“Watching Luke leave for prom.” I can’t hide the tear tracks down my cheeks, but I wouldn’t try anyway. My mom is my best friend, besides Luke.
“Want to talk about it?” I have to bite my tongue because my natural reaction is to spout off some sarcastic backhanded remark, but she doesn’t deserve that.
“Nothing to talk about, Mom. He took Katie Daniels to prom. We both know why. I’ll spare you the details. He did throw me a bone and tell me if I want him to take me to my prom, he will.” Those words turn my stomach more than the toxins they had to shoot through my veins to kill the cancer. He offered me a fucking pity date, and stupidly I can picture us at my senior prom, slow dancing, and whispering our love to one another. Well, I can’t picture it exactly, but I can dream about it. I have actually dreamed about it, every night for the last three years, except it was supposed to happen tonight, at his prom. Then I was going to wait for him while he went away to college and see him on weekends and holidays. I had it all worked out in my mind, but those fantasies will never come to fruition.
“Phoebe, you know he’s a senior, and you’re only a sophomore. You have so much ahead of you. Luke’s a good boy. He doesn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Well, you know what they say, the path to hell is paved with good intentions.” She just shakes her head at me. She’s going to let me stew in my bitterness and pain, the only way I know how. In the dance studio.
“Let me get my keys. I’ll take you to the studio.” My mom’s the best. I have a feeling she did the same thing I do to work through issues. Block out the pain, the memories . . . block out the world and pour it into your dance.
She drops me off with the promise to be back in a few hours, but makes me swear I won’t overdo it. After making sure that my cell phone is on and fully charged, and that there is plenty of water in the mini fridge in the office, she finally locks the door behind her and blows me a kiss. I make my way over to the stereo. I glance at all my choices knowing the stack to avoid. I don’t want to listen to his music tonight and think about trashing them, but I can’t take that step tonight. I pick the first one up and remember the day he recorded it for me. I loved the song ‘Chains’ by Nick Jonas, but I needed it slowed down for a lyrical dance. Luke picked up his guitar, sat down, perfected the tempo I needed, and when he added his voice I wondered how I would make it through the steps without falling flat on my face. When he’s near me, any part of him, he tends to become my sole focus. His voice is smooth, yet raspy. It awakens my body in a way I‘ve never experienced. Not through dancing or music, not through pining away for him for years, but once he sang for me, it was like a revelation for my soul.
As much as I want to toss every single song he has made for me, I won’t. His voice, the lyrics, and my dance, they all sweep over my soul and allow me to get lost; to pour out all the anguish, confusion, pain, and joy in my system. I do a few warm-ups and then turn up the volume as loud as I can. Once the first beat blares through, I begin to move. I pirouette, I leap, I arabesque, I balance on point, my steps never retreating, never slowing down. I am comfortable in the studio, almost as comfortable as I am with Luke. Stop! He can’t penetrate my thoughts. I push myself harder, and before I know it I’m drenched in sweat, heaving for breaths, and utterly exhausted. I look at the clock and realize it has been over three hours, and I then notice my mom watching me.
“Adagio.” She applauds. In the dance world that basically means you kicked ass, flawlessly danced with grace and elegance. I just shake my head at her and allow a smile to cross my lips. It felt good, purging my soul and regaining a balance in my mind and my heart.
“One day, I’ll be as good as you, Mom.”
“Oh baby, you’ve long since surpassed me. You’re going to shine on stage. The ballet companies are going to be beating our doors down when you perform next year.”
“Not my dream, you know this.” It doesn’t matter how many times I tell her I don’t want my name in lights. I want a home, family, stability . . . not the crazy tours, schedules, diets, conditioning, and asshole directors. I will always dance, I need it as much as I need oxygen, but I want to do it for me, not for fame or other’s entertainment. That isn’t who I am, and I know my mom’s a little disappointed. She dreamed of dancing with the American Ballet Theatre but it wasn’t meant to be. I don’t think she’s ever let that dream go. I hate to break it to her, but that ship isn’t sailing over here.
