The Elements Series Complete Box Set

by Brittainy Cherry

  “You bitch!” Cheryl screamed, barging into my bedroom as I changed into my pajama pants. My arms yanked my pants up and I stumbled backward, taken aback. Her mascara raced down her face with her tears and her red lipstick was smeared. The bottom of her dress looked as if it had been dragged through grass, and her eyes were wide. “I can’t believe you! I can’t fucking believe you told them!” she screamed.

  I blinked once, confused. Told who what?

  “Oh, don’t give me that innocent shit.” She laughed hysterically, and from her laughter, I could tell she was on something; her eyes were too wild to not be. “It’s actually ridiculous that anyone buys into the bullshit you push when really you’re a monster! I can’t believe you told Mom and Dad about what happened with Jordan yesterday!”

  My lips parted, but no words came out, which pissed her off more. I hurried over to pick up a piece of paper and a pen, to write that I hadn’t told our parents, but she slapped it out of my hands.

  “What the hell is wrong with you? Why the hell do you open your mouth if you’re not going to say anything? And what’s the point of writing on paper? That’s the same as talking, Maggie! Just use your fucking voice, freak!”

  My body started trembling as her rage escalated. She headed for the walls of my bedroom and started knocking over all my perfectly-lined-up books. She threw them around the room, infuriated, and began ripping pages out of them. “How do you like that? Huh? How do you like someone screwing with your life, the way you screwed with mine?”

  I’d never seen her so mad, so pissed off. “Dad showed up to prom and cussed Jordan out. I was fucking mortified. But that’s not all—no. Before I was embarrassed in front of the whole student body, I tried to kiss Brooks, and he said he couldn’t. You know why?” She laughed wickedly, picked up one of my novels and started ripping pages out. I rushed at her to try to stop her, but she was stronger than me. “Because he said he had feelings for you. For you! Can you believe that? Because I couldn’t. Why would anyone ever want you? What are you going to do? Date him and never leave the house? Are you going to have romantic dinners in the living room? Travel the world on the Discovery Channel in the living room? You’re not worthy of Brooks. You’re not worthy of shit.”

  “Cheryl!” Daddy shouted, rushing upstairs. “Go to your room.”

  “Are you kidding me? She gets to ruin my life and I’m the one who gets in trouble?”

  “Cheryl,” Daddy growled. He never lost his temper. “Go to your room. Now. You’re drunk and high, and you’re going to regret what you did to your sister in the morning.”

  “She’s not my sister,” Cheryl snapped back at Daddy before dropping the remaining pages of the novel in her grip. “I wish you had stayed lost in those woods.” She pushed past Daddy and hissed, “And you’re not my father.”

  I saw it happen: a part of my father’s heart shattering.

  He bent down to start picking up my novels, and I placed my hand on his arm to stop him.

  He felt my shaking, and I felt his.

  His fingers brushed against his temple and he let out a harsh breath. “Are you all right?”

  I nodded slowly.

  He shook his head. “Your mom found the note crumpled in Cheryl’s room. We told her that, but she was too drunk to comprehend anything. Brooks was already trying to get her to come home, but she stormed off with Jordan before we could get her to listen, and I guess she beat us home.” He took off his glasses, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “I should’ve driven home faster, then she couldn’t have taken her anger out on you, or destroyed your room like this.” His eyes watered. “Your books.”

  I took his hand and squeezed it once. No. Not his fault.

  “Let me help you clean up this mess.”

  I squeezed his hand once more. No.

  He gave me a broken smile and pulled me into a hug. He kissed my forehead and said, “The world keeps spinning because your heartbeats exist.”

  I wanted to believe him, I did, but that night the world had crashed because of my heartbeats.

  “Holy crap,” Brooks murmured, as he stood in my doorway later that night. His tie was hanging loosely around his shoulders and his hands were stuffed in the pockets of his slacks. I’d been sitting in the middle of my floor, surrounded by my novels and the torn pages. It was impossible to find the right pieces to go to the right stories.

