The End of All Things Beautiful

by Nikki Young

  As I make my way through the crowded restaurant, I notice the table where Carson is sitting is occupied by more than just him and I let out a loud huff along with a quick closing of my eyes.

  His sister, her boyfriend,q and her best friend are all with him and he’s smiling and laughing as they sit and talk.

  Michelle is Carson’s sister and well, she hates me as does her best friend, Allison. Carson should’ve ended up with Allison or at least that’s what Michelle thinks. I watch Allison lean a little too closely to Carson for my liking; her hand subtly brushing his arm and the jealous side of me wants to claw her eyes out. The only saving grace of this situation is Michelle’s adorable boyfriend, Quinn: a bike messenger without a care in the world. How the hell he ended up with Michelle is beyond me.

  I plaster a smile on my face and take a seat next to Carson.

  “Hi, baby,” he says, beaming. He kisses me and because I know it pisses Michelle off I kiss him back for just a little longer than necessary. I don’t want to be a bitch, but she makes it far too easy.

  I greet everyone at the table after we separate and Michelle’s response is cold as usual. A few seconds later Michelle looks over at Quinn and then at Carson, a self-satisfied look on her face and simply states, “Well, dinner was great, thanks again, Carson.”

  I roll my eyes at her blatant attempt to piss me off.

  She turns her attention to me as she’s standing at the end of the table. “We ate without you, Campbell, seeing as you were so late.”

  “Funny thing, Michelle,” I respond back, accentuating her name and shooting her a filthy look. “I didn’t even know you were going to be here.”

  “Must have slipped Carson’s mind,” she says, intentionally impolitely.

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  As much as I enjoy Quinn’s company, I’m happy to see Michelle and her overly friendly bestie be on their way. But as soon as I look back over at Carson, I kind of wish they would’ve hung around.

  “Can’t you be just a little nicer to her?” he asks as he shakes his head like he’s chastising a child.

  “She’s really unpleasant.”

  “She’s my sister.”

  “I know that,” I say, raising my eyebrows, wondering if he’ll ever side with me. But he drops the conversation there and signals for the waitress.

  “You hungry?” Carson asks, never making eye contact with me.

  “Not really, considering you ate without me.” My feelings are hurt and I don’t know why. I run so hot and cold with him that I should expect that sometimes he’s not going to wait around for me.

  “Then I’m going home,” he says, emotionlessly.

  I watch him walk away before I order a drink and wonder how I’m going to fix this. Maybe if he knew why I was cold with him he’d understand. But I wouldn’t dare share it with him.

  The waitress brings my drink and immediately my mind begins to wander to that day. How normal everything seemed, but how it also felt completely foreign. It was one of those moments you can’t explain, but it just wasn’t right.

  I thought by now the effects would have lessened, that I’d be able to go on living a normal life, but each day, each month, each year that passes, it gets even more difficult. The guilt is haunting.

  Nine years is a long time, but not long enough.

  I pay my bill and head home to try and correct my massive fuck up with Carson. Being late, being a bitch to his sister, shutting him out; it’s going to take a hell of an apology and with the exact time of the accident growing closer, I’m not sure I have it in me.

  I walk into the house a few hours later to find Michelle sitting on my couch with Carson and all I can think is, What the fuck?

  “Are you kidding me?” I ask out loud, probably too loudly.

  “Don’t give me that shit,” Michelle responds rudely.

  I can’t even acknowledge her because I’m certain what will come out of my mouth will be anything but kind. “Did you seriously call her over here?” I ask Carson and his lack of response says more than enough.

  “He’s tired of being treated like shit,” Michelle says, the insinuation in her tone is completely unnecessary.

  “Oh my fucking god, Carson, did you bring your sister here to break up with me?” I’m appalled at his behavior as he just stands there staring at me. “Grow the fuck up, Carson, and Michelle, get the fuck out of my house.”

  Michelle widens her eyes at me, but says nothing.

  “I’m serious, Michelle, get out. You’re not welcome here. This is between me and your brother, who by the way is a grown ass man.”

  The seconds tick by as both of them stand looking at me but not speaking. And I, in turn, say nothing more.

  Carson is the first to speak and I’m not at all shocked by what comes out of his mouth.

  “I’m going to stay with John for a few days. I think you need some time to yourself and I don’t think I should be here right now.”

  “Good choice,” I answer back, leaving both of them in the living room as I storm out of the room.

  The hours tick past and I’m lying in bed staring up at the ceiling wishing I’d have drugged myself so I could sleep through all of this. I look at the clock; each minute that disappears bringing me closer.

  It wasn’t late when the accident happened; it felt late to me back then, but when all was said and done, it was only a little after eleven. If I’m being exact, not like I could ever forget, it was 11:17 p.m. The time is seared into my brain as if it were branded there; it was the last thing I saw when I climbed out of the car. Disoriented and confused, but certain about that one thing, that one detail, it was so minute but so huge at the same time. The clock on the dash was flickering a dull red and I paused for just a second as I watched it fade away, eventually turning black.

  11:17 p.m.

