The End of All Things Beautiful

by Nikki Young

  I still haven’t stopped long enough to think about it and I won’t start now.

  I begin packing Carson’s things, in a rather strange and obsessively organized fashion. Placing all his suits and dress shirts, still on hangers and covered in plastic into a garment bag he used when he traveled for work and then moving on to what is left in the drawers of the dresser. It’s not much, but I still neatly re-fold everything and place it in the suitcase that matches the garment bag.

  I wonder what is driving me to do this, because I know it’s not just something that occupies my time. There’s more to it than that and that’s when I realize I’m crying. The tears are falling from my eyes and I understand what I’ve become and I hate myself.

  There is nothing left in my life; that small bit of hope I let through when I was with Benji is now gone and as it left, it ripped my chest wide open. This time, my whole heart went with it. Any shred of humanity and kindness and ability to love went with it, too.

  And for some reason, I think if I do this for Carson, he won’t hate me. But like everything else, it’s a lie too. It just makes it easier to live with myself. I’m a horrible person.

  I finish packing all of Carson’s things, placing them by the door so I can take them with me to work tomorrow. I’ll courier everything from the office to where Carson works. This will save me the time and the stress of having to deal with him and despite the fact that he cheated on me, I’m the one who ultimately ruined everything between us and I’m not sure I can face him.

  I didn’t love him and I never would have, but I did love Benji and still do. Yet, I seem to ruin what I have; it all falling apart around me, slow and painful.

  I pick up my phone in the hopes that Benji has given me something, but I find nothing. I won’t text him or call, because that makes me seem desperate, like I’m clinging to the one bit of dignity I have left and I’m torn as to what to do. I want him back, I want to feel whole again, but I also know how quickly it can turn bad. It’s not something I want to deal with, and after the way things ended, I’m certain I can’t put myself through it all again.

  I’m avoiding sleep, and I feel my body beginning to shut down, my eyes heavy, my head starting to ache as a feeling of nausea looms. I know I need to sleep, but my life is a waking nightmare. I can only imagine what will happen when I finally give in and fall asleep.

  I climb into bed, the sheets cold and unforgiving, and in the darkness of my bedroom, the loneliness only seems to be magnified. I’m done crying, I tell myself, returning to the harsh exterior I’ve grown used to, I need to protect myself. I can’t let my guard down again. I won’t find myself here, crying and desperate, but I know I’m lying.

  I miss Benji more than anything. I miss him more than I miss myself.

  I find myself falling asleep, but fighting it vehemently, because each time I close my eyes I see his face. I hear his voice say my name and feel his hands on my body, comforting me, and it hurts like hell.

  I wake up, a silent scream stuck in my throat. My mouth is open, but no sound comes out. I’m covered in sweat and shaking before I finally suck in a rough, hard breath. It does nothing to calm me; the visions of the accident replaying endlessly in my head, each image worse than what I remember.

  This time it’s Benji’s body, lifeless and bloody, slumped over the steering wheel and I’m standing in front of him crying, screaming his name, but nothing happens. I’m alone and I leave him. It’s horrifying and disturbing and I wonder if this will ever stop.

  I can’t live like this. I can’t live without him.

  It’s still dark out, but not nearly as early as I expected. It’s after five, and as if I’m on autopilot, I do what I’ve always done and get ready for work. Going through the motions of a regular life, but not remembering any of it and by the time I arrive at my office, I can’t even recall how I got here. Dragging myself off the elevator and into the dark lobby, because I’m far earlier than most of the people who work here, I head to my office and immediately close the door.

  My computer is now sitting on my desk, open and starting up, I remove my phone from my bag and see a missed called, three actually—all from Benji. All of the calls coming in after two in the morning and I wonder how I missed any of them and then I notice my phone is on silent. And despite the rush of energy that ran through my body at the sight of his name, I’m not sure I would’ve answered anyway.

  My only thoughts are negative. What could he have possibly said to me at this point? And while I know at one point there was hope for us, it’s now gone. It’s too fucked up to fix.

  Shit, this is not good; it’s really bad actually. Seeing his name on my phone, knowing he’s trying to reach me; I just can’t do it.

  I toss my phone back in my bag, ignoring his calls, ignoring him and ignoring the way I feel, torn and lost, but adamant not to set myself up for hurt. I’m not sure I could hear his voice and not breakdown immediately.

  As soon as my day starts I begin to function normally again, even though Jack keeps eyeing me from across the conference room table with a look of pity in his eyes. It makes me sick and his stare is now becoming uncomfortable. I look away from him as I feel my hands start to shake, frustrated with myself for ever sharing anything with him and even more upset that he can’t just let it go. The more I feel his eyes on me the more flustered I become, making it difficult to carry on with this meeting.

  “Excuse me,” I interrupt as the president of our marketing department is in the middle of a presentation. His eyes quickly flash to me and he glares as if I’ve just broken his concentration. I’m sure I have, but I can’t have Jack staring at me all day, especially since we are about to close a huge deal that I’ve been working on for months. “Sorry,” I say curtly as I turn my attention to Jack. “I need to speak with you for a minute.” And Jack instantly looks perturbed but I really don’t care.

