How To Get Your Heart Broken

by Rose Fall

  I closed my eyes, thinking of how Rachel had been wrong about me trying to avoid all of this. Because it felt good not having to pretend that it didn’t feel good to lay my head on his lap. The grey sky had chased away all of the beach goers and in the silence I was left to focus only on the rhythmic way Jessie continued to run his hands through my hair, my nerve endings feeling more alive than they had on that racetrack.

  He hadn’t questioned me, though I’d barely said anything in all the time I’d been there. I’d miss the silence too I realized, adding it to my list of one million things I’d been trying to remember about Jessie and I. But I’d dragged this on too long, and the anticipation had finally become too much.

  “Close your eyes,” I said quietly, sitting up and drawing my knees to my chest. I grabbed his hand, hoping its warmth could serve as a reminder of why I had to do this, and somehow give me the strength to get through it.

  He stared at me suspiciously, hesitating as I waited.

  “C’mon! Do you think I’m going to stab you or something?”

  He shrugged, his expression suggesting that he had considered the possibility.

  “Why am I doing this?” He asked after he’d finally closed them.

  “Lauren has a fear of needles; something about thethought of a tiny stick of medal entering her body scares her to no end. So she closes her eyes whenever she’s getting a shot, like it makes it hurt less somehow.”

  “So you’re going to hurt me?”

  “I’m always hurting you,” I said quietly.

  “I’m not as fragile as you think,” he replied, his voice taking on an overdone masculine tone that made me want to smile.

  “Yeah,” I agreed absentmindedly, drawing circles on his palm, “I know, but I’m still going to break your heart.”

  His eyes snapped open, and I waited for some form of understanding, but an amused smirk came over his face, “Really?”

  He asked playfully, “What makes you so sure you have the power?”

  “Because of the way you’re looking at me,” I said solemnly.

  His cheeks reddened, but he smiled, completely unperturbed by how vulnerable he was in that moment. “Like an open book,” I’d said. It reminded of

  why we should never have been together.

  What was it that Ashton had said? ‘Someone like him didn’t belong with someone like me.’ And though every fiber of my being was aware of just how true this was, it didn’t have the slightest effect on how I felt, and I was once again overwhelmed by the thought of never being able to share the silence with him again.

  “Eli?” He said, lifting my chin. He wiped my cheeks as confusion furrowed his brows, probably wondering why I was crying for the one millionth time in the past few days.

  “I love you,” I said to his chest. When I finally looked up his expression was blurred by the tears that overpowered me the moment I’d uttered the words. But I could see shock and confusion, and I imagined the expression that had always made me smile, the one that made it look as if he was solving a difficult math equation, coming over his face.

  “Eli,” he repeated dumbly, and if I hadn’t been so miserable in that moment I probably would have rolled my eyes, it was so like him to say the wrong thing at a moment like this. ‘You’re supposed to say it back you idiot,’ I would yell.

  Instead I said, “We were playing a game, Rachel and I.

  We didn’t think of anyone else’s feelings or consequences…” and then the words continued to stumble from my mouth, each one tasting like poison as I slowly ruined every possibility I had with someone that was different, and good. Every possibility I had with Jessie.

  It felt as if I was being split in half again, and while part of me remained on that porch to continue the misery of explaining to Jessie the ways we’d intended to humiliate him, part of me was simply a witness, floating above it all and watching our words drift away like the slow fading out of ripples in water.

  Things We Can’t Take Back

  “I’m sorry.” It was barely audible to me, so I knew they hadn’t heard it, but their expressions told me they understood.

  I plopped down without protest as Rachel and Ash yanked me towards the couch.

  “You can’t just run off without telling us where you’re going, you idiot,” Rachel said. Oddly enough, I could tell she was trying to be gentle.

  “I just went for a walk,” I murmured distractedly.

  I hadn’t realized how long I’d been gone. I’d been trying to avoid seeing them; I was especially dreading Ash’s pity and encouraging words. I’d sat in the most isolated corner of the beach, obsessively replaying Jessie and I’s conversation and wondering, what next? I sat there, wanting to be alone with my own thoughts until I thought of how much time I would get to spend alone from now on.

  Of course it hadn’t gone well. He hated me. And I hated seeing the hurt and betrayal on his face when I told him the truth. It’d scared me when he yelled because I’d never seen Jessie like that. I hoped it made him feel at least a little better, then it’d be worth it.

  “To Canada?” Rachel asked sarcastically. “We thought you did something really stupid again. I was going to check the hospitals pretty soon, seems to be your hangout spot these days.”

  I smiled at Ash when she placed a gentle hand on my back, obviously trying to counteract Rachel’s words.

  “Fair enough,” I agreed, unable to protest.

  “Stop feeling sorry for yourselves; you’re better off without them.”

  “Them?” I questioned, amazed at how quickly Rachel had gone back to her normal self.

  I raised an eyebrow as Rachel motioned towards Ash,

  “Apparently Juliash wasn’t forever,” she said sarcastically.

  I stared at Ash, even as she tried to smile reassuringly at me I knew she was on the brink of tears.

