by Chelsea Fine
“I mean, who does that?” she continues. “Who declares their love for someone they don’t even know? Does he know about my pet turtle when I was nine? No.” Chop, chop, chop. “Does he know that my mother is evil incarnate? No.” Chop, chop, chop. “Hell, five hours ago he didn’t even know my hair was naturally curly! He knows nothing about me. And yet he wants me to fly away with him to meet his parents because he loves me? No. Just no!” Chop, chop, chop.
Pixie has been with only one guy, one time. Why am I so happy about this?
“And you know what else?” She points the knife at me violently. “I am not Captain Hook. If anything, I’m Tinker Bell.” She returns to her wild dicing. “Tinker Bell!”
Tinker Bell?
Shit. I need to start paying attention.
“He’s a crazy person,” she says. Chop, chop, chop. “So clearly I had no choice but to break up with him.”
I squint at her. “He told you he loved you… so you broke up with him?”
“Yep,” she says, popping the p.
“Why?”
“Because Matt doesn’t love me. So it’s all just bullshit. Him. Me. Everything. Bullshit.”
“How do you know he doesn’t love you?”
“Just because.”
“Because why?”
She throws her arms out again and yells, “Because love isn’t something that needs to be said out loud!” Her face flushes with passion. “It’s something you just know. It’s an unspoken thing. It’s humble and quiet and constant…” She goes back to slaughtering the mushrooms, but lowers her tone a bit. “I mean, you can’t just say you love someone and make it true. That’s not how it works. Real love doesn’t need to be declared or confessed. Real love just… is. You know?”
My throat constricts because I do know. God, I know. I know so much it’s hurting me to look at her.
“So yeah.” She swallows. “Matt doesn’t love me and I don’t love him and now I’m right back to where I started, which is exactly nowhere and I’m just so”—chop—“freaking”—chop—“sick”—chop—“of being nowhere. And nobody gets it. Nobody!”
I watch her for a moment, wishing I could take away the pain in those big green eyes of hers as they viciously hack up the remains of the mushrooms. She looks the way I feel inside most days. Hurt. Stuck. Desperate.
“I get it,” I say quietly.
She stops chopping and looks up.
I press my lips together. “I know all about nowhere.”
Our eyes meet beneath the dimmed lights, colliding in a tangle of shared emotions too raw to touch. How did we get so broken?
We might be legal adults now, but lately it feels like we’re just as helpless as children. Just as lost and scared.
If my parents were here, they’d know what to do. How to heal Pixie. How to fix me. They always knew what to do. But since they didn’t stick around for the fallout, we’re navigating this thing on our own. And failing miserably.
Pixie stares at me for a long moment.
“I know you do.” Her voice is barely a whisper, drifting through the air and gliding over my skin. She looks me over with longing and dammit if that’s not everything I want in the world.
My eyes drop to her mouth, her throat, her hands. Every instinct I have is screaming to touch her. To cross the space between us and wrap my arms protectively around her small frame. To shield her from all the bad things, the sorrowful things. All the things I’m made of.
But that can’t happen. We can’t happen.
Neither of us moves as reality seeps in, slow and steady, and the moment evaporates into the dim kitchen. It’s sad in the room, like there’s something very much alive but fatally ill breathing in between Pixie’s broken heart and mine. And we don’t know how to fix it.
We need more distance between us. Distance is painless. Distance is safe.
She clears her throat and washes her hands. I double-check the door to make sure it’s locked. And we go our separate ways.
15
Pixie
Two days later, I’m still not heartbroken.
I’ve never broken up with anyone before so maybe I don’t really understand the concept, but I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be feeling sad or lonely by now.
Nope.
All I’ve felt since my post-bowling meltdown in front of Levi—did I really blab to him how I hadn’t slept with anyone since Benji? Ugh—is frustrated. And of course supremely embarrassed.