“I know, Phoebe. And you know I will support you no matter what. I just hate for your talent to go to waste.”
“It won’t. I’ll help you at the studio. Pass on that ambition and love for dance to another little girl looking to find herself. You know, like you and Dad taught me, pay it forward.”
She just smiles at me and nods toward the door. I make sure everything’s turned off in the room, and follow her out so she can set the alarm and lock up. I grin as I remind myself in just five more months I’ll be sixteen, and won’t have to depend on her to take me to the studio. I’ll have some freedom. Then I remember Luke won’t be here, but at college in South Carolina. Maybe not seeing him every day will be what I need, let some of this resentment and confusion heal. If that’s the right answer then why does my chest hurt thinking about it? There hasn’t been a day in over eleven years that I haven’t seen Luke; we’ve even taken every vacation together. Since our first meeting when he told me he would be my superhero and would cure my cancer, he has been my everything. Logically, I know he didn’t cure my cancer, but sometimes I feel like without his support, I wouldn’t have made it. I owe him so much, and everything I have I want to give to him, willingly. Not out of gratitude or debt, but just because I love him that much.
I guess time will tell what will happen to us, being in different states, and at different junctures in our lives. I know wherever we end up, he will always keep a piece of my heart, and without him and that missing piece, I don’t think I’ll ever be whole again.
Chapter 3
Luke
I know beyond a shadow of a doubt I made a huge mistake. I knew it as soon as I saw Phoebe crying as I climbed into the limo. The night only got worse as Katie clung to me. Every time we shared a dance, I wanted it to be Phoebe in my arms. I decided to try and make it up to her by bringing her the chocolate glazed donuts she loves.
She answers my knock on her bedroom door with a muffled, “Come in.” Clearly, I’m not who she’s expecting because her jaw falls open as she narrows her beautiful eyes at me. I hold up the donuts stupidly like they’re a peace treaty.
“Good morning, Twinkle.” I give her my best smile. The one I used on Katie last night when I got laid. Not my finest moment, but I am sure it won’t be my last mistake. I keep reminding myself of the end game.
Rolling her eyes at me, she snaps, “Don’t Twinkle me. My name’s Phoebe, Lucas.”
She’s more pissed than I was betting on. Lucas. I am never Lucas. “I know your name, but you are my Twinkle. Always will be.”
“I am not your anything. Don’t get it twisted. How was prom?” Her voice is laced with venom and sarcasm.
“You’re really that mad over prom?” Wrong question if her throwing her pillow on the floor is any indication.
“Not just prom, Lucas. Everything. You ignore me unless I fit into your schedule, and it’s been like this the last year. I am tired of playing second fiddle to your dick, your senior year, and your life in general; it’s about time I get a life of my own.” Her outburst shocks me.
“You’re always my priority. Don’t doubt that.” I know things have changed. Our dynamic is shifting, but she’s acting like I never make time for her. Everything I do is for her.
She chuckles at me. “Delusional, much?” When she drops her head and won’t look me in the eyes, I know the conversation is over.
“Phoebe . . .” I try one more time. I get nothing. Shit! I leave in seven weeks, and I can’t go without her being all right. Without us being all right. “Fuck it.” I turn on my heel and walk
out of her room.
Once I reach the kitchen, I greet her parents before heading to the door. I drop the donuts on the counter and give them a weak smile.
“Lucas,” Mr. Wells stops me.
“Sir?”
“I appreciate what you are doing. Don’t think it doesn’t go unnoticed.”
“By her, it does,” I admit to him.
“She’s in love. She thinks it is the forever kind, but she doesn’t see the big picture. Give her time. Let her experience life and learn her own lessons.”
“No disrespect, but it is the forever kind. Don’t misjudge what I am doing by letting her gain some experiences and perspective as a forever thing. It’s just for now.” I need to make my intentions clear.
“I know that, son. I meant she isn’t looking at a few years down the road. She wants instant gratification. That won’t work, and I respect you more than you know for having the best interest of my little girl at heart.”
“I always will.”
