The End of All Things Beautiful

by Nikki Young

  I back away from him in horror.

  “What happened to your face?” I ask, my voice shaky.

  “Fuck, Campbell!” he screams, his hand tugging at his hair as I start to cry. He’s never yelled at me in all the time we’ve known each other.

  “Why are you screaming at me?” I ask, still completely unsure of what has just happened. I know there was an accident, but it all feels surreal.

  “We have to get out of here!” he yells again, this time grabbing for me and pulling me away from the wreckage.

  I take it all in, the headlights of two cars shining on the empty road, illuminating and accentuating just exactly what has occurred over the last few minutes. Both cars are completely devastated, destroyed, and to be honest, I can’t believe anyone survived.

  I brace myself, pulling back against Benji’s incessant tugging.

  “No!” I scream back at him. “We have to call the police!”

  He stops immediately and his face takes on a terrifying look I’ve never seen before; his eyes wide and his lips set in a firm line. He shakes his head slowly before tightening his grip on my wrist and yanking me in the direction of two shadows I see standing a few feet away. As I’m being pulled away from the crash, my body too weak to fight anymore, I see Sam’s lifeless body covered in blood and slumped over the steering wheel of the car. The white of the airbag swallowing his head until he just looks like a lumpy bloody pillow.

  My head turns back, watching as I’m pulled past him and my brain finally catches up. Crumbling to the ground, I realize what is happening all around me.

  We’re running away from what we caused.

  The other car unrecognizable.

  Sam is dead.

  And somehow, as this is all going on, the first thought that crosses my mind is, Tommy can finally be happy. It’s a disgusting thought and it makes me vomit again.

  “Fuck, Campbell,” Benji screams again. I hate the sound of his voice. I hate what we’re doing and right now I hate him. “Stop crying and stop fucking barfing!” His hold on my wrist is so tight that I begin to feel it cut off the circulation, my hand throbbing and tingling under his grasp.

  I struggle to get away from him, twisting against his hold, but I can’t break free. By this point I’m sobbing uncontrollably, deep, heaving sobs as Benji lets go of my wrist and takes me in his arms.

  “Campbell, baby, please,” he whispers in my ear and suddenly the Benji I know and love is back. His hands stroke up and down my back, soothing me. “We have to go. We can’t stay here. Do you know what will happen to us if the police find out we were here?”

  “We can’t leave him,” I plead with Benji.

  “He’s dead, Campbell. Sam is dead.” I know this already; it’s obvious, but hearing him say it out loud makes this all far more real than I’m ready to cope with. When he starts speaking again I want to stick my fingers in my ears and sing “Mary Had a Little Lamb” loudly like I did as a kid to drown out what I didn’t want to hear. “They’re all dead,” he says, his voice cold and emotionless.

  “Who’s dead?” I ask, knowing full well he’s talking about the people in the other car.

  “The family in the other car.”

  “Oh fuck, it was a family? Oh my god, Benji, no. We can’t run away from this.” I’m begging by this point as the distant sound of sirens ring out in the night. My tears are still falling uncontrollably, but I don’t know what else to do, so I follow him.

  I leave.

  Chapter Two

  Present Day

  I’d like to say everything went back to normal and we all existed as if none of this ever happened, but that would be a lie, of course. You don’t recover from this. Ever.

  Physically we were bruised and battered, but surprisingly, we came out of it without any serious injuries. Actually most were barely noticeable, and since we were in college and spent many weekends drinking, explaining away a black eye or bloody lip wasn’t too difficult. We had no broken bones or any lasting scars. Everything was internal; a deep wound that won’t ever heal. But emotionally and mentally, we were a mess.

  Each one of us fell apart at some point or another, but nothing as devastating as what happened to Kelly. Unable to live without Sam, she killed herself on the one-week anniversary of the accident. I was the one who found her and by that time I had become desensitized to the thought of death. To say I hadn’t considered doing what she did would be a lie. The thought entered my mind as often as most people think about eating. I watched her lifeless body hanging from the doorway of our dorm room as her feet dangled just above the floor. The rope strung from the rafters in a shabbily tied knot that looked as if it could’ve given way before she actually died. But it didn’t.

  Unfortunately the repercussions from that were equally devastating, and the guilt that Tommy carried with him nearly broke my heart. He couldn’t save her; he would never be enough for her, and watching her take her own life drove this point home harder than a knife through his chest. I tried to help him, but my own problems took control and I bailed before I could fall any deeper.

  We were just kids and these problems were far greater than our friendship could handle. I loved all of them, but not enough to save us.

  I wanted to love Benji forever. I wanted to get married and live happily ever after, but after the accident, I saw a side of him I never knew existed and I couldn’t be a part of his life anymore. A constant reminder of what we did, somehow we ruined each other being together, yet each day I wake, it destroys me that we’re apart.

  But I let him convince me that walking away from the scene of the accident was what was best. I watched him lie to the police, lie to himself and to me until it was more than I could handle. But it’s not like I ever came clean. I carry it with me to this day. All the secrets and the lies, they live hidden behind the fake smile I wear.

