Wounded

by Abby Brooks

  She drops to her knees, her face level with mine, the phone buzzing in her hand like a nest of hornets. “He needs to know.”

  I shake my head and close my eyes.

  “You need to talk to him.” Desperation in her voice.

  The phone stops buzzing but the thoughts in my head don’t. So many words I can’t hear any of them because they’re all jumbled up together. It hurts.

  Oh, God.

  It hurts.

  Lexi sighs and stands. Puts the phone back on the nightstand with a tiny little thump. I expect her to leave but she doesn’t. Instead, she throws back the covers and grabs my arms. Hauls me into a sitting position.

  “You need to listen to me,” she says, even as I curl up into a little ball.

  “You’re wasting away in here and it’s not going to get better if you don’t do anything. You need to move forward.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You have to. Life doesn’t stop. It just keeps on trudging by whether we want it to or not.” Lexi sniffs.

  “What am I supposed to do?” I ask, finally meeting her eyes. “I’ve cried. I’ve begged. I’ve prayed. I don’t have anything left.”

  Tears waver in Lexi’s eyes. “You need to get out of this bed. Out of this room. You need to find a path and take it. You always feel better when you take action. Indecision kills you.”

  She’s right. I’m not ready to hear it, but she’s right. “I miss him, Lex.”

  “Oh God, Bailey. Me, too.” And as I watch her face crumple, her hands shake as they cover her mouth, I cry. I wrap my arms around my friend, cling to her with every ounce of strength I have left in my body, and cry.

  LIAM

  My phone vibrates with an incoming call and I smile to see Bailey’s name and contact picture fill the screen. Relief floods through me and I let out a long breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

  “Hey, hot lips,” I say as I put the phone to my ear and step through the French doors onto my balcony.

  “Liam?” It's a woman's voice. Not Bailey’s. Shaky and uncertain.

  “Yeah?” I pull the phone away and check to see if I somehow misread the caller ID.

  The woman on the other line sniffs. “It’s Lexi…” She trails off, her voice strained.

  “Lexi?” Fear twists in my stomach. “What's wrong? Is Bailey okay?”

  “Oh, Liam. She really needs you right now.” Lexi trails off again, her voice thick with tears. “Michael was in an accident. He was drinking, and he ran off the road and hit a tree.” Lexi's crying for real now. I can barely make out the words around her tears. “He’s... Liam? Michael’s dead.”

  All the air leaves my lungs as my jaw drops open. A breeze rustles in my hair and the sun breaks through the clouds, warm on my face. I stare off into the sky, unable to process more than that while I listen to Lexi sob through her explanation of what happened.

  And then in one strong rush, it hits me.

  Grief surges through my body. Like the tide rolling up on the shore and dragging away bits and pieces of sand and debris, it changes the shape of the world every few seconds. Each new breath in my lungs leaves me more and more hollow. My stomach twists and my knees soften. I put a hand on a wall to steady myself.

  “When?” I ask, the ache thrumming through my body taking root in my voice.

  “Monday.” Lexi takes a long breath. “I should have known he wasn’t okay to drive. I should have known.”

  What do I say? How do we exist in the face of something like this? There aren’t words that can possibly convey the weight of my grief.

  Lexi swallows hard. “You need to be here.” Her voice cracks. “Bailey needs you. She’s really struggling right now and she needs you.”

  My throat tightens and I close my eyes. “I’m coming.”

  I end the call and book a flight, moving through the world on autopilot, driven by a fierce need to get to Bailey. I don’t stop moving until I get on the plane and then, with my hat pulled down low so no one can see, I lean my head against the window and cry.

  BAILEY

  This morning, for the first time in I don’t know how long, I crawled out of bed and stared at the stranger in the mirror. Lexi is right. I need something to focus on. A job. A task of some sort. And so, after sitting down to eat some of the soup she left in the fridge for me, I head to Michael’s apartment to sort through his things. Or maybe I want to be there so I can find some hint of my brother, to wrap myself up in all the things that are his.