  They were all destroyed.

  My eyes locked with Brooks’, and seeing the hurt in his eyes made me realize how bad everything actually looked. I was sitting in the middle of a puzzle of tales, and I hadn’t a clue how to connect the pieces.

  He frowned. “Are you okay, Magnet?”

  I shook my head.

  “Can I come in?”

  I nodded.

  He walked around the books, tiptoeing to avoid stepping on any of their spines. “It’s not that bad.”

  Liar.

  When he gasped, my stare fell to his hands, where he held my journal. “Oh no…” he said softly.

  My emotions took over.

  My to-do list—it was completely destroyed. Dozens and dozens of adventures I hoped to one day experience were ruined, and I couldn’t help but to burst into tears. I knew it seemed dramatic, but those books, those characters—they were my friends, my safe haven, my protection.

  That list was my promise of tomorrow.

  And now I had nothing.

  It only took seconds before Brooks’ arms were wrapped around me tight, and I fell against his chest, sobbing. “You’re gonna be okay, Maggie,” he whispered. It was a promise that felt empty. “You’re just tired. We’ll fix this in the morning. Everything’s okay.”

  He led me to my bed and laid me down then began scrambling around my room, digging through the piles of books. When he found one that wasn’t damaged, he sat on the floor beside my bed and opened it to the first page. He bent his legs up and rested the book on his knee. Then he unbuttoned his cuffs, rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, and finally picked the book back up.

  “The Walk Home,” he said, reading the title. “Chapter One. Lauren Sue Lock wasn’t having an upbeat day…”

  He read to me as I cried uncontrollably. He read to me as my tears slowed. He read to me as my racing heartbeat calmed. He read to me as my eyes grew heavy. He read to me as I fell asleep.

  I dreamed of his voice reading to me some more.

  When I woke the next morning, he was gone. As I climbed out of my bed, parts of me wondered if he had truly been there at all, but he’d left enough evidence to tell me of our night.

  Every book was placed back around the perimeter of the bedroom, going from reds to purples. Every book was carefully taped back together. On my desk was my to-do list, resting inside my journal, damaged, yet somehow more whole than before.

  Resting on top of the journal was a Post-it note that read, You’re okay today, Maggie May Riley.

  I loved him.

  I wasn’t certain when it had happened. I wasn’t certain if it was a group of moments collected over time or simply the heroic act he’d performed while I was sleeping, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter when, or why, or how it had happened. It didn’t matter how many moments gathered together to form the love. It didn’t matter if it was right or wrong.

  Love didn’t come with guidelines. It flowed into a person with only hope as its current. There wasn’t a list of rules to follow, making sure you cared for it correctly. It didn’t give you instructions to keep it pure. It simply showed up quietly, praying you wouldn’t let it slip away.

  12

  Brooks

  There was something to be said about timing. Getting the timing right in any situation was always important. Saying the right things at the right moments, making the right choices when choices had to be made. As I walked up to Maggie’s room, my chest was tight. As I’d spent the time taping all the pieces of her books together, I hadn’t been able to stop wondering what she’d think when she woke the next morning. I wa
nted to make her smile. If I could only do one thing for the rest of my life, it would be to make her smile, and it was time for her to know that, to know how I felt. How when we were together, she was always on the forefront of my mind. How when we were apart, that was where she remained.

  “I wanted to return your book last night, but I really needed to see what happened to Lauren Sue Lock. Plus, I got you a new dry-erase board,” I said, standing in Maggie’s doorway. “You okay today, Mag—”

  Before the words could leave my mouth, Maggie rushed over to me and pressed her lips against mine. I stumbled backward into the hallway, catching her in my arms. I didn’t question her kiss; I fell into it. I allowed her to kiss me as I kissed her more. When she pulled back a bit, I combed her long hair behind her ears.