  It wasn’t long before we all fell apart; the bond that at one time seemed irrefutable, severed in one tragically flawed night. What was left of five was only three, an incomplete set of broken lives that couldn’t be pieced back together.

  I left school mid-semester, walked away from Benji and Tommy and to this day I have no idea where they are. Yet not a day goes by that they don’t cross my mind, that I don’t ache for what we once had. But more than anything, I miss Benji.

  I’ve never stopped loving him.

  I roll over and take in his peaceful face, a look of calm that only a restful night’s sleep can bring. His name is Carson and he loves me. He loves the fake me.

  “Campbell and Carson, it’s so cute,” people say. “Two C’s, it’s adorable. You’re perfect together.” Every time it’s said, I get nauseous, but this is who I’ve become: a shell of my former self. As time goes by, I’m starting to falter. The depression, the sleepless nights, the tears and the guilt all eating at me. I’m growing cold and disinterested in life. Pretending to be someone I’m not is exhausting.

  Carson has no idea the person I was, the person I still am or what I’ve done. Or worse, that I’m in love with another man. I’ve learned that in order to survive this bullshit that has become my life, I have to pretend it didn’t happen.

  And that’s why I’m sharing a bed with a man I don’t love.

  My eyes fill with tears and squeezing them shut, I will myself not to cry. I wake every day before Carson just so I can have this time to myself, time to remember who I am and what I’ve done.

  He stirs next to me and I run my fingers under my eyes brushing away any stray tears that may have escaped. I can’t give him any indication that something is wrong. Two years I’ve lived like this and he’s still oblivious.

  He’s a good man. Wonderful, actually. And it’s why I stay. He makes me want to forget what I’ve done, what I’ve left, and what I’ve lost. Yet it’s still never enough.

  “Good morning,” Carson says, his voice raspy with sleep, a loose smile on his lips.

  “Good morning,” I answer back, my eyes closing and not from exhau
stion. I can’t bear to look at him this morning, knowing I’ve spent the last hour wishing it were Benji in my bed.

  “What do you have going on today?” he asks, moving closer to me until I feel his hand connect with my hip. A small shudder rolls through my body.

  It’s not that I don’t like Carson, I do, I honestly do. But at times, just living my life is a struggle. There are times when he makes it easier and there are times when he doesn’t. Right now is one of those times.

  “I have a few meetings at work, but nothing really going on,” I respond as I roll away from him and climb out of bed.

  “Okay,” he says with an annoyance to his tone and the guilt pools heavy in my stomach.

  I take a deep breath and close my eyes in an attempt to purge my thoughts and start over again. “How about you?” I ask, trying to engage him.

  “Busy at work, but I was thinking we could hit up that new Thai place by your office for dinner tonight? Meet me there around six?”

  “That sounds amazing,” I answer, as I try on a smile before climbing back into bed and snuggling against Carson’s warm body. And when I take a deep breath I think, He’s perfection to my failure.

  My day goes by without complications. Two out of the three meetings I had scheduled were canceled and about an hour ago my assistant ordered in sushi, which I’m now eating quietly at my desk.

  My computer alerts me of my next meeting and when the calendar pops up on the screen, I realize it’s been exactly nine years since the accident. I don’t know how it slipped my mind this year and maybe it didn’t. There’s no way it could have. Eventually I would’ve remembered, because at least once a day something reminds me of it. Whether it’s a song or the sound of someone’s voice, a name, a comment or a phrase, it’s always with me.

  A few seconds later my assistant notifies me that my one o’clock meeting has arrived and she escorts the man into my office. He’s in his late thirties, possibly even early forties, impeccably dressed, not that I’m surprised. I’m dealing with presidents of large corporations. And the look on his face is the same one I get from everyone who steps through my office door.

  “Hello, Ms. Forester,” he says, but I can hear the astonishment in his voice and when he raises one eyebrow, a questioning look on his face, I know he’s wondering just how the hell I ended up in this position. But he doesn’t ask…at least not yet anyway. As if his face has given him away, he quickly adds, “Wonderful to finally meet you.”

  “Mr. Walters,” I greet him with a nod of my head, my hand extended out. When he takes my hand, I tighten my grip. “You can call me Campbell,” I request, a firm smile on my lips.

  “And you can call me William.”

  Again I nod in response before taking a seat around the large conference table in the corner of my office. I would’ve liked my office to be smaller, more personal, but I was told that wasn’t an option.

  “So tell me,” William says, opening the conversation. “How does someone like you find yourself in this job?”

  I chuckle a bit at his words, someone like you and I wonder just what he’s referring to. The fact that I’m a woman or that I’m only twenty-eight or that I’m attractive and thin and I couldn’t possibly have the brains or ability to go head to head with him or any of the other men that have graced my office.

  “I give amazing blow jobs,” I deadpan and his jaw nearly hits the floor.

  Unprofessional? Absolutely. But I couldn’t give a fuck to be treated this way anymore. I’ve grown weary of this response at my ability to hold down this desk.

  Before he has time to respond I cut in. “But today I’ve worn a skirt and I really don’t feel like being on my knees for the next ten minutes, so I’ll just have you sign this and we’ll call it done.”

