Everly After

by Rebecca Paula

  I open the window, knowing where she’s heading. I follow her up, flashes of that night breaking into my mind. It seems so long ago now. I remember that sad confidence in her eyes, the ache I felt to hold her against me and warm her up. I did, too, but not now. We’re taking pictures of the wreckage. Of what used to be. Of the Everly before she found Hudson.

  I’m standing right next to her, but I miss her so deeply, so fucking bad. I close my eyes and swallow back my frustrated sigh. She hands me the camera and pushes herself up onto the ledge. I hold my breath again and wait and pray.

  What would your last thought be if you fell?

  Her hair is pink now, a soft hush of pink. She dyed it while I was at my last appointment with the shrink. If it wasn’t so blotchy, I might actually think she always had pink hair. It fits her, strangely. There are bags under her eyes, and her cheekbones are a bit sharper, too. Everything about her is off—if only slightly. She’s battle-worn from grief and denial. And love. She won’t admit it, but I know she loved him in some strange way. I think she needed a friend. But you can’t love a person like Hudson without getting hurt. He’s a fucking Dean Moriarty.

  The ugly truth is that not everyone can be saved. Sometimes there are sad stories, impossible ends you wish could be different. Some people are put on this earth to be giant fireballs who light it up bright and quick before they collide and burn down everything around them in a single, brilliant flash.

  Hudson’s suicide has burned down Everly. I sort of hate him for that. For robbing me of her and her love. Of what we could have had. I guess I’m part of his wreckage now, too.

  She wants a picture of me. I hold out the camera so we’re both in frame, but before I can snap one, she takes it back and leaves me standing alone in front of the Paris skyline. She’s talking about something, but I don’t listen. They’re empty words from an empty person.

  We’re playing pretend now.

  I delete the last picture as she climbs down the fire escape. No one needs of a picture of a guy hopelessly in love, with tears in his eyes.

  Everly

  Beckett rips the cigarette out of my hand when we step out of the cab.

  “You can’t smoke here,” he says, pointing to a hotel sign. I hate how he keeps talking to me like I’m a child. I can’t do a lot around him, apparently. But I can’t do a lot for myself, either, so whatever.

  I flip my hair and put on my sunglasses, my hands shaking as I do. The bellman takes our bags. I pause, waiting for Beckett’s hand to reach back for mine, but then I remember we’re not doing that anymore.

  He steps away, turning his back on me. I feel like a little girl watching her prized balloon drift up, up, up into the sky, out of reach. But it’s my fault. I let go. This is what happens when you let go. Eventually, the balloon will pop or disappear, and I’ll still be stuck in place, crying because I let that string slip through my fingers.

  I’m not sure I can right now. Cry, I mean. I feel numb and disjointed. Disconnected from the world around me. It’s happened before but on a smaller scale, never totally consuming. This time I’m not sure I’m searching for a way back. I can move around the world better like this—far from people, far from myself.

  Beckett’s saying something to me, but I’m thinking that I need to buy more maps. The other ones…

  Maps to Thailand, maybe. Or Croatia. Timor-Leste.

  We’re standing in front of the lobby desk when I blink again. Beckett has my purse and is riffling through it. I laugh, turning away, amused that he thinks he’ll find anything resembling money. Out of the corner of my eye, I see he hands the clerk my passport.

  My eyes land on the table in the center of the chic lobby, the bright tropical arrangement anchoring the overwhelming room. It hasn’t changed since my last visit.

  Three summers ago, after freshman year of college, I danced all night at this hotel for a charity party. I remember laughing in my couture Dior, slipping off with friends to the private beach below. Our champagne glasses became champagne bottles as the tide changed and took more of the beach with each wave. I remember feeling Hudson’s eyes chase me around the party that night. He stalked me like some dangerous predator, and it ended with a drunken kiss on the balcony overlooking the ocean the next morning. Even after I vowed never to touch him again when we graduated from prep school. There was a dance then, too. The two of us twirling clumsily, giddy-drunk on the freshness of adulthood. Hudson hummed “Jingle Bells” in my ears, out of tune.

  “Everly?”