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now.”

  He lets out an irritated sigh before addressing the people sitting around the table and following me out of the room and into my office.

  “What?” he says tersely, as I close the door behind us.

  “You’ve got to stop. I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine.”

  My life has become all about hiding myself and right now I’m failing miserably. Jack can see right through all the bullshit and I need him to stop. He’s making this far more difficult than it needs to be.

  “From the moment I walked in here today, I’ve been nothing but professional and that should be your only concern.” I look away from him not needing him to see the pain that hides behind my eyes. It’s now harder than ever to hide it all.

  “Campbell, please let me help you,” he practically begs and it wrecks me. I wish he could help me, but this is so far beyond him or any help he could give. Not to mention the fear of what sharing all of it with him might do to my job, his view of me and our working relationship. I can’t and I could never share this burden with anyone else. This is mine. I created this problem.

  I shake my head as I answer softly, “No, Jack, please just let it go.”

  Neither of us speaks for a moment and then without warning he leaves, which has me breathing a sigh of relief, yet at the same time I’m crying inside.

  An hour later, I step back into the same conference room I found myself in earlier in the day with Jack sitting across from me, but this time his face is stoic and he never once looks over at me.

  He speaks firmly and professionally throughout our meeting and I eventually find myself looking over at the man sitting next to me. He’s young, probably about Jack’s age and I suddenly feel sorry for him. He’s about to lose his company to us. I spent months researching him and his company as I watched his stock plummet on a daily basis as he tried to restructure, firing most of his staff and sinking more money in every day, only to find his company continued to fail. At this point he’s so far gone, there’s no way to dig his way out.

  I’m certain h
e never thought he’d be sitting here with us as we talk money and mergers and a way to buy him out without it looking poorly for him. Jack bullshits him, coddles him almost and I hate it. This is what we’ve become. This is what I’ve become to keep myself detached from life. A hardcore bitch that takes people’s hard earned businesses and profits off their loss and stupidity. It’s a job that requires time and focus, and one mistake could cost Jack his entire life and maybe that’s why I work so hard at it. At least one of us can be happy.

  I want to tell the man sitting next to me exactly what’s going to happen, because right now he’s too blinded by the money end of it to see it’s all going to end badly. We’re going to sell off his company piece by piece to the highest bidders; salvage is what we call it, leading us to make more money than he’s seen in the last five years. He doesn’t want to fail and sees this as a means to an end, but when it all comes down to it; he fails and we profit.

  I often wonder if I should’ve taken a job where I help people and not one where I ruin their lives. Would it have been my redemption for what I had done? Would the accident and all the death no longer matter if I spent my days helping others? It doesn’t matter, because I would still be living a lie, carrying secrets that burden my life beyond repair.

  Nothing can repair what I’ve done and nothing can bring them back.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I’ve only been home for an hour and I’m already drinking, drowning in it actually. I want to block it all out.

  My life.

  Everything.

  As much as it hurt to see Benji’s name on my phone, I found some sort of sick comfort in it. Like he might still care, like he still loves me despite the awfulness that continually surrounds us. I left him that note, the one that said I loved him. What more can I do? I could call him; beg him to take me back. But then, this nagging voice at the back of my mind asks, Who calls at three in the morning? Drunk people, the kind who speak the truth and tell you what they’re really thinking.

  I should know, I’m drunk and right now, no one wants to know what I’m really thinking. It’s horrible.

  I wish I had died in that car accident. I wish I had the courage to take my own life like Kelly and Tommy. Maybe if I had thought to be so selfish, I could have ended all this pain.

  To be happy, we must not be too concerned with others.

  I come back to that quote that I always believed to be bullshit, but now I see the truth in it. Or maybe my concern for the others should have driven me to take my own life. Concerned about how all of this affected them and how with one simple change to the plan, maybe they all could’ve lived normally. Were Kelly and Tommy concerned with anyone else when they chose the route they did? Maybe they were thinking about everyone but themselves or maybe it was always about them? The pain too much to bear, the loss and the heartache too debilitating. I should know.

  I was so distraught after the accident that I couldn’t see that Kelly was dying too. Both of us falling apart, but I never asked how she was doing, not that I needed to. It was clear to everyone around us that we were all fucked up. But it was one of those stupid questions that mean nothing, there’s no real concern in anything like that. It’s just what people ask; maybe I should’ve asked. I never did. I never thought to. I just let her die a silent death from a broken heart.

  Had it been me who died in that accident, she’d still be alive and so would Tommy. Neither would have had any reason to do what they did. Their lives wouldn’t have changed and after knowing what I know now, Benji’s life would’ve been better without me, too.

  The room begins to spin as I pick up the bottle of vodka and take another drink. Falling onto the couch, my foot on the floor in an attempt to subside the feeling of the room moving, yet I still keep drinking. I want to forget, but I can’t. Even the alcohol can’t make it go away.

  My thoughts begin to swirl and suddenly I’m remembering Kelly’s funeral. I’m crying now even though I didn’t cry at the funeral. Numb and confused, lost and heartbroken was what I was back then.

