by Ava Harrison
We walk side by side in what must be the most exceptionally beautiful November day in New York. Regardless of the strain between Pierce and me today, I have to admit all the stars have aligned for us. We got lucky. It’s the perfect day for our fun run fundraiser. The temperature of the air is a brisk fifty-nine degrees. Today’s the day that, in a former life, I would’ve walked from my Upper East Side apartment all the way to the Village. It’s warm enough that I’m only wearing a long-sleeved hoody and ankle-length running leggings. Leggings specifically bought to cover my scars. I’m wearing sneakers as well, but they’re just for show, as is my running outfit. I’ll obviously not be running today, and it makes my heart twist a little in my chest.
We make it to East Sixth Street. That’s where Carson has arranged with the city to hold the run. East River Park track is the perfect location. With children involved, we needed a secure location and it’s closed off enough to be safe.
When we enter and step onto the track, I see the children. Our Polaris children. I spot Christopher, Xavier, Toby. I spy Lynn and Carson in the far corner, and Bridget speaking to a news cameraman. She did a great job. Not only did she do everything super fast with regards to marketing, but she also had a publicist friend help us. The turnout is fantastic for the fun run, and we’ve already raised a ton of money from just sponsorship of the kids, almost three hundred fifty thousand dollars, which is much more than I expected. I wonder how much we’ll make from adult buy-in today. There was no specific amount to run, and there wasn’t a specific donation amount for a child to run, but many contributed well above what we expected. Pierce did an amazing job.
I squeeze his hand. “You did this,” I say.
“It was all you, babe.”
“Hardly.”
“It’s going to get even better.” He smirks and I’m taken aback by how sweet and calm he is. As if nothing happened yesterday. I expel a long exhale and try to let out all my pent-up anxiety. When my shoulders start to relax, I finally ask him what he’s talking about.
“How can it get better than raising almost three hundred fifty thousand dollars?”
“Well . . . by the end of the day, we’ll be closer to four hundred thousand dollars.”
I squint at him through the early morning sun gleaming in my eyes. “Why?”
“Well, I’m running, and I got a few people to join in last-minute, too. They all said they’d match my donation of twenty thousand dollars.”
My stomach bottoms out. He did this for me. After everything, he did this for me. For the first time since we woke up today, I smile, and then as the amount of money sinks in, I laugh. “Pierce, you can’t donate more money. Are you kidding?”
“Nothing you can say to stop me. I am and that’s final.” He crosses his hand in front of his chest as if to say there’s no arguing with him.
“But twenty thousand? You already donated two hundred fifty thousand dollars.”
“I guess you’re right. I’ll make it fifty thousand dollars. Got to keep the number even.”
I roll my eyes. There’s nothing to dissuade him once he’s got his mind made up, so I don’t even bother to try.
When we get to the running track, Amelia runs up to me and throws her hands around my neck. “Give them a chance,” she whispers in my ear. “They’re trying. If you need me I’ll be at registration.” After she jogs off, Pierce and I are left standing together looking up at my parents. He squeezes my hand, and within his tightened grasp, I know everything will be okay. Regardless of the strain on our relationship these past few days, he understands how stressful seeing them today could be, but also that them being here means more than words can say. So I let my lips part into a welcoming smile, allowing them to know it’s okay, that they can come talk to me.
Together, they walk up to us.
“Hey.” I shift my weight nervously, and I notice my mother has unshed tears in her eyes. I’m taken aback. Pierce extends his hand and introduces himself.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” my father responds for both of them before he addresses me. “We are so proud of you, Lindsey.”
“We are,” my mother agrees, wiping away a stray tear that has fallen. “Thank you for inviting us.”
“I’m happy you could both make it.”
“We wouldn’t miss it.” The tone in my father’s voice is sincere, and I know from the bottom of my heart after our last talk that my father means it. They wouldn’t miss it. “I also brought some friends.” He smiles as he points to registration. “Some big donors.”
“Are you serious?”
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. I wanted you to know that.”
“You guys being here . . .” I turn to my mother and reach my hand out. She encases my free hand in hers. “It means the world to me. Thank you.”
We stand and make small talk for a minute before they have to go. They couldn’t stay for the event, but it doesn’t matter. They came.
They came.
As soon as we’re alone again, a girl comes jogging up to Pierce, throwing her arms around him. All the muscles in my body become tense.
“Oh my God, Pierce. This is fantastic. I’m so happy you invited me. Look at the kids, they’re so cute,” she whines, and her voice grates on me.
Who is she? And why does she have her hands on my boyfriend?
“Hey, Josie. Thanks for coming,” he says to the blonde pawing at him.
“As if I’d miss it.”
I step forward and stretch out my hand. “Hi, nice to meet you.” It’s only then that Pierce remembers me.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Josie, this is Lindsey. Lindsey, Josie.” He doesn’t say I’m his girlfriend and suddenly I feel lightheaded. My weak legs threaten to crumble under the weight of my insecurities.
“Nice to meet you,” she says, then turns back to Pierce. “I’ve missed you. Where have you been? It’s been months. Not since the night we got arrested. No, that’s not true. We went out that night . . .” She drawls out the word with implication as she giggles.