  I wipe the wetness from my cheeks and smile over at Beckett.

  “The room’s ready. Want to go up?”

  I peek behind me at the table once more, watching the ghosting memory replay of me and Hudson stumbling through the lobby, our bare feet sandy, the desk clerks yelling at us to keep it down. We flipped them off, too busy twirling to care about the table or the flower arrangement we sent crashing to the floor. He’d plucked an orchid from the puddle and tucked it behind my ear before he’d saluted the clerks and carried me piggyback upstairs.

  I suck in a breath and lower my sunglasses. I grab my purse from Beckett and head to the elevator. He follows, standing beside me when the door closes. It’s quiet between us, but it’s going to be like that now. I’ll just have to keep lying to myself that it’s what I want.

  But I don’t. I want my life back, and I want Beckett with me. I want that time in London again. I want to be the girl I was before everything happened.

  I shadow him to my room, counting the black-and-white tiles underfoot. He looks so out of place in his Chucks and worn jeans. Everyone will eat him alive tonight.

  A shiver chases down my spine. I can’t think about the party. It’s bad enough I’m here. I should have stayed in Paris.

  “You’re staying with me?” I ask, following him through the door. There’s one bed, dressed in white in an all-white room. It’s too stark for me. I want to see wear and life, not sterile perfection.

  “I’m taking the couch.”

  He throws our bags down and shuts the door behind me. Beckett strides over to the wall of windows and tugs back the window sheers to a sweeping view of the French Riviera. The brightness makes me flinch, even with my sunglasses on.

  “You don’t have to do this,” he says, turning to me suddenly.

  I flop back onto the bed and stare up at the ceiling. I remember always looking down when I walked around, not wanting to be seen, and now I’m always looking up. I’m not sure I like this view any better.

  “We can leave right now. No one knows you’re here yet.”

  I feel him coming toward me, the uncomfortable pressure of each footstep mounting against my chest.

  “We can fly back to Paris. Or grab a cheaper place in town. No one needs—”

  “Why are you staying with me?”

  He rushes over and tears the sunglasses off my face. They crash and break against the bathroom door. I sit up and blink. I liked those.

  Beckett stands in front of me and leans close. I draw back, not liking him near me because it makes my chest knot up and I feel. I feel things, and I don’t want that now. I want to keep hiding where I am, and I want him gone. I don’t want to see him or hear him or miss his touch. And I do. I fucking miss him, but I can’t let him know that, either.

  “You can keep hiding, Everly, but I know you’re in there. I’m not going to let you get away.” His face crowds me, his nose touching mine. “I won’t let you disappear.”

  I look away, his breath hot on my cheek. I shut my eyes, pretending he presses his lips against me in a sweet kiss. “I want to take a nap now.” I scoot farther back on the bed, away from Beckett. Away from the promise of such a kiss.

  “Yeah, of course.”

  I hate how his disappointment tears at my chest. The failure, the regret—it’s worthless and means nothing to me.

  He wakes me up when the room is dark. I slept another day away. It’s steamy in here, and I realize he’s taken a shower. I can smell hi
s soap.

  I guess I’m staring because he glances up from buttoning his cufflinks, the bathroom light flooding around him, and he says, “Didn’t think I could clean up?”

  I ignore him and clumsily roll off the bed, my body still stuck in that strange fog. I rummage through my suitcase for the one dress for an occasion like tonight that I haven’t pawned and bring it with me to the bathroom. The steam from the hot shower releases the wrinkles from the slim skirt of black crepe, but nothing can fix how it doesn’t fit me any longer.

  I frown at my reflection while I tug and pull, trying to make the bodice stay put, but it only slides down. The lace cutouts reveal the bones and pale skin of my body. I wasn’t planning on returning to the world charity events after I left for Paris.

  I let it sag, not caring anymore.

  If I look close enough, I can still see the fading outline of Hudson’s handprint on my cheek. I rest my fingers against it, fighting back the anger swelling up inside me. I stare back into the mirror, not recognizing the small part of me that wishes it would never fade. They’re the last things I have of him—the bruise on my flesh, the way my heart is broken.