  “I guess Jessie told Julian what happened, he made it pretty clear that he never wants to see me again,” her voice began to crack at the end, and I discovered that I’d been wrong when I thought I had no guilt or sympathy left for anyone else.

  “Ashton, I didn’t tell him that-”

  “I know,” she began reassuringly, “It isn’t your fault Eli, I got what I deserved. Anyway I have other things to worry about. I don’t think we were really meant to make it.”

  “I know you don’t really believe that,” I murmured, marveling at the Freaky Friday vibe that seemed to possess them. Now that I thought of it, they’d been sitting together when I’d come in, almost as if they weren’t sworn enemies.

  “Maybe that’s my problem. I should start thinking like you and Rachel. I get why he’s mad, but he didn’t even give me a chance to explain. It’s like he was looking for a way out…”

  It was my turn to place a soothing hand on her back, but I only extended the silence. I didn’t know what to say either; there was no comfort to be found anywhere.

  “He was,” Rachel said, reinforcing my suspicion. “Julian never struck me as the commitment type.”

  I snorted. To be fair, she’d said the same thing about Jessie at the beginning of the summer.

  “How can you make a judgment like that on someone you don’t even know?” Ash asked, her frustration evident in her tone.

  “It’s a talent,” Rachel shrugged, and I wondered if I’d jinxed their cease fire before it even began.

  Rachel’s words reminded of something I’d been meaning to ask Ash about for a while. “Sometimes he seemed so different in your journal than he did in real life.”

  I had confessed to her a few days ago that I read her diary on more than a few occasions. She had a lot of questions about it (like if I’d known about her and Julian before the party. I told her the truth) but she took it pretty well. As relieved as I was, I knew it was because she had other things on her mind, which made me feel like I’d cheated somehow.

  Ash looked away as I glanced towards her, her expression seemingly more devastated. “Not… all of it…. was real,” sh
e confessed.

  “You made fake diary entries?” I asked in confusion. Maybe I’d been wrong about why she hadn’t been mad. Had she known what I’d been reading her diary all along? Was she teaching me a lesson?

  My mouth hung open.

  “Not exactly…it’s hard to explain,” she said. Then she sighed, “This is why no one was supposed to read that thing.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief, dismissing my earlier theory. Ash wasn’t as mentally disturbed as Rachel and I were.

  “Sorry,” I said sheepishly.

  She sighed, “Sometimes I write out my fantasies…is that weird?”

  I considered her confession. In truth, some things made more sense now; the entries that I thought seemed out of place and too good to be true or the time he “carried her away” from the party. Even when her nose wasn’t buried in a book, Ash was still engrossed in her fantasies.

  “Yeah, you’re a freak,” Rachel said. She seemed to be half-joking, and Ash smiled a little before she looked down.

  “I wanted us to be something more than we were…I think I was falling for him.” Ash burst into tears at her confession, as if she was also just realizing the truth of it.

  Though I still thought she was a little crazy, I had certainly known that feeling, of wanting something more than the reality. In fact, I felt most people could understand that. So I held on to that, and tried to resist the urge to bombard her with more questions when she was already so preoccupied with other concerns.

  “I think Rachel is right,” she continued suddenly.

  I tried not to dwell on my disbelief as I watched Ash turn towards Rachel.

  “I thought you just see the bad in people, but maybe you see them the way they really are. And maybe I see them the way I want them to be, because I can’t handle the truth… Right?” She questioned after a pause. “You think she’s right too, don’t you Eli? About Julian?”

  I knew this was one of those questions Ashton asked that she didn’t really want the answer to. And normally I would lie, reasoning that the truth is subjective and that I was protecting her. Yet for whatever reason, I found myself unable to follow this routine today.

  “You’re right, Ashton. You shouldn’t judge people you don’t know, but how else are you supposed to protect yourself? For what it’s worth, I hope Rachel and I are wrong.”

  She nodded, the disappointment apparent in her eyes as she began crying again.

  “I’m sorry Ash,” I murmured, at a loss for words.

  “No,” she shook her head, “I’m glad you told me the truth, it’s what I wanted.”

  She made me wonder why I’d always felt the need to spare her feelings. Despite the tears and the total devastation, something in her words made me think she was stronger than I thought.

  “But why should you listen to me? What the hell do I know?” I asked, wondering how much of what I really knew was really true if I’d gotten so much wrong about the two people I spent most of my time with.

  The silence that followed my question was almost poetic, only interrupted by Ash’s sobbing and the annoying beeps that indicated Rachel texting on her noisy keyboard.

  I wrapped my arms around Ash, hugging her even more tightly as I thought of how much I’d wanted her to disregard my words, though I was glad she’d listened. I thought of what Rachel had said; that we, the most hopeless ones, sought hope the most desperately, and I hoped Ash would remain unlike us, for all of us.

  ---

  When I couldn’t sleep, I often found myself reliving moments Jessie and I had shared. I knew it wasn’t healthy; there was no use dwelling in the past. But maybe I just liked torturing myself. My mind wandered back to our night in the fort. We’d barely slept, after spending so much time talking and… other things.