Just as he’s about to answer, Carson walks up. “Hey, guys, the run’s about to start.”
Pierce turns to me. “I’ll be right back.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded. The night he got arrested? This is the girl who got handsy? And what did she mean that night? What night? Recently? Did he cheat on me?
Anger swells within me, and something stronger.
Jealousy.
An unfathomable jealousy.
She’s gorgeous.
Fit. And also, most importantly . . . not broken.
I know I shouldn’t ask, but I can’t keep my damn mouth shut. The need to torture myself and find out more about her twists in my gut. “It’s so nice of you to come,” I say to her.
“Of course. I’d do anything for Pierce.”
I bet you would.
“So . . .” I try to fill the awkward silence while being a glutton for punishment at the same time. Real smart idea. “Have you known Pierce for a long time?”
“Are you kidding?” She laughs, and her voice is like a dagger slicing and shredding everything inside of me. “Pierce and I dated all through high school,” she admits in triumph.
I feel sick. My heart aches as if it’s been pulled out from my chest and wrung out onto the pavement beneath my feet. The words she just said start to replay over and over again, like a recording skipping on repeat, and then a realization dawns on me . . .
He was arrested because his ex was getting handsy. And if that wasn’t bad enough, now she’s here, in front of me, flaunting how perfect she is. The worst part is he called her. No, the worst part is she’s drop dead gorgeous and he called her.
All my insecurities work their way through me, cutting and wounding me like a serrated knife. Digging into my flesh until I bleed. Pierce runs back over.
“Come on, Josie,” he says and together they jog away.
Stabbing pain.
From the outside, I stand unfazed, a fa
ke smile on my face, but on the inside, I break and crack. Invisible pieces of my soul smash to the floor as I watch them. Both beautiful. Both fit. Not broken. Not mangled.
Like me.
With each stride, my chest burns. Maybe it’s not the run at all. Maybe as my eyes scan the distance, I realize just how little my family cares.
No one is here.
Seeing Lindsey’s parents put aside their difference to support their daughter was a bitter pill to swallow. I’m happy for her, but jealous at the same time because no one is here to support me. My goddamn brothers couldn’t put their shit aside for long enough to support me in this. My father never came. Nor my mother. It’s just like when I graduated from high school. The day I realized I meant shit to them. It should have been the best day of my life, but instead, my world imploded when I realized everyone was too concerned about the drama with Grant and about changing the paperwork to leave a company to Spencer. They never showed up. No one came. I was the only person with no family. That was the day I realized the only person you can rely on is yourself. Years later and nothing has changed. They’re still not here for me.
You didn’t ask them.
I pick up my pace, running from the incessant voice in my head reminding me this is my fault. That they’re not here because I never personally invited them. But they don’t care. They knew and didn’t come.
Faster I run.
Burning. Beating. Breathing.
My muscles quake with the pressure of my strides. My brain aches from my thoughts. I hit my stride until there’s nothing left in front of me, nothing behind me. Nothing but the demons that chase me.
Finally crossing the finish line, I come to a halt and the wind smacks against my face. I look around and, in the distance, I see Lindsey. Calm falls over me. It’s unearthly how just seeing her makes it all go away. Makes all the pain dissipate.
She smiles but then as fast as her smile spreads it pulls back at the exact same second I feel arms around me. Someone kisses my cheek. I turn, pulling away, and find Josie standing there. She reaches out and touches me again, first on my arm and then on my chest.
“What’s wrong?”
I step back and cock my head. “What are you doing?”
“I thought you asked me to come here to be with you . . .” she trails off.
“To be with me?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Josie, listen to me. Hear what I’m saying. I asked you here to support children. To raise money for the children.”
“I mean, I know it’s for the children, but you ask me and—”
“I asked a lot of people,” I cut her off. “Josie, my girlfriend is raising money to open a boarding school for underprivileged children. My girlfriend,” I enunciate so she gets my full message. “There’s no you and me. We’re over. Hell, we have been over for a long time.”
“But that night—”
I raise my hands to silence her. “That night was the biggest mistake of my life. That night was a lifetime ago. Everything has changed since that night.”
I turn back around, looking for Lindsey, but she’s nowhere to be found. Shit. “I got to go.”
And that’s what I do. I jog off to find her. It takes me a few minutes, but eventually the crowd parts and I see her. Her shoulders are pulled back, and her head is held high. I’m no idiot, though. I can see it in her eyes. She’s hurt.
She keeps busy, not acknowledging me, just pretending I’m not standing in front of her. She won’t even make eye contact with me and it destroys me how much I hurt her. Eventually she’ll have to look at me, so I wait. But as the crowd dissipates and she says her goodbyes, she doesn’t look at me. Instead, she walks to the street to catch a cab.
With my hands outstretched, I stop her. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Home.”
“Without me?”
“You seemed rather busy,” she snaps back.
“Not what you think.”
Her jaw tics. “Oh, it’s not? So, that’s not the girl you were with? The one who got you arrested?”