  “What makes you think I’m signing that?” he questions, indignantly.

  “Well, I see it one of two ways, William. You can sign your company over to me and avoid filing for bankruptcy, having your name tarnished and everyone in your company finding out you’ve mismanaged funds or you can watch it be plastered all over the papers tomorrow morning.” I lean back in my chair and shrug my shoulders. “Your call.”

  “You’re blackmailing me?”

  “Oh no, not even close. I want to buy your failing company, get you out of debt and let you live the life you always wanted: Wealthy on a beach somewhere.”

  “You just said it yourself. My company is failing. It’s no good to you,” he says as if he’s trying to convince me not to buy him out. I shake my head and give my eyes a quick roll. He’s missing my point and I’m growing annoyed.

  “You called this meeting, William because you’re drowning. Do you want my help or not?”

  “How will this benefit me?” he asks, and again I chuckle. It’s always about them. Self-absorbed pricks that can’t hack it financially, but decide to question my ability.

  “The profit margin is small and of course there is risk, but you wouldn’t be sitting across from me if you hadn’t done your research.” I lean forward, my hands folded in front of me. “I buy your company, get you out of debt and you walk away. And once a year, I send you a check, that if you manage correctly, will allow you to live comfortably for the rest of your life.”

  “It’s too good to be true.”

  I’m beginning to feel smug and I’m about to tell this asshole to leave. Too many questions and this is taking far longer than it usually does. I’m wondering if I’m losing my touch, but then I notice a change in his posture and I know I have him.

  “I’ll restructure and the company will begin to turn a profit in less than a year. You’ll receive royalties for the rest of your life, a small amount, honestly. But two percent of a million is a lot of money, William and that’s what I intend to make within the first year. Plenty more after that.”

  “How can you be sure?” he asks. Again with the questioning and I let out an exasperated sigh.

  “I do my research and I’m good at my job. I’m an investor, William. This is an investment firm. It’s my job to turn a profit. I wouldn’t be sitting here right now if I were incompetent, uneducated, and ill-informed, would I?”

  What I would love to tell him is that I’ve thrown myself into this ruthless career to distract myself from the shit show that has become my life. It keeps me even and it never allows me to get close enough to anyone to feel. I have no friends in this business and I like it that way. No friends, means no one knows who I really am.

  This time he’s left speechless, only a slight nod of his head to indicate he finally grasps what I’m saying. And before I slide the contract across the table, my lawyer enters and I give him a quick wink to let him know he can begin his proceedings.

  “It’s been wonderful doing business with you, William. I do hope you manage your money a little better this time around.” I extend my hand once again, but this time there’s some hesitance on his part to take it. “You’ll be leaving now. This is my attorney; he’ll handle everything from here on out. Take care.”

  I escort him to the door and as he’s leaving he turns back to face me.

  “Campbell,” he says, and I cut him off.

  “Ms. Forester,” I respond, giving him a cold look. There’s a reason I do things the way I do. You want that comfort factor in place, to give them a sense of power over the situation, but in the end, it’s business and I own them.

  “Yes,” he says, swallowing hard. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure,” I say before adding, “you fuckwit” after the door to my office closes and my fake smile instantly disappears.

  I hate my job.

  Chapter Three

  The day finally comes to an end well after seven and I’ve now left Carson sitting at the restaurant alone for far too long. I run a hand through my hair and let out an exhausted sigh. It will piss him off, but there’s not much I can do at this point.

  I didn’t intend to work past six, but circumstances beyond my control arose and I had to deal with a
financial issue before leaving. I’ve explained to Carson that I didn’t get where I am by working nine to five or by cutting out early. Most of this is a lie. This job comes easy to me and like I said, it leaves me emotionless.

  I step into the restaurant and scan the room for Carson and find him almost immediately. He has a presence about him, he can captivate a room and it’s not just because he looks like he was made for movies. Chiseled jaw, perfect nose, beautiful brown eyes and a body that could make any woman weak. But combine all these things with his infectious laugh, brilliant sense of humor and charming personality, and he’s hard to say no to. I obviously couldn’t.

  While I know he loves me, I don’t love him. It’s not that I despise him or anything even close to that; I just can’t bring myself to love him. Eventually he’ll leave. We can’t possibly carry on the way we have been. I give him nothing in return. Cold and unfeeling most days. It’s been two years and while we have our moments where the sun peeks through, those are few and far between. Recently, we’ve been happy, but it’s a cycle and we’re reaching a peak. It’s downhill from here.

  The accident has made me a wholly negative person. I find it hard to see the good that life can offer; especially when the perfection I once loved and knew, was ripped out from under me without warning. I’ve felt empty ever since.

  I’ve considered therapists and medication and all the recommended cures for what controls my life, but in order to do that, I have to admit what happened. I can’t do that. This doesn’t just affect me. It’s not my story to tell alone.

  Carson signals to me from across the room, his hand in the air, a smile on his beautiful face. And when I make eye contact with him, all I can think is, He’s the opposite of Benji. Maybe that’s why I chose him. There are no similarities, nothing to remind me.