“We need to have a meeting before you leave. I know you have some time left. Just schedule an appointment with my office before you leave. Go. Enjoy your summer. She’ll get over her fit.” He smiles at me and shakes his head, mumbling under his breath, “Women.” No shit.
I hope he’s right and she gets over her anger towards me, but I know her. It isn’t her anger fueling this rift between us, it’s hurt. I would take her anger any day over her pain. I wish I could kick my own ass for hurting her. I can’t, and I know when the time comes I’ll make up for every tear she’s cried, for every ounce of pain I’ve caused her. I will give her a thousand smiles and happy memories. Sometimes doing the right thing sucks, causes unwarranted feelings and doubts. I wish I could say screw being the noble guy, but that isn’t what’s best for Phoebe, so I’ll continue to follow the plan.
Day Two of Phoebe not talking to me: Bullshit. This whole temper tantrum she’s throwing is complete and utter bullshit. I’ve stuck close to home and am constantly doing things outside so I don’t miss her. I think I have the cleanest truck in all of Georgia, but she still hasn’t ventured out to talk to me. I watch her window like a creep-ass Peeping Tom and haven’t even caught a glimpse of her. She’s ignoring my texts, phone calls, and Facebook messages . . . radio silence is what I am getting from her stubborn ass. I’m about two seconds from beating on her door and demanding she talk to me, but that plan is thwarted when a car pulls up in her driveway and a group of girls get out, then ambush her front door. I’ve seen them around school, but I don’t pay attention to other sophomores, so I don’t know their names. The noise dies when Emily sweeps them in the front door. She gives me a sheepish wave and smile when she notices me stalking her house. I lift my hand back in greeting, but my gaze never leaves her front door. I have never not known what is going on with her, who she’s hanging out with, her plans . . . being on the outs with her is driving me insane.
Fifteen minutes later when the front door flies open and Phoebe is now in the group of girls making their way down the walkway to the car, my heart speeds up. Where the hell is she going? Why is she dressed like she’s leaving for the night? I don’t see a bag in her hand, so I know she’ll be home by curfew. This shit stops here; she will be speaking with me sooner rather than later. Before she crawls in the backseat she looks over her shoulder, and her eyes collide with my penetrating stare. I see her shock, then indifference crosses her face as she climbs in and never looks back. I hear the radio turn on and the car speed off. I am livid. She just fucking dismissed me like I don’t matter. That hurts, and she did it on purpose. She isn’t that cruel person, and knowing how much pain I’ve inflicted on her, but not knowing exactly what I did, is causing a burning sensation in my chest and a raging inferno in my stomach.
I pace back and forth in my driveway, formulating a plan and trying to figure out how I am going to pull it off. When Mr. and Mrs. Wells walk out of their house hand-in-hand, I know exactly how I can execute it. I wait until their car disappears out of sight and rush back in my house and quickly shower. I throw on some basketball shorts and t-shirt. I don’t have much time to dick around because I don’t know what my window of opportunity is. I grab the spare key and hurry across our yards, slip inside, and up to her room to wait on her. I have no clue what I am going to say, but I know I won’t leave until we work this shit out. Enough is enough.
I hear her parents return, and not shortly after, Phoebe comes home. I hear her rendition of the evening as she tells her parents about the movie she saw, who she hung out with, and that she’s going to the lake with them tomorrow. What? She hates the lake. She’s always said the only place she’ll get in the water is a pool where she can see her feet. When we take the boat out we always have to pull up to the dock so she can go to the bathroom because she refuses to jump in the water like a normal person.
“Hey, Twinkle,” I say as she opens her door. I sure hope she doesn’t scream from being startled because then all my plans are going out the window, probably followed by my body if her dad catches me up here. Luckily, she just jumps and covers her mouth to muffle her shout.
“What are you doing here?” I notice she still hasn’t come all the way in the room, so I make my way around her and gently pull her in the door and shut it. She quickly yanks her hand away. I hate it. She never refused my touch before, and damn it, she can’t start now. Not when we are so close.
“I’m here for you. We need to talk.”
“So talk.” Her bitchiness is totally out of character.