“Well—”
“And she’s not your ex-girlfriend?”
“Girlfriend would be a stretch of the w—”
“Stop. Just stop.” She pushes past me and storms off.
“What’s wrong with you?” I call out.
She stops her pace and turns to look over her shoulder and glare at me. “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? First off, you made it sound like that girl was nothing to you.”
“She is nothing.”
“Then why were her h-hands,” she stutters and stops herself. Her face is red and blotchy, and I know she’s holding back tears.
“I didn’t welcome that.”
“You didn’t seem to mind. Not when she was getting handsy with you on the track.”
“She’s nothing. I don’t understand. Where is this all coming from?”
“I can’t compete,” she mutters under her breath as I walk toward her until I’m right in front of her.
“What does that even mean? There is no competition. She’s nothing and you’re everything. Haven’t you realized that yet? You’re fucking everything. You’re all I got. My fucking family . . .” I shake my head in an effort to control my rage. With a deep inhale followed by a longer exhale, I continue. “You’re my fucking everything. I would do everything for you, but it’s not enough. Nothing I do is ever enough. Now, I have you ranting and raving and talking crazy. Doubting me, for fuck’s sake. Will anyone ever take me seriously?” I hiss.
“Honestly, Lindsey, I get it. I understand, but I can’t deal with this right now. After everything I’ve been through this past month . . . Losing Linc.” I pull at my hair that’s damp with sweat. “I’m finally back in a good place. I took your shit yesterday, ’cause I knew you were nervous about today. But now, today . . . No. I don’t need this shit. Not when my family can’t even bother to fucking support me,” I snap before turning to go in the opposite direction.
She reaches out and halts my movement. “Please don’t walk away from me. Please talk to me,” she whispers.
I turn around and look at her. Our gazes lock. “What’s going on with you, Linds?”
Her upper lip nibbles on the lower one. “I just don’t understand why you’d be with me when you can have someone like her. Someone not so broken.”
“There’s no one else for me, okay? I know you’re self-conscious about your leg, but when are you going to realize I don’t give two shits whether you limp or if you have a million scars running down every surface of your skin? All I care about is you. What’s inside of you.”
“But you don’t know. You can’t know. You can’t know what it’s like to have people stare, to see the looks of disgust on their faces when they see how messed up you are. What do you know about being broken, Pierce?”
“This isn’t the right time,” I grunt.
“Then when?”
I expel a long exhale. “Come to my place.”
“Why?”
“Come to my place and I’ll show you.”
When we walk in the door, I turn to him and place my hand on my hip. “So, now that you got me here, why don’t you tell me why you know I’m not broken?” The tone of my voice is harsh, but I’m pissed. After the track today, I’m not in the mood for this. I want to go home to my own apartment and wallow in self-pity. But no, Pierce is taking me back to his place.
“You’re not broken, Lindsey.” He sighs.
“And how do you know?”
“Because I know broken, and trust me, you’re not. Come with me.” He leads me by my arm through his apartment, up a flight of stairs and into a lofted space. I expect him to stop in his studio, but instead, he pulls me through a door I’ve never seen before in the corner.
The first thing I notice is he has floor-to-ceiling windows and the view is spectacular. The second thing I notice is that this is fantastic. It’s like his own private gallery. I’m in awe o
f the space. Unlike the studio, which has large canvases on easels and paint splattered haphazardly on the floor, this room is its complete contrast. It’s white and pristine, the only color coming from the painting hanging from the wall.
I move closer to look and the wind is knocked out of me. The images on the canvas are all different. Some are buildings, some are flowers, some people, one is a room that resembles a nightclub and inside that room are two men. What catches my attention is the one man caught in the shadows, he has black eyes that are so dark they send a chill up my spine. With a deep breath I turn to the next painting; it’s actually of him. But that’s not what makes my chest lurch. What makes my chest wobble and pitch is the pattern I see.
“All the sketches, all those untold stories, everything I see . . . I look for broken. I search for it everywhere.”
Each painting, each image, appears as if it’s broken glass. Every one of his paintings are broken. Not the canvas itself, but the images he painted. The building looks like glass, hundreds of shards of glass. The flower looks like it’s been smashed into pieces. The people . . . broken.
And then there’s the painting of him. A tear drips down my cheek. He’s beautiful in the picture but also severed into a million beautiful broken pieces of himself. His image on the canvas looks like rigid edges, tarnished pieces.
He knows broken.
He believes he’s broken. He believes he’s like me.
I step forward, water cascading down my cheeks. “You’re not broken. You’re beautiful.”
“But I am.”
“I don’t understand. Why? I understand you lost Linc, but this is more. These paintings are not just because of Linc. Why do you see yourself as broken? Nothing is wrong with you.”
“There doesn’t need to be anything wrong to be broken. You can appear to be perfect, but inside . . . ”
His words hang over me like a billow of smoke during a fire. They clog my lungs, making it hard to breathe. I might be physically broken, but he’s mentally broken and that I can understand. For so long I’ve been that way, too. For so long I used my vices to hide my hurt.