  I can picture her in the casket. They buried her in her prom dress. Who does that? Who buries their daughter in her prom dress? Who buries their nineteen year old child at all? It was a tragedy, a horrible, disgusting, avoidable tragedy.

  Her mother begged me for answers, racked with grief and the idea that her daughter would never get married, have kids or grow old, she couldn’t stop herself from questioning me, crying and pleading for me to give her something. I couldn’t do it. I had nothing left to give.

  Benji’s hand felt foreign in mine as we stood together at Kelly’s funeral. I couldn’t seem to hold his like I once had, switching my grip, but each time finding no solace in it. We were doomed.

  With Benji on one side, Tommy on the other, his was the hand I held tightly. The one I couldn’t let go of and as he stroked his thumb over my knuckles, I watched the tears fall from his eyes. The three of us, ruined forever.

  The room is spinning faster now and I’m having trouble seeing. I’m tired, but every time I close my eyes, I see Kelly, with her bruised neck, and wearing her pale pink prom dress. I see Sam, laughing and teasing me, but then I see him bloody and lifeless, a shell of what he once was. I feel Tommy’s hand stroke my knuckles and I remember what it felt like to love Benji and have him love me back. I’m sobbing now, uncontrollable, deep guttural sobs that make my body ache.

  It’s too much and I cry out even though I know there’s no one to hear me. The bottle is empty now but my thoughts aren’t.

  My letter, I think as the room moves and I climb off the couch, sliding along the wall and into the kitchen to find something to replace the empty bottle.

  Benji has my letter, my letter from Tommy. The one thing I have left of him. I need to find my phone. I need to call Benji. I need my letter.

  I need him.

  I open the cabinet and find a bottle of scotch, but it slips from my hand and crashes to the floor. The noise is loud and shattering, the floor wet with alcohol and I collapse on my knees, crying, my tears mixing with the mess in front of me.

  How did it get this bad?

  As I pass out I hear the doorbell go off. It keeps happening, over and over, but I can’t move. It’ll stop and then it does.

  I wake up in a pool of alcohol on my kitchen floor the next morning, my head throbbing and my eyes burning, the sound of my phone ringing as I try to locate it.

  “Hello,” I answer groggy and disoriented.

  “Jesus fucking christ, Campbell,” Jack shouts into my ear, and I feel my stomach forced into my throat and my head split in two. “We have a fucking meeting with Saxon about that merger in ten minutes and you aren’t here.”

  “Shit fuck,” I mumble, and Jack begins to yell again. I can’t even begin to process it through this headache. “Stall,” I manage to get out as I stumble to the bathroom before hanging up on him.

  I down three ibuprofen and get in the shower knowing I can’t show up to work smelling like a drunk. Who am I kidding? I am a drunk. A borderline alcoholic. An alcoholic.

  A sad thought crosses my mind as I stand under the water. In the few days I spent with Benji, I didn’t need to drink. I didn’t need it to get by, to fall asleep or forget. Maybe that says something. Maybe it says a lot.

  I push it from my mind and finish getting ready. I haul ass into the office, sucking on a million peppermints that I hope make me smell better and keep the vomit at bay. I’m a fucking mess, but I really need to pull it together.

  I walk in only twenty minutes behind schedule with a fake smile plastered on my face, greeting everyone as if I didn’t just spend last night drinking myself stupid.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” I say noticing I’m the only woman in the room. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic was horrendous.” I roll my eyes and exaggerate my words as I sit down in the only empty chair.

  I can function normally when I need to and it’s disgusting.

  The meeting begins and the discussion goes
along without any problems. I see Jack rise from the table, excusing himself; he steps by my chair, leaning down he whispers, “Thank you,” as he leaves the room.

  I can’t help but feel a little bit pleased that at least someone is happy in this situation. It certainly isn’t me.

  I’m discussing the merging of two companies that I hope will minimize the loss for both when I hear Claire’s voice call out, “I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t go in there.” It catches me off guard and I wonder just who she’s talking to. I immediately turn my attention to the door and everyone in the room stops talking and does the same, and then I hear Jack’s voice loud and booming.

  “Holy shit, Benji Kennedy, what the hell are you doing here?”

  My heart drops to the floor and I suddenly feel like I’m going to be sick. This can’t be happening, not here, not now. I’m on my feet, staring at where the voices are coming from.

  “Campbell in here?” I hear Benji’s voice shout, and then the door flies open and he’s standing there.

  He looks like hell, not that I’m one to judge, and when he storms over to where I’m standing, I panic.

  “No!” I shout, and everyone in the room stands up. My heart is racing like it’s going to tear through my chest at any moment, pounding against my ribs almost painfully. “You can’t be here.”

  “Campbell, no!” he shouts back, and I can feel my eyes fill with tears of embarrassment and frustration but more than anything, I’m completely shocked that he came. He came to find me. “I’m sorry,” he begs.

  I shake my head. “You can’t be here right now. I’m at work. This isn’t the place for this.”

  I forgive him, I do, but not here, not like this.

  “Please go, Benji.” I plead, walking toward the door with every eye in the room on me. There must be something in my words that he hears, because he listens, waking out of the conference room, leaving me alone.