“What’s your issue, Phoebe? This can’t all be about prom. I explained it to you already. I don’t know what else to say or do.” I’m desperate.
“I told you the other day; it isn’t just about prom. It’s a whole bunch of shit, and it’s become too much. I can’t compete with your life and your conquests anymore. I realize that now, so yeah, I acted like a bitch. I was hurt. I’m fine now. Promise. Just branching out.” She shrugs at me.
“Is that what tonight was? Branching out? And what conquests are you talking about?” She’s giving me whiplash here.
“Yes, tonight was about starting my high school life. Making and bonding with new friends. And Katie Daniels . . . need I say more? I saw your prom pictures. Oh, and did you know that she’s now considering transferring to the University of South Carolina because apparently her prom date “rocked her world,” and she doesn’t want to give him up?”
I’m speechless. I have no clue what she is talking about. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Doesn’t matter, Luke. I just hope you wrap it before you tap it. She isn’t exactly known for her virginal ways, but then of course you already know that.”
“It does matter, Twinkle. You matter, your feelings, your thoughts, and every part of you matters to me.”
“Maybe, but not like you matter to me. I love you. Like really love you, and you offered me a pity date, went off and fucked another girl at prom, your senior prom. If I mattered, if you felt half of what I feel for you, then it would have been me in your arms; it would have been me under you that night. It would have been me, and it wasn’t. It never is.” Her voice cracks, and it’s my undoing. I can’t stand to hear her doubt what she means to me.
“It’s always you, Phoebe. It’s all for you.” I pray she can hear the conviction in my voice and see the love I have for her.
“Prove it,” she dares me.
“How? I’ll do anything.”
“Kiss me. Kiss me and mean it.” Her whisper is barely audible.
I shouldn’t, I know one taste will just make me crave more, but I also don’t want her to doubt a thing I just said to her. I’m screwed either way. I want to be selfish, yet selfless at the same time. Those two actions don’t go together, and I have to make a decision. I can see her shutting down in front of me. Can I do this and walk away? Can I walk away without doing this and risk her hating me? All my carefully crafted plans are swirling around in the recesses of my mind; remember your plan, don’t rush h
er, don’t hurt her, let her live, and gain some insight into life, don’t stray away from what could be your lifetime . . . yet one thing is more prominent in my head. I love Phoebe Wells, and she is offering me, no pleading with me, to kiss her.
Chapter 4
Phoebe
I know asking him to kiss me is a desperate move, but I’m a desperate girl. I need to feel him. I want to know he isn’t slipping away from me. I see his internal struggle, his eyes flash hope, yet they turn to anguish in the next heartbeat. He’s tugging at his beautiful caramel colored hair that needs a haircut. The messy look works for him. I stare into the emerald abyss of his eyes, trying to see if one emotion shows more than the others, but all he’s giving me is uncertainty. I feel like a fool. I just asked my best friend, the boy I have secretly been in love with my entire life, to kiss me. That’s almost as bad as his pity offer to be my prom date. God, I’m that girl. Before I can move to turn away from him, he places his palm gently on my face, curving it to fit around my chin and cheek. Slowly, he inches his face towards mine. I hold my breath. Is he really going to kiss me? Does he really want to? My brain is clouded with doubt, but before I can work them out his lips are on mine. Gentle. Just a whisper, a brush of his lips he kisses me. Once. Twice. On his third taste, he traces my lips with his tongue, and I immediately go to lick off the moisture he left. Any essence of him I want on me. He takes that gesture and meets my tongue, licking, sucking; finally pushing it inside my mouth. Not a deep plunge, but a soft caress against my tongue. I have never felt anything like it. A tingle floats down my spine, and I instinctively push up on my toes, but I can’t get close enough. He wraps one arm around my waist and effortlessly lifts me up while still holding on to the side of my face. In this moment, I feel treasured. I feel like I’m part of him. It will always be Luke and Phoebe. My dreams are coming true. Then just as gently as he started, he ends the kiss, and my dreams shatter around my feet as he utters the words, “This can’t change anything, Phoebe.”
Brisé Page 2