  She blushed, and I kissed her cheeks. She lowered her stare, and my fingers went under her chin to lift it up. I kissed her cheeks again. Then her forehead. Then her nose. Then every invisible freckle that trailed across her face.

  Then, her lips. “Good afternoon, Maggie May.”

  She smiled at me and kissed my cheeks. Then my forehead. Then my nose. Then every invisible freckle that trailed across my face.

  Then, my lips.

  I imagined her saying it to me, too. Good afternoon, Brooks Tyler.

  She took my hands in hers and walked backward, leading us into her bedroom. When we were inside, I kicked the door closed.

  For a while we were stupid and silly, simply staring and smiling. We kissed, too; that might’ve been my favorite part. Her finger danced across my shoulder blade and she studied my body, as if I were real. Her fingers moved down my arms, then down my sides, before traveling up my chest. She laid her palm against my chest, feeling my heartbeat.

  “For you,” I said.

  She blushed some more, and I kissed her cheeks some more, too. I took my finger, moving it across her collarbone, down her sides, back up her sides, and then moving my palm to her heartbeat.

  She bit her bottom lip and held up four fingers then pointed at me. For me.

  Her heartbeats were made for me, and mine for hers.

  “I like you.”

  She pointed to herself then held up two fingers. Me too.

  “Date me?” I asked.

  She stepped backward, almost shocked by my words. She shook her head.

  I stepped toward her. “Date me?” I asked again.

  She stepped backward again, shaking her head.

  “Stop saying no, please? It’s kind of a punch to my confidence.”

  She shrugged her shoulders and moved to her desk where she picked up a notebook and started writing.

  How?

  “How? How what? How do we date?”

  Yes.

  “Well, like anyone dates, I guess.”

  How do you date other people? How did you date your ex-girlfriends?

  “I don’t know, hung out with them a lot. Some liked to go shopping, to the movies, to…” My words trailed off. She frowned. The way I had dated in the past wasn’t the way I could date Maggie. “Oh. I get it, but I’m not trying to date them. I’m trying to date you. However that works, I want to do it. I want to be around you. I want to kiss you. I want to hold you. I want to see you smile. Plus”—I held up her journal—“dating is on your list.”

  She shook her head.

  “Maggie, I taped this book together piece by piece for over five hours. I think I know what’s in your journal.” I flipped through the pages and held it out toward her when I found it. “Number fifty-six: date Brooks Tyler Griffin, from The Book of Brooks.”

  A sly smile found her. I didn’t write that.

  I shrugged. “Listen, you don’t have to be embarrassed. I’m flattered. Even though I didn’t create the list, I’m here to make you follow it. Heck, if I’d known you were so madly infatuated with me, I would’ve started dating you years ago.”

  She cocked an eyebrow and slammed her hands on her hips, and I knew exactly what she was thinking.

  “Okay, to be fair, when we were eight and you planned our wedding, I was at the age where I hated girls. You can’t hold that against me.”

  She quietly chuckled and rolled her eyes. I loved that. I loved when she laughed, even though it was so quiet. It was the closest thing I had to her voice.

  “See that? We have this thing where I know what you’re thinking without you even talking. You’re my best friend, Maggie. If dating you means spending every night in this house with you, then I’d be the luckiest guy in the world.” I combed her hair behind her ear. “So I’m going to ask you one more time: will you be my girlfriend?”

  She shook her head, laughing, but then started nodding and shrugged. I could hear the words she didn’t speak so clearly. I mean, whatever, Brooks. I guess I’ll date you.

  Message fully received.

  We moved over to her bed, fell on it backward, and I pulled out my iPod for our first official couple song. “Fever Dreaming” by No Age. The song was loud and fast-paced, everything a dating song shouldn’t have been. I was going to switch it, but Maggie started tapping her fingers against the bed. Then her foot started tapping against the floor, and my fingers and feet followed her direction as the drums kicked in. Seconds later, we were standing, jumping up and down, rocking out to the music. My heart was racing as we stood so close to one another and jammed out to the song. When it was over, our breaths were heavy. Maggie reached for her marker and wrote on her board.