God, I can’t believe I just lost my shit like that the other night. For a moment I forgot things had changed between us, and I just unloaded on Levi like I used to. He’s done a good job of steering clear of me ever since and it’s probably for the best. Who knows what I might blab out next time. My throat-biting desires? My unhealthy obsession with his forearm muscles? I need a muzzle.
This is what I’m thinking about as I reach the bottom of the east wing stairs. My face must be twisted into a look of utter shame and repulsion because Daren stops me on my way to the kitchen and says, “Hey, everything okay?”
I know Levi’s not crazy about him, but Daren’s not a bad guy. He’s just a typical guy. He’s one of those broken bad boys whom every girl wants to fix: guarded, cocky, desperate for approval but emotionally unavailable. Typical.
And he’s way too attractive for his own good. The guy’s not just hot. He’s freaking beautiful. And he knows it.
But he hasn’t had it easy, which is probably why Ellen gave him a job here and why I tend to give him a break. Even when he implores me with those pretty brown eyes of his—like he’s doing right now.
Seriously. Too attractive for his own good.
“I’m fine,” I say and move past him.
He follows after me, and it’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. This is just how it is with Daren. He’s always checking on me during work. I know he means well, but gah. Sometimes I wish my aunt wasn’t such a softie when it came to hiring cute boys with damaged pasts.
I touch a hand to my chest.
Sometimes.
“Hi, Daren.” Mable looks up from flipping pancakes as we enter the kitchen and smiles at him, but it’s different from when she smiles at Levi.
“Hi, Mable.” He turns to me. “So the Fourth of July Bash is coming up.”
I put my apron on. “So?”
“So are you going?”
“No.”
“Come on. It’s tradition.” He flashes his smile, and I’m reminded why every girl in high school put out for him. Every girl but me, of course. That smile is dangerous. “Everyone will be there and everyone misses you.”
By everyone, he means all the random kids we grew up with. And by people missing me, he means people are curious to see if I’ve stopped being a hermit yet. As far as my hometown is concerned, I’ve been keeping to myself like a shut-in lately. My friends in Copper Springs were cool about my social absence for a few months, but then their patience ran out and most of them stopped calling and inviting me to things. Not Daren, though.
“It’ll be fun,” he says. “You can bring your boyfriend. What’s his name again?”
“Matt.”
“Bring Matt.”
“We broke up.”
“Oh.” He rubs a hand over his dark brown hair. “Okay, then bring a friend. Or, better yet, come with me.” He’s grinning again.
I shake my head. “I’m not feeling very festival-ish this year.”
“Sarah,” he says seriously, dropping his smile as he puts his hand on my cheek. “You can’t be sad forever.”
Screw you. Yes, I can.
I gently pull back from his hand. “It hasn’t been forever. It’s been less than a year.”
“I know,” he says in a quieter tone. “But this might be good for you, seeing people, seeing friends.” His eyes scan mine. “Just think about it.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say, mostly to get him off my back. I don’t need to think about it—I don’t want to think about it.
“Excellent.” His eyes flick to something behind me. “We’ll talk more later, okay?” He moves past me, but not before giving me a swift kiss on the lips.
What the…?
I turn around to bitch him out—because I’m not a kissing booth—but my words catch in my throat when I see Levi at the back door, glaring at us with a dark look that’s probably supposed to say I don’t give a damn but comes across more like I will shred Daren with my bare hands.
Daren gives me a covert wink as he heads for the dining room door, and I make a mental note to scold him later.
I act casual until Daren is gone, smoothing down my apron and tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear; then I look at Levi and wait for the storm.
He stares at me.
I stare at him.
Mable stares at pancakes.
Well, hell. Storms, I know how to handle. But this—this heavy silence bullshit—I don’t know what to do with this.
He continues staring.
“What?” I snap.
“Don’t be a whore,” Levi says coolly.
Mable looks at him in horror, the spatula frozen in her hand as her mouth falls open.
“Excuse me?” I see red and suddenly know exactly where every knife in the kitchen is.