  The road that led back to campus was deserted, or so Benji told me when we tried to rehash what exactly went wrong. He said that we hadn’t passed a car for miles and considering the tourist season was long over, I wasn’t surprised. But then out of nowhere, a Volvo station wagon came around a curve and since Sam was drunk, he took the curve too quickly, crossing over into the other lane, striking the oncoming vehicle.

  The four of us knew very little about what actually occurred. Kelly was passed out and I was on top of Benji. Tommy was the only one aware of what happened and he claimed not to see any of it. I always felt like this was a lie. How could he have missed it? It literally crashed right into us.

  I never pushed or pried him for information. I eventually assumed he knew exactly what he saw, but the tragedy was far too extreme to talk about. And I don’t blame him.

  When Kelly killed herself, the university wasn’t nearly as sympathetic as I would’ve thought. They told me that I would have to stay in my dorm room despite the fact that my roommate’s dead body hung from the rafters just hours before, because they didn’t have any open rooms. They asked me if I had any place else to stay until they could make other arrangements. I simply nodded and packed a bag for Benji’s place, but that proved just as difficult.

  Benji and Sam shared an apartment and while I was lying in bed next to Benji that night, I asked, “How can you stay here?”

  His response was completely devoid of emotion, and it was only after his words that I knew I couldn’t stay any longer. “How come you can’t just get over it?”

  I left the next morning without saying goodbye to him or Tommy.

  I can’t believe it’s gone on this long. They say time heals all wounds and with the passage of time, memories fade. I know this to be untrue. No matter how much time passes or what has happened since that day, my memories hold firm. There are some things that can never be erased.

  When I roll over and look at the clock for the millionth time, it stares back at me bold and illuminated.

  11:17

  It’s then that I feel the first tear fall, and all the others that come after it are the reason I finally
fall asleep.

  Chapter Four

  The next morning I wake with a pounding headache and swollen eyes, and when I sit up, I’m met with a wave of nausea that has me scrambling from my bed. Clutching the sides of the toilet, I heave, but nothing leaves my stomach. This is the way I’ve woken up on the day after for the last nine years and you’d think I’d have gotten used to it, but it still hurts just as bad.

  Wiping my mouth, I pull myself up off the floor and into the shower. The water is scalding as if I can burn the horribleness out of my body. It’s strange though, life that is, you think the world stops when something awful happens or at least you think your life should stop. But for the last nine years my body and myself became two different things. My body began to go along doing what I normally would while I followed unwillingly. Sleeping and waking, eating and drinking, bathing and using the bathroom, as my life fell apart; my body betraying me every single day and it still does.

  I go through the motions and arrive at work without remembering how I even got here. I’m sitting behind my desk, hazy and confused as I attempt to navigate my way through a conference call. I’m certain my name is said a total of eight times and I probably only heard it said once. I end the call by faking an illness and then I have my assistant cancel any other meetings I have scheduled for the day. I’m utterly useless.

  This is the worst it has been since the accident happened. I can usually carry on once I’m at work, but there’s something different about today. I begin to wonder if it has something to do with my fight with Carson coupled with the anniversary.

  I’ve scheduled an appointment to get a massage and as I’m packing my things up, my assistant comes into my office.

  “Hi, Claire,” I say greeting her, yet still wondering why she’s here.

  “Campbell, there’s a woman here to see you.”

  “You canceled my meetings today, right?” I ask her and she nods.

  “I did, but she isn’t a client. She says she’s a friend of yours from college.”

  “I don’t have any friends from college,” I blurt out and Claire gives me a strange questioning look.

  “What would you like me to do?” she asks.

  “Um,” I stutter out as I try to process who could possibly be looking for me. I left Michigan my sophomore year and finished school back in Chicago where I made no friends. There is no one from college, I think, before eventually saying, “Send her in.” I can’t help but be fearful with what I’m about to be confronted with. This person apparently has a connection to my past, to everything that has happened and it scares the shit out of me.

  A woman about my age with blonde hair and a slight tan enters my office a few seconds later. She’s well put together, wearing a black trench coat and a pair of black patent heels. She removes her sunglasses exposing her swollen and red-rimmed eyes. Wetting her lips, she’s the first to speak. “Are you Campbell Forester?” she asks, as she looks me up and down.

  “I am and you are?”

  “You don’t know me, but my name is Samantha Allington…” she trails off when she watches me stumble backward, my hand instinctively covering my mouth in shock as I collapse into my chair. “You know who I am?” she asks.

  I nod and swallow hard as I try to process what is happening.

  “You have something to do with Tommy,” I say, the words leaving my mouth on a long exhale, and this time it’s her who nods.

  She pulls an envelope from the pocket of her coat and hands it to me. My name is written on the front and when I turn it over the back says, Please do whatever you can to find her.

  “It wasn’t very hard,” she says as she watches me read the back of the envelope. She waits a moment, pausing as if she’s trying to think of what to say next. “I’m Tommy’s wife.”

  I don’t know what to say and I don’t have to think about it anymore because in the next breath Samantha lays into me.

  “I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but it ruined him. He never told me and now he won’t ever be able to. Because thanks to you, he’s dead.”

  I gasp out loud and the nausea that consumed my morning has taken over again. I shake my head over and over again. This can’t be happening.

