tommy had died. But something failed and he found out the
one way he shouldn’t have.

“All my mail gets delivered to the bar,” Benji explains. “We’re
the only houses outside the town limits and it’s always been that way.”

“Did you read it?”

“I did, but it took me a while. I wish you would’ve been there
when I did.” He stops talking, the envelope still in his hand. “I wish I would’ve
been there when you read yours,” he says, his tone hushed. I can hear the guilt
in his voice and I hate it.

He pulls my torn and taped letter from his pocket, handing it to
me. “This belongs to you,” he states, like he somehow knows I need it. Like he’s
returning it to me because it’s all I have left of Tommy. If anyone understands,
it’s Benji.

I take it from him and when I do, he takes his letter out of the
envelope and hands it to me, too.

I don’t want to know what it says, but I can tell by the look on
his face that he needs me to read it. My outstretched hand is already trembling
as I take it from his grasp and walk over to the couch. Benji sits down next to
me, his arm wrapping around my shoulders as he pulls me against his body, my
head resting in the crook of his shoulder.

My entire body is now shaking as I hold the letter in my hand.
My palms grow sweaty and my heart begins pounding and Benji tightens his hold
on me. It’s not like I’m scared of what the letter will say, I’m scared of all
the pain that will come with reading it.

I take a deep breath and open the letter, but my eyes are
closed. “It’s okay,” Benji whispers, encouraging me, but my eyes remain closed.

I feel Benji’s heart beating in his chest, I hear it, my ear
resting closely as I take another breath. I’m still, not moving, not thinking,
and in this stillness there is one sound: the sound of our pounding hearts
together.

And then there were two.

Without thinking anymore, I open my eyes, scanning the page
quickly, but never really reading what is written. The letter is short, just
like mine, and I find myself returning to the top and reading it. Slowly and
methodically, despite the feeling of emptiness that has taken hold of my body.
The tears spill from my eyes as I read each line.

Benji,

She’s falling apart. You’re
going to lose her too.

As much as she doesn’t want
to hear it, you need to tell her what happened. She needs you. You need each
other.

I love you both.

Tommy

I’m holding onto Benji’s shirt, my eyes foggy and flooded with
tears until I can’t see what is in front of me. The letter falls to my lap and
I bury my face in Benji’s chest. Once again I’m inundated with unanswered
questions and they float around in my head mindlessly.

How did he know I was falling apart? Would Benji have lost me
too?
 
Was I on the verge of doing
what Tommy and Kelly both did? I don’t even know anymore. My life had spiraled
out of control and I was no longer the one controlling it. I kept moving
forward with no real understanding of where I was going or what was happening. It
wasn’t until I got Tommy’s letter that I realized I needed to face it all or be
faced with losing Benji or myself.

But how did he know any of this?

I finally pull away from Benji and he wipes my tear-stained
cheeks and kisses me softly.

“We have a lot to talk about,” he says, and I nod my head.

It’s been a long time coming.

“You ready?” he asks, but I can see his anxiety coming through
loud and clear. His hands are now folded in his lap, but they aren’t still. He
reaches out and takes my hand and when he does, I can feel it shake in mine.

“Yes,” I say, but the answer is really no. I won’t ever be ready
for this.

Never.

“Tommy was the only one who knew what happened before and during
the accident,” Benji begins, but he stops and looks at me. We’re not sitting
apart, but the distance between us is small, it’s too much. I move closer to
him, my arms slipping around his waist, hugging him to me as I rest my head on
his shoulder.

“I love you,” I tell him, and even though it won’t make this any
easier, he needs to hear it. “I love you no matter what.” I mean it. Nothing he
says now or anytime after this will ever make me question how I feel about him.

“I know, Campbell and I’m not afraid of losing you anymore, but
everything I’m about to tell you is horrible and ugly, and it’s going to hurt
like hell.”

This is going to be a struggle for both of us, but this time we’re
together and I hope it will ease some of the pain that’s going to come with
reliving this.

“Before Sam even started the car Kelly had passed out,” Benji
begins and this is something I already know, yet he still includes this detail
and it’s not until he continues that I realize why. “As we started to drive
away, Tommy noticed she wasn’t wearing her seatbelt and he leaned forward and
put it on her.”

“Tommy saved her,” I murmur, a feeling of anxiety pooling in my
stomach.

I feel him nod against my hair. “He did, but I think there were
times he wished he didn’t.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate, I understand what he’s saying and
there’s nothing insensitive in his comment. Kelly was never the same after losing
Sam and all Tommy wanted was for Kelly to be happy, which is why he stayed in a
relationship with her where he had to share her with Sam. It was always about
her.

“Tommy saw everything, Campbell,” he says suddenly. “Sam was
speeding and so was the other car and when he came around the curve, he didn’t
even have time to brake. We collided head on with the other car.”

I didn’t really need to see this to know this is what happened. It
was easy to put together the logistics of it after looking at the scene. What
is still unknown is how we knew people had died and what made us all decide to
leave.

“You were unconscious for about five minutes after the accident,”
he starts to say, but I interrupt him.

“Did you think about leaving me there?” I ask, and he pulls away
from me, a look of shock on his face.

“No. Never. Not even once.” He swallows hard and takes my face
in his hands. “Campbell, I would never have left you there. I don’t want you to
ever think that.” He kisses my face, each time his lips touch my skin he says, “I
love you.”

What made me any different? Was it because I survived? He didn’t
have to stay; he didn’t have to save me from it all. But he did. He tried to
shelter me from it and even though all the secrets and lies are what drove us
apart, it’s going to be what heals us.

The thought still fresh in my head, I ask it even though it’s
strange and possibly self-absorbed, but I need to know. Why I was different
than Sam or the family in the other car. I realize I survived, but why didn’t he
just leave me?

“Why?” I ask. “Why didn’t you just leave me there?”

“I couldn’t, Campbell,” he says, and pauses a second, shaking
his head. He starts to speak and stops. “Honestly?” he questions, and I nod my
head. “Everyone else was dead and you weren’t. They didn’t know we left them.
You would’ve.” He looks away from me like he’s horrified at his answer, at his
honesty. “But it wasn’t just that. I loved you, Campbell. I still do.” He
swallows again and I see a tear roll down his cheek. “Even if you had died, I
wouldn’t have left you there,” he says quickly. “And that makes me a horrible
person. I left Sam without giving it a second thought, but had it been you…” He
trails off, unable to finish his thought and I understand.

As much as I fought Benji that day about leaving Sam, had it
been him, I wouldn’t have walked away. I couldn’t have left him either.

His honesty is disturbing, but it’s exactly what I expected. I
wouldn’t dare judge his choices because they were mine too.

“What I did still haunts me today. It’s one of those things that
if I could go back, I’d do it all differently,” he admits, and with each word
he speaks my heart breaks for him. All of the pain and hurt and the anguish we’ve
both kept buried is about to finally be revealed. And it’s obvious Benji knows
far more than I’ve ever been aware of.