  I prepare myself on the drive to his place. It’s going to hurt. Maybe more than I’m ready for. I prepare myself to cry, to rage. I prepare myself to want to crawl right back into bed and never get out again. But nothing could have prepared me for what I find when I push through the door.

  Empty beer bottles cover the coffee table and the end tables. Some have fallen over, rolled off and lay there, forgotten on the floor. Liquor bottles litter the counters. Rancid food clings to plates in the overfilled sink. Pizza boxes and burger wrappers spill out of the trashcan and cover the floor. There’s stuff cluttering every possible surface. And the smell. Dear God, the smell.

  If a tidy house signifies a tidy mind, what does this place say about Michael? How long did he live like this? Sinking in a quagmire of his own shit? How could I let him live like this?

  Guilt and self-loathing settle on my shoulders as I weed through the trash and pick out the bits and pieces of my brother’s life that are worth saving. There’s not much. I box up his clothes. A tattered copy of The Lord of the Rings. A few trophies from his junior high attempt at baseball stardom. The rest? I have no idea what to do about it all. It hurts too much to be here, getting an intimate glimpse of just how off the rails my brother is.

  Or was.

  Fuck. That hurts.

  I take a breath in through my nose, close my eyes and tilt my head up to the ceiling before letting the breath out through my mouth. When the pain subsides, I take one last trip through the small apartment, looking for anything else worth saving. Where my house is a shrine to the past with our family photos still hanging in the same spot they have for decades, Michael’s apartment is devoid of anything personal at all. His walls are bare. His shelves covered in dust and empty beer bottles are arranged there like prized possessions. Just when I’m about to take the few boxes I already packed up and leave, I find a small wooden box shoved into the back of his closet, mostly covered by musty old boots he probably forgot he had. I dig the thing out and sit on the edge of his unmade bed and balance it on my knees.

  Years of dust have settled into the engravings on the lid and there’s a residue left on my fingers just from touching it. I open the thing, my heart pounding in my chest, my breath stuck somewhere in my throat. The lid creaks in protest and I gasp, tears pricking in my eyes. I’ve spent the whole day looking for Michael in this awful place and he’s been in here the whole time. There are pictures of Mom and Dad. Of the four of us on vacation in Florida. I was all of ten, all knees, elbows, and buckteeth, and Michael looked dashing at seven, his arm wrapped around my waist as the ocean licked up around our sunburnt legs. He’s got letters I wrote to him right after mom and dad died, my looping handwriting scrawling across the worn pages. The ink is thin and blurry, the creases in the folded paper so frail they’re about to fall apart.

  How many times did he sit in here and read these words? An outpouring of emotion and apology from me to him? All this time I thought he threw them away. Thought he never knew how desperately I worried about all the things I was getting wrong. And here I find he knew all along. Judging by the delicate condition of the paper—torn from my notebook years ago—Michael read them frequently. I gingerly unfold each one, trace a finger across the words and then place them on the bed beside me.

  Underneath the letters are strange things. A worn pocketknife, old and dirty. A pocket watch I vaguely remember belonging to my grandfather. And more pictures of our family than I ever remember being taken. A box filled with bits and piec
es of people who have left me to fight through the rest of this life alone.

  At the bottom, hiding beneath it all, is one more piece of folded paper. So clean and crisp I struggle to believe it’s been looked at since he put in in here. I pull it out, unfold it, and gasp.

  My name, scrawled at the top of the page in Michael’s unruly print.

  Bailey,

  I know you blame yourself for all the shit I get myself into. I know you see each mistake I make as proof that you failed me. But I’m not your fault. I think I just came this way. You did your best, stayed with me when I made it damn near impossible, and I’m a better person because of it. Because of you. You ask for forgiveness but there’s nothing to forgive.

  I love you.

  Michael

  I stare at the words. Read them over and over and over again until I’ve got them memorized and hear them in his voice, as if he were standing right next to me and whispering in my ear. Blinking back tears, I press the note to my chest and look up.