  “He died yesterday,” she says, spitting out her words and I want to tell her I’m sorry, but nothing comes out. “He loved you and I couldn’t compete with that. I tried to save him, but every day was a struggle. He never recovered from whatever happened between the two of you, but clearly you have.”

  I can’t continue to let her berate me; she’s misinformed, but how can I tell her this without confessing.

  “He did love me, but it wasn’t like that,” I explain, but it falls on deaf ears. She’s hurt and angry and grieving, nothing I say will matter.

  “It’s over. You’ve got your letter,” she says hatefully as she begins to leave my office.

  “Wait,” I call out and she stops just short of my door. “I loved him too,” I whisper and after that my voice fails me and suddenly I can’t speak.

  “But it never occurred to you to find out if he was okay?” She doesn’t give me the opportunity to answer, not that I deserve it. I can only imagine what she thinks has happened between the two of us. With her hand on the doorknob, she turns away from me and hisses, “Obviously it didn’t, and you seem to be doing just fine.”

  She leaves me standing stunned and speechless clutching the envelope in my hand, but I can’t let it end this way. I chase her out into the lobby, my assistant watching me the entire time.

  “I’m not okay!” I shout, startling everyone within an earshot. Samantha turns and looks at me, the tears have already begun to fall, my voice shaky and weak. “I’m not okay,” I say again and her only response is, “Neither was he,” as she steps into the elevator and leaves.

  I scramble back to my office hoping that no one has noticed that I’ve come completely undone. Falling into my desk chair, I bury my face in my hands and sob, my eyes burning and hot with a mass of tears that won’t seem to stop. The dull ache in my chest that has never faded has now ripped wide open, painful and hopeless. The guilt I feel is unreal, and while I know his death isn’t my fault, I can’t help but feel somewhat responsible.

  My heart breaks for his wife and what she had to deal with; I can’t even imagine how difficult it was to be married to him if the life I live every day is any indication. Tommy, Benji and I each coped in our own way, but all equally distraught and self-destructive. And while we haven’t been together in years, I know that we will never be alright.

  The letter is lying on my desk, Tommy’s handwriting on the front a reminder of what we once had. He loved to leave me notes; he’d been doing it since we learned to write. Small things, really, just simple words to make me smile or laugh or cry sometimes. He was one of the most thoughtful and selfless people I know, always concerned about everyone but himself.

  There are times I often wonder why Tommy or Benji never reached out to me, but I never did either and when I left, I made it clear that I wanted nothing to do with them. Now that Tommy is dead, I wish I would have. I wish I wouldn’t have spent so much time trying to forget and more time trying to save us.

  I turn the letter over, reading the back once again. Please do whatever you can to find her. It wasn’t like I hid from him or anyone else; I just became personally invisible after walking away from them. No social media, email address, listed phone numbers or things to link me back to Michigan, the accident or my past. Though I knew once my career began to flourish I would be easily reachable and in a way I guess I hoped I’d hear from one of them. That they would be the one to take the first step in repairing what we once had. I never expected the first step to come in the form of what I can only assume is a suicide letter.

  I can’t bring myself to open it, the pain far too great at the moment and I know the letter will only intensify what I’m feeling. I stuff it into my laptop bag just as a knock comes on the door to my office. I quickly wipe at my ey
es like that’s suddenly going to make me look like I haven’t spent the last ten minutes crying. I need to pull myself together.

  When the door opens it’s the last person I expect to see.

  “You okay?” he asks, but his tone is formal like always. “Claire said you were upset.”

  My boss, who also happens to be my brother, rarely mixes our personal lives with our professional and the fact that he’s standing here nearly knocks me on my ass.

  “I’m fine, Jack,” I respond just as formally.

  While we grew up together, we were never close, but when he began his company he saw something in me that he knew would contribute to his success. I’ve been working for him since I graduated from college with degrees in business and finance and we’ve been nothing but professional. I never wanted anyone within the company to think I achieved my position because of my connection to Jack. It has been easy to remain professional, partially due to the fact that Jack and I have very little in common and because I’ve kept everyone at arms length since the accident, including my family.

  “I don’t know what’s going on, Campbell but things have been off for the last few days.”

  I let out an annoyed sigh. Things have been off? Ugh, I want to tell him to fuck off, because I’m still bringing in revenue better than anyone else at this company and that should be all that matters. My personal life is none of his concern.

  “And I was just informed that you closed the deal with William Walters, but not before telling him you give amazing blow jobs.” Jack glares at me with a look that screams disappointment.

  “That guy’s a prick,” I shoot back.

  “They’re all pricks in this business, Campbell, yet I still expect you to treat them with the utmost respect.”

  “Got it,” I say, but never looking up from my desk; my eyes focused on the calendar sitting in the center. If I look up he’ll know I’ve been crying, not that he doesn’t know already.

  “Why don’t you call it a day and come back tomorrow rested and back to normal?” He states it like a question, but I know it’s more of a request than anything. It takes everything in me not to ask him what normal is. I haven’t been normal in nine years and after my encounter today, I’m certain I won’t know normal ever again.