  Au cœur brisé.

  “Everly?” Beckett calls from the other side of the door.

  The panic gnaws at me. I thought I could do this. I thought I could come and keep pretending, but suddenly the walls are missing and it’s me left facing the world. I can’t.

  I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.

  I open the door, my hand braced over my stomach. I can’t look Beckett in the eyes. I dart to my suitcase on the floor and scavenge through my things, then hide it in my hand as I reach for my purse.

  “Just a minute,” I say over my shoulder. I close the bathroom door and sink against the counter, the pills clutched in my hand.

  I take two, then put on my makeup. I wait, but I don’t feel any different. Maybe I’m too worked up. I swallow a few more, then do my hair. But it’s too fine and falls out of the pins, so I leave it down.

  I rummage around my purse until I find my chandelier earrings and stick those in. I leave the rest of the rings on my hands. I don’t care what they all think of me now. Let them talk. Fuck them. All of them. For making us this way.

  I stuff the rest of the pills into the torn lining of my clutch as Beckett pushes open the door and leans against the doorjamb. He’s all cool in his suit. All polished and perfect. I close my eyes and push away the image of the guy on the roof. The one who covered my skinned knee with his shirt.

  And his lips. And his arms around me. And his words. And…

  We step into the crowded ballroom to the sleepy sound of a jazz band. The doors are open to the ocean below, a salty breeze filtering in. The lights are dim overhead, and the buzzing of empty chatter echoes around me.

  I shake it off. The room is rocky, like we’re on a yacht, and the air is stifling. Beckett’s hand reluctantly snaps up beneath my elbow to steady me. I jerk away.

  “I’m not even going to ask,” he says, standing beside me. “You’re just going to tell me you’re fine.”

  I pull on a large, bitter smile and tip my face up to his. “That’s because I am.”

  He leans closer, his eyes boring into mine. I hate when he does this, when he looks at me as though he understands everything.

  “You’re such a fucking liar.”

  I recoil, his words ringing in my ears. It’s the meanest thing he’s ever said to me.

  I grab a glass from a passing waiter and throw back the bubbly champagne, meeting Beckett’s bottomless stare.

  “We can leave,” he says, draining his own glass. “Right now. You don’t have to prove to anyone—”

  I hold up my hand. It’s trembling, and he’s little bit out of focus. I feel warmer as the champagne sinks down into my belly, and still his words sting me, wrap themselves around me and bloom in my thoughts with another beat of my heart.

  My parents find us, but I’m too distracted to listen. They’re talking to me in hushed tones, and my mom’s hand is pinching my arm, refusing to let go. Beckett stands next to me awkwardly. My father seems to be lecturing me, but I only hear white noise where his voice should be.

  I’m sure it’s about Nathan. It usually is. How he would never do what I’m doing. How everything about him was perfect. How I’m an embarrassment. It’s nothing new, so I nod along as if I care.

  They say something about Hudson, about how I’m here tonight to talk about him but I shouldn’t get up on stage. I don’t want to now. I want to go to sleep.

  I let them finish their blabbing, being a good girl, remembering to smile from time to time. I think I even lie a bit and tell them what they want to hear—that I won’t go up on stage, that I’ll be quiet. No one probably wants to hear what I have to say about Hudson, anyway. I push off across the room, trying my best not to collide into everyone. It feels like the ballroom’s become an overcrowded carousel.

  And I can’t breathe.

  Beckett rests a hand on the small of my back. I try to shake it off and stumble over the long hem of my dress and roll my ankle.

  His hands wrap around my waist. “Let’s go outside for a while,” he whispers into my ear. The warmth of his hands stings, and I draw back, fighting back the sour taste in my mouth. “What did you do, Everly?”

  He spins me around, his hands curled tight over my bare shoulders.

  “Nothing.” I shake my head, biting my lip until I feel the sweet pain throb like it might split open. “Nothing.”

  He thumbs his ear, bending closer to study me, but I avoid his stare, watching the party instead. His hand circles my wrist, trying to keep me close or something. “We can walk on the beach if you want. Go for a swim?”