  “I love you, too,” I say.

  I place everything back in the box, the discovery of the note tearing through my composure like a chainsaw through rotting wood. I can’t be here anymore. I gather the wooden box and lock up Michael’s apartment, sweating even as I shiver against the cold. The sun shines down from a clear blue sky. One of those rare bright days in the stream of gray that is winter in Ohio. The world seems made of plastic, too shiny and smooth and unrefined.

  I can’t keep living like this.

  I don’t want to keep living like this.

  “The least you could do is take me with you,” I mutter as I climb into the truck where my dad’s ghost still lingers. The drive home is short and I spend it with Michael’s wooden box on my lap. The crunch of gravel under my tires as I pull into my driveway mocks me. There is no sense of homecoming without the people I love. How can there be home when I am an island, disconnected from everyone? Alone is alone, regardless of where I am.

  And wouldn’t you know, there’s someone on my doorstep. I don’t have it in me to put on a brave face for anyone. It’s been a steady parade of people stopping by, casseroles in hand and platitudes on their lips. They’re not here for me. They’re here to be part of the drama.

  I put the truck in park and close my eyes. Clench my jaw and look down at the box in my lap. I don’t want to leave it in the truck, but I don’t want whoever’s standing up there to see it, either. They weren’t part of Michael’s life and they sure as hell won’t share this treasure with me.

  Squinting into the sun, I stare at the figure on my porch, trying to decide if I should just put the truck in reverse and leave. Whoever it is has his back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, one leg bent at the knee, the foot resting on the siding. There’s auburn hair. A quirk of a smile.

  Oh my God.

  My lips part.

  Tears spring to my eyes.

  My heart leaps for joy and races, pumping my blood through my veins so it roars in my ears.

  My hand grabs the door handle without permission, my body acting against my will. Drawn to him like mercury rolling across a table. He is my sun and I am Icaraus, flying too close even as my skin burns. I run. He pushes off the wall. Smiles. Holds out his arms to me.

  I stop at the first step leading up to my porch. Frozen. My need for him pulsing through me with every beat of my heart while anger surges up from my gut and flashes in my eyes.

  “Liam?” I ask, one hand coming to my stomach.

  Liam steps forward, the collar of his pea coat pulled up around his neck. “Oh, Bailey, I’m so sorry…”

  I hold out my hands and step back. “Stop.”

  He doesn’t. He keeps coming to me. His eyes hold mine and his smile fades. “Lexi told me—”

  “No.” I hold up one finger, tears welling in my eyes as I fight for my breath. “You don’t get to disappear for weeks and then come riding back in like some goddamn knight in shining armor.”

  “I never disappeared—”

  “Never disappeared?” My hands tremble and my breath puffs out into the air, a frozen burst of rage. “You fucking left and never came back. That’s disappearing, Liam.”

  Liam rushes down the steps, reaching out for me, and I know I won’t survive his touch.

  I back up again. “Don’t you dare. You’re not the hero of this story.”

  He stops, his face as broken as my heart, and sinks down onto the step. “I’m sorry.”

  “I needed you.” Tears strangle my words. “I needed you more than anything and you weren’t here.” Sobs wrack my body. “My brother died and you weren’t here.”

  I wrap my arms around my center because if feels like my insides are going to fall out. A blast of wind hits the tears on my cheeks, so cold they feel hot. My knees buckle and I crouch, one hand on the ground, the other covering my face. My mouth opens and my eyes close and nothing happens. No sounds. No breath. Just this awful nothingness. And then, a keening sound. High and long and drawn out from the base of the pain anchored inside me.

  A strong arm wraps around my shoulder. God. I can smell him. His scent envelops me. I lean into him, no longer able to support the weight of everything sitting on my shoulders. He staggers, drops to a sitting position, and pulls me into his lap, rocking me. Shushing me. Wiping my hair back off my forehead.

  “I’m here for you,” he whispers.