I know Levi doesn’t like Daren, but why would he—how could he—I can’t even—
“Look who’s talking,” I sneer. “I don’t really think you have any right to pass judgment on whorishness. And besides, my life is my business.”
He shrugs. “Fine, be a whore. But you can do better than Daren.”
I slowly nod, anger and hurt filling up my lungs. “What, like you?”
His eyes sharpen as he looks me up and down. It’s not a gross look, more like a refresher in who, exactly, I am to him. A refresher that breaks my heart more than any words ever could.
He finds my face again and lowers his voice. “Never me.”
And then he leaves. The bastard just leaves.
I want to run after him and scream and yell and cuss, but there’s a piece of me that knows I deserve his anger, his rejection. And that piece keeps me in my place and stings the back of my eyes for all the things I can’t take back.
Things like Charity.
16
Levi
Self-loathing doesn’t even begin to cover what I’m feeling as I leave the kitchen.
I want to keep my distance from Pixie, yes. But calling her names? Putting that hurt in her eyes? Is that what I want?
My gut twists, but there’s no going back now.
And why was I so upset anyway? It’s just Daren fucking Ackwood. Am I so far gone that I just go Darth Vader on Pixie’s ass whenever she talks to another guy? She’s not mine. If she’s okay with Daren kissing her, then fine.
I crack my knuckles.
Who am I kidding? Daren’s a prick and I don’t want him to touch her. Period.
But damn, I overdid it in the kitchen. Her eyes were so angry and confused and… sad…
Fuck.
How could I have spoken to her like that? Like she was anything less than incredible? How could I have been so vicious with my words when I know how much verbal assault Pixie endured from her mother?
How could I have treated her just like the woman whose damage I once lived to undo?
I shove my hands in my hair as my heartbeat clogs up my throat. Then I blindly head to the maintenance closet in the west wing and start retrieving all the supplies I’ll need to patch the hole in my bedroom. It’s not on my To Do list, but I need to repair the wall. I need to fix what I did wrong—
Someone smacks me upside the head. “You called Pixie a whore? Seriously?”
I rub the back of my skull and turn to see a pissed-off Ellen.
“How did you—”
“Mable,” Ellen says. She’s livid, and now I hate myself even more.
I sigh in shame. “I didn’t call her a whore, exactly. I told her not to be a whore, which is different.” And oh hell, that was the wrong thing to say.
“You stupid boy.” Ellen smacks me again.
“Ouch.” I’m not sure if I mean the smack or her words.
She leans in. “I know you have shit, Levi. I know the past kills you. But pushing Pixie away isn’t going to ease the pain.”
Her eyes have me trapped. They’re locked and loaded and calling me out with nothing but concern. And for a moment, I see my mother staring back at me. Wanting more for me. Believing in me.
My heart thickens in my throat.
“I don’t want to ease the pain,” I say, completely serious.
Ellen watches me for a moment, hardness and sympathy warring in her eyes. “Yes, you do,” she says. “And so does Pixie.”
I watch her walk away, wishing I could undo the entire last year of my life.
With everything I need from the closet, I head up to my room. The hole in the wall gapes at me once I open the door, and I suddenly want to make it bigger. Smash it all to hell. Maybe break some bones, draw some blood.
I spend the next forty-five minutes patching up the damaged drywall and the rest of the day keeping myself busy with other repairs. Loose hinges, burned-out lightbulbs, busted pipes. Just anything to keep my hands busy and my head silent.
When there’s nothing more to fix, I change my clothes, head outside, and start running the old stone stairs. Scaling steps. Climbing to nowhere. Home sweet home.
17
Pixie
“I’d offer you tequila to cure your crappy mood, but since you don’t drink, I have the next best thing.” Jenna holds a pint of strawberry ice cream and a spoon out to me. “Go to town, girl.”