  Again?

  I played the song again, and again. We danced, and danced until our heart rates were high and our breaths were short.

  Our timing was so great that night.

  Our timing was finally right.

  Every day that passed with Maggie felt right.

  Every hand hold felt warm.

  Every kiss felt real.

  Every hug was perfect, except for when they weren’t.

  It wasn’t often that things weren’t perfect between Maggie and me, but if I was being honest, some days were tough.

  Dating Maggie was one of the best decisions I’d ever made, but that didn’t mean it was always easy. Even so, it was still always right. The more time I spent with her, the more I noticed the small things no one else noticed about her—like how the sound of running water made her flinch, or how when someone touched her when her back was turned, she’d jump out of her skin. Or how when more than two people were in a room, she melted into the corners, or how sometimes when we’d sit and watch movies, tears fell down her cheeks.

  “Why are you crying?” I asked.

  Her fingers grazed her eyes and she seemed surprised by the tears. Wiping them away, she gave me a tight smile and held her anchor necklace in her hand.

  Then, there were her panic attacks.

  In all my years of knowing Maggie, I’d never known about the panics.

  She kept them hidden, and to herself. The only reason I knew they existed was because some nights I’d sneak into her room for a sleepover. Sometimes she’d fall asleep, and she’d twist and turn so much I swore her nightmares were going to give her a heart attack. When I woke her, her eyes were wide, horrified, as if she didn’t know who I was when I touched her.

  She crawled into a ball and covered her ears as if she were hearing voices that didn’t exist. Her body was covered in sweat, her hands trembled, and her breaths were heavy. Sometimes her fingers wrapped around her throat and her breaths were short and erratic.

  Whenever I tried to dive deeper into her mind, she pushed me away. We’d have fights where I was the only one shouting. Fighting with someone who didn’t fight back was worse than fighting with someone who threw chairs. You felt hopeless, as if screaming at a stone wall. “Say something!” I begged. “React!” But she always stayed calm, which only pissed me off more.

  It drove me mad, trying to discover what was still eating at her all these years later.

  It drove me mad that I couldn’t fix her hurts.

  I’d dated quite a few girls before her,
and it had always seemed easy. I figured if I had things to talk about with them, that meant we were a match. If we liked the same hobbies, we were supposed to be together. I never struggled with not knowing what to say in my past relationships; we always talked, sometimes for hours. When it came to silence, it always felt off. I was always searching for the next thing to say, the next conversation.

  It wasn’t that way with Maggie. She didn’t respond to words.

  During her most recent panic attack, I figured out how to help her. Before, when I screamed at her, demanding for her to let me into her head, it never worked. When I begged for understanding, she pushed further away.

  Music would help. Music could help. I knew it could. Music was the one thing that always helped me. As she sat on her bed crying, I shut off her bedroom light and turned on my iPod, playing “To Be Alone With You” by Sufjan Stevens.

  It didn’t help her the first time it played, or the second, but I sat quietly, waiting for her breathing to come back to normal.

  “You’re okay, Magnet,” I’d say every now and then, unsure if she could even hear me, but hoping she did.

  When she finally came around, the song was on its eleventh loop.

  She wiped her eyes and went to grab a piece of paper, but I shook my head and patted a spot on the floor beside me.

  She didn’t have to offer me any words.

  Sometimes words were more empty than silence.

  She sat across from me with her legs crossed. I shut off my music. “Five minutes,” I whispered, holding my hands out to her. “Just five minutes.”

  She placed her hands in mine, and we sat completely still and quiet, staring into each other’s eyes for five minutes. The first minute we did it we couldn’t stop laughing. It felt a bit ridiculous. The second minute, we snickered some more. By minute three, Maggie started to cry. By four, we cried together, because nothing hurt more than seeing her eyes so sad. By the fifth minute, we smiled.

  She released a breath she’d been holding, and I let go of mine.