  “But you weren’t.” I bury my head in his chest. “I needed you and you were gone.”

  “I was with you the whole time. Not one day passed that I didn’t think of you.” He pulls me tighter, closer to his warmth. “I love you, Bailey. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you needed me, but I’ll never leave you again.”

  “Damn you for coming back.” I wipe my eyes and nose on my reddened hands and lean into him, rage seeping out of my body as I soften into his arms.

  “Don’t say that.”

  “I have nothing left. No strength. No fight. I can’t do this.”

  “That’s why I’m here. I’ll hold you up. Give you all I have. I’ve got you, Bailey.”

  “But you didn’t. When I needed you, you weren’t here.”

  “I was…” Liam puts a finger to my chin and leans down to look in my eyes. “I have reasons, excuses for being gone so long, and they made sense to me then, but none of that matters now because…” He swallows hard, tears shining in his eyes. “I fucked up. I left to protect you and utterly failed you. And when Michael needed me … I failed him, too.”

  His words light a fire in my heart. “You left to protect me?” Gathering every ounce of strength I have, I pull out of his arms and stand. “Well, I’m leaving to protect you.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “I’m cursed, Liam.” I fling my arms out to the side and stare up at the sky. “I’m cursed!” My voice echoes through the trees and rakes its way out of my throat, like fingernails digging into my flesh. It’s an admission, an accusation, a personal truth I can’t escape. I lower my face and point at him, widening my eyes. “Leave me alone.” My finger shakes as I fight the urge to take it all back.

  “I won’t.” Liam stands, wiping his hands on the back of his jeans.

  “You have to.” My throat is so raw, my voice scraping against it as I fight for breath.

  “I can’t. I won’t. You’re not cursed, Bailey.” Liam stands, holds his hands out to me.

  I run my hands up into my hair and pull. “I can’t handle losing one more person.” The wind gusts, biting my skin. “Especially not you. I love you so fucking much!” I’m screaming because this isn’t a conversation for whispers. There’s nothing quiet or polite about the storm raging in my heart.

  He pulls me back into his arms and I melt into him. “You’re not cursed and I can prove it. Lexi? Michelle? They’re still here. You love them.”

  I shake my head against his chest and suck in my lips. My breath comes so fast I’m afraid I might pass out. “I don’t love them like I love you,” I say as I pu
ll away one more time, turn my back to him, and stagger through a spinning world to get Michael’s stuff out of my truck.

  LIAM

  Of all the ways I imagined our reunion, I never expected Bailey’s rage. Her hatred. I didn’t expect her gray skin and greasy hair. I didn’t expect the purple circles standing out like bruises under her eyes. The flared nostrils. The gut-wrenching sobs. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to leave. She might think it’s better if she pushes me away, but she’s never needed me like she needs me right now. I meant what I said. I’ll never leave her side again. Squaring my shoulders, I follow the love of my life into her house.

  If seeing Bailey was a shock, then seeing the inside of her house ruins me. Trash on every surface. Sink overflowing with dishes. Piles of clothes on the floor. The lid on the piano is down, covering the keys, and for some reason, of all the tragedies in this house, that one hits me the hardest.

  Bailey has silenced her music.

  I was a fool to leave her.

  “Bailey?” The house is small, there aren’t many places for her to go.

  Silence.

  It’s the silence that scares me the most. I head down the hallway to the bedrooms. Her door is closed, another sign she has shut herself off again. But she’s not in there. I know it without looking. I lean on the doorframe to Michael’s room, the room I spent some of the best weeks of my life in.

  “Bailey?”

  She’s sitting in the middle of the room, surrounded by piles of clothes. Some of it I recognize as mine, the stuff I wore while I was here. The rest? I can only assume it’s Michael’s. She looks up at me, pale and empty. Even her skin looks fragile, like it will crumble to dust if I touch her. “I don’t know what to do with it all.”

  Ignoring my need to run to her, to swoop her up and hold her close, I shift my weight against the wall. “We can figure that out later.”