  There was a part of the conversation I’d been trying not to think about, because both of us had been too honest and as usual, it’d scared me. I supposed there wasn’t anything to be scared of anymore…

  I knew I was a hypocrite for prying, but I still wanted to know more about his family.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “You can ask…” he replied smartly, stealing my words from a past conversation.

  We were lying down inside the fort, facing each other. I could see just how clever he thought his little joke was. But I had more serious things on my mind.

  “At the hospital, you were going to say something about your mom…”

  He let out a deep sigh.

  “You can tell me,” I said softly. He stared into my eyes as if he has trying to decide if he could trust me. I didn’t look away.

  “She was depressed for a while…but mostly, she had cancer. That’s why she was depressed.”

  “How old were you?”

  I didn’t finish the question. He knew what I meant. ‘How old were you when she died?’

  “Fourteen,” he whispered. I’d never seem him sad before. I felt responsible somehow.

  Our arms were entangled and he had one of his hands around my forearm, and his thumb absently drew circles on a small spot of it as if he was trying to uncover something. I could tell he was in deep thought. It was silent for a long time, and after a while he said, “Do you remember that night you came over to watch a movie?”

  I smiled, “That describes a lot of nights, Jessie.”

  “You were wearing this gorgeous green dress,” he smirked.

  I rolled my eyes, “I remember.”

  His expression turned serious again, “You could tell there was something off that night.”

  I did remember. He had been unnaturally quiet. When he tried to joke with me, his smile didn’t reach his eyes. When I asked him what was wrong, he never did tell me. He said he didn’t want to talk about it. I remember feeling both disappointed and relieved. But I’d had this undeniable urge to distract him, to make him feel better, like I did now. I just didn’t know what to say.

  “That was the anniversary of my mom’s death, four years,” he said quietly.

  A quiet gasp escaped me. I wished I’d known. I couldn’t remember what I’d said that night, but it probably involved some teasing. Meanwhile, there was probably so much going on in his head. But why hadn’t he just told me that he didn’t want to hang out that day? I’m sure entertaining me was the last thing he wanted to do. I decided to ask him this.

  “Why did you invite me over?”

  He looked up at me and smiled. He’d been making eye contact with my arm through most of our conversation.

  “Because I knew you’d get my mind off of it, and you did,” he confessed.

  We were silent again.

  “I’m sorry,” I said quietly.

  He raised his eyebrows in surprise, “For what?”

  “I probably gave you a hard time,” I said regretfully.

  He let out a small, pained smile and then made eye contact with my arm again. His hand slid up my forearm. When he reached my hand, he slid his fingers between mine.

  “That was the first time I made it through the anniversary of her death without crying,” he swallowed. He seemed both sad and happy about this.

  I’d never lost anyone close to me. I had no grandfathers left, but they’d both died when I was very young. Still, I could imagine that moving on was bittersweet. I could imagine he felt relief that the pain had subsided but guilty for letting go.

  I could tell by how rigid his face had become that this conversation has hard for him. I feared what would happen if

  I didn’t distract him, the way I apparently always did. Jessie crying was not something I would be able to handle. Especially when it was all my fault; I’d brought all this on by pushing him.

  I squeezed our still interlaced hands.

  “Do you want to know about my parents?” I asked desperately.

  He nodded. “Sure,” he said in a barely audible whisper.

  I bit my lip. I was just making this up as I went. “I don’t usually have a lot of good things to say about them,” I
confessed.

  Then, I smiled because nobody is all bad and despite our strained relationships, we family and I had had some good times.

  “I’ll tell you my favorite memory,” I said. I cleared my throat. “There was one Christmas a few years ago, where there was this crazy Snowpocalypse‒”

  He snickered. I smiled. I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath.

  “What?” I asked with narrowed eyes. Though I tried to sound serious, I was sure the relief in my voice was apparent.

  He shook his head, “Nothing, I just think it’s cute that you used ‘Snowpocalypse’ in a real sentence, especially since we live in the south.”

  “Do you want to hear the story or not?” I asked with a mock scowl.

  “Sorry,” he smiled. “Please continue.”

  I sighed and let myself get lost in the memory, “That year, Lauren and I were supposed to spend Christmas with my dad, so he came by to pick us up. He lives in New York, but at the time my mom refused to let us fly alone. Anyway, all the flights were canceled. My dad did everything he could to get us to New York‒he hates Taraville‒but of course, none of it worked. So, the four of us ended up spending Christmas together at my mom’s house, which was something that hadn’t happened in years, even when they were still together. ”

  My mom tried to cook and failed as usual. So we ordered pizza. And then the power cut out. It snowed all day and night. We were stuck together for two whole days. It was the only uninterrupted time I could ever remember having with my parents and…for a long time it felt like the most precious gift I had ever gotten.”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment. I began to doubt myself. Why had I thought telling that story was a good idea? Had I been making this about me when he really just wanted someone to listen? When did I become such a girl?

  “Say something,” I hissed. In that moment, I couldn’t hide my anxiety.

  Finally he looked at me, a small smile on his face. He raised our interlocked hands and brushed my cheek with the back of his. Then he kissed me. It was soft and short, but he lingered. Then he kissed the tip of my nose and my forehead and I realized I didn’t need him to say anything at all.