  “I need to get some air.” My voice is soft, or maybe I don’t speak at all. “I just need a few minutes.” I step away, glancing over my shoulder to see him standing there, lost in the midst of the party. He’s so much better than anyone in that room. He deserves better than a broken mess like me.

  It feels as though I float outside to the balcony. I propel myself against the stone balustrade, stretching forward in my heels to examine the sandy beach far below.

  What would your last thought be if you fell?

  I grab a glass of wine from a waiter and swallow a few sips, staring out into the darkness. If I focus really hard, I can see the whitecaps before they break and crash onto the shore. I take another deep breath, drifting down the stone steps to the beach, slipping off my heels, sinking barefoot into the sand.

  I can just barely make out someone on the horizon, braced against the surging tide. His jacket is slung over his shoulder, his brown hair messy and unkempt.

  The salty breeze feels nice.

  Beckett

  I don’t believe her anymore.

  I wait a few minutes, skirting the rest of the party. I don’t belong here, don’t fit in. Her parents were icy to me at best. They didn’t ask for my name, and Everly never introduced me.

  I don’t think Everly even knew what she was saying. She carried on as if everything was fine, a pasted smile on her face, but her eyes were unfocused and I could see her pulse race against the base of her neck.

  I’ve lost sight of her. I squint, trying to make her out. All I see is empty beach and crashing waves. I take off my dress shoes and jump down the stairs, the party fading behind me as I walk farther down the coast. I don’t see her, but I haven’t given her much time to get ahead of me.

  If I can find her, maybe I can convince her to return to our room. She shouldn’t be here. It’s too much, too soon.

  My feet randomly sink into the shifting sand, making it hard to walk. Everything is always changing for me. My life’s been nothing if not one constant stream of change. One foot remains on packed sand as the other sinks, and I wish something, for once, would remain solid.

  I study the whitecaps cresting, the waves crashing, and start to freak the fuck out because I’m not seeing her. I grab my mobile and call her, jogging
farther down the beach when I hear the muffled sound of her ringtone.

  The dark figure is sprawled out on the sand. I call her name, thinking she’s staring up at the sky again. She’s been doing that a lot lately.

  But it’s worse, so much worse.

  She’s convulsing, her eyes rolling back into her head, and she’s thrown up.

  “Everly.” I drop to the sand and grab her shoulders. “Everly?” She’s not responding to me. I prop her up awkwardly in my arms as I phone SAMU.

  “J’ai besoin d’une ambulance.”

  She’s pale, cold. My fingers shake as they wipe her lips.

  “C’est un cas d’urgence.”

  Not breathing. Fuck.

  “Ma petite amie s’étouffe.”

  I’m trying my best to keep up with their questions, but she’s gone still. Everything’s spiraling out of control in front of me, moving too fast and not fast enough at the same time. I see a soldier’s body in my arms, the blood. I feel the desert heat but smell the ocean air.

  “Everly, love.” My voice cracks.

  My mobile slips from the crook of my shoulder into the sand beside us. I unfold my legs and lay her in my lap, swiping my fingers into her mouth to clear away the vomit. The waves roar against the shore, drowning out the panic in my voice as I talk to her about stupid nothings, pleading with her not to go away. I keep my eyes pinned to her pale face, my hands fluttering over her neck, frantic to find a pulse. There’s nothing. She’s slipping into nothing.

  Adrenaline rushes through me, moving my body before I can think. I plug her nose and tilt her head back and blow a breath into her mouth. Then another. I wipe at her face, smearing her makeup, my mouth still spouting idiotic questions and confessions. Anything, if only she’ll respond.

  Fuck, wake up. Breathe, Everly.

  My words are useless now. My hands, my breath, my mouth against hers. I failed. I’m failing. I don’t know if I can save her.

  I lever my body over hers and press my palms against her chest in compressions. She’s fragile beneath me, breakable. I feel as though I’m shattering her with each strike. White lights cut across the sky and hit my face. My focus doesn’t falter. I bend down and press my mouth against hers, my hand cradling her head. Her earrings spark as the light sweeps over us again and voices carry toward us.