After my run-in with Levi this morning, I spent most of the day trying not to cry as I clanged innocent pots and pans and took out my frustration on the dinner asparagus. Mable didn’t say a word, but she kept a watchful eye on me all day.
Ellen came into the kitchen at one point. She watched me slice vegetables with a vengeance and stir fettuccini like the noodles needed to be punished, and then she stroked a hand across my shoulder blades before leaving. It was simple, but it brought me the comfort I needed.
I managed to get through the rest of the day without manhandling any more food products, and then I hightailed it over to Jenna’s. I needed to get the hell out of the east wing.
I take her offering. “I’m not in a crappy mood.”
“Yes, you are, and it’s completely understandable.”
“It is?” I ask, filling my mouth with strawberry.
She nods. “Breakups suck.”
Oh yeah. The breakup. I’d almost forgotten about that.
We plop down on the single couch in her tiny apartment, me with my pint of fat calories and Jenna with a rocks glass containing a concoction I’m sure Earl and his senior citizen golf buddies would appreciate.
“I’m confused, so let’s recap,” Jenna says, turning to face me as she leans against the arm of the couch. “So Matt told you he loved you.”
“Yes,” I say, nodding once.
“And then you dumped him.”
“Yes.”
She cocks her head. “Because somehow you know he doesn’t love you?”
“Exactly.”
Jenna sighs. “Girl. You might need something stronger than ice cream.”
I try to muster up some grief over my ex-boyfriend. “I just wish Matt hadn’t dropped the ‘love’ bomb, you know? We had a good thing going. Why did he have to mess it all up?” I shovel more strawberry goodness into my mouth.
“Yeah.” She spins the ice around in her glass. “It’s super annoying when dreamy guys say they love you.”
I groan and drop my head against the back of the couch. “I know I sound like a baby, and I know breaking up with Matt seems over-the-top, but I just couldn’t stay with him. I wasn’t me.”
Jenna takes the ice cream carton from my hands and eats a spoonful. “You didn’t feel like you could be yourself around him?”
I think about
it. “It’s not that I couldn’t be myself. I just… I just didn’t want to be myself. He and I… we just didn’t feel right. Do I sound crazy?”
“Yes.” She nods. “But the good kind of crazy.”
I rub my face. “This day has been super shitty.”
She wrinkles her brow. “I thought you and Matt broke up a few days ago.”
“What?” I sit up. “Oh. Yeah. We did.” I take the ice cream back. “But then Levi and I got in this fight this morning and it was so stupid, but it just infected me, you know?” I cram an oversized bite into my mouth.
“What did you and Levi get in a fight about?” Jenna narrows her gaze. “Do I need to voodoo his ass? ’Cause I will.”
“It was nothing really.” I wave my spoon flippantly. “This Daren guy was trying to talk me into going to our hometown’s Fourth of July lake party and Levi happened to be standing there when Daren kissed me—”
“Some guy kissed you?”
“Yeah, but it’s not like that. It’s—never mind. It’s complicated.” I sigh again. “But it pissed Levi off, which is understandable, but then Levi said some things he didn’t mean, which is also understandable, but God. It hurt, you know?” I shake my head and look down at the ice cream. “And it made me miss Charity.”
Jenna goes very still. “Levi’s sister?”
I nod and stab at a few chunks of frozen strawberry.
Charity and I met in kindergarten and became instant best friends the day she invited me over to play at her house. That was the first time I was introduced to the Andrews family. To happiness. Love.
“This is my friend, Sarah,” Charity introduced me to Levi. “Sarah, this is my brother, Leaves.”
She always called him Leaves, like he was made of Thanksgiving decorations or something. I used to call him that too. Before.
Growing up, Charity taught me how to be beautiful and free and brave, and she shared her family with me when I was desperate for one myself. She was my other half. We laughed and cried and talked about boys and had sleepovers and dreamed about the future. We were inseparable.
Jenna’s golden eyes study me. “Do you want to talk about her?” she asks quietly.