Broken: A Bad Boy Romance, page 7
"What is he doing giving you a ride anyways?" Dad chimes in.
"We were talking after Group, and time got away from us. I didn't want to worry you any longer, so he offered to give me a ride."
"You shouldn't be hanging around Theodore Fitzgerald, Sophia. You've heard the reputation that boy has. You don't want to bring that type of attention to yourself. Especially now. You're going to be going to college in a couple of months."
My mom's lecturing grates every nerve in my body. I want to ask her to stop, but I've never done that before, and I can't start now. I just need to keep the peace for a couple more months. And then I will be across the country, and I will only have to talk to her a couple of times a week.
"Sophia, do you hear me?" Mom shouts, her voice shrill.
"Of course, I hear you. I'm standing a couple of feet in front of you," I want to snap back. But of course, I don't.
"Yes, Mom. Sorry," I say instead.
"Honestly, I don't know what you're thinking. Why would you want to be around someone with that kind of reputation? And all of those tattoos? Seriously? He's going to regret those when he's older."
Because he gets it. He's going through a pain similar to mine. We both get it.
And he's funny. And a good distraction. And he makes me feel something.
And those tattoos are sexy as hell. They mean something.
"I don't know," I mutter.
It's cowardly, but it's what I've always done. I've never been able to speak my mind with my parents. It was something Hunter never understood. But I've never had enough courage to rock the boat. So I keep my mouth shut. Even when the way they're talking about Theo pisses me off.
"You're too good to be hanging out with someone like Theodore Fitzgerald. And besides, you know, like everyone else, what that boy has been through. You don't want to associate yourself with that."
I see red. Mom's talking about Theo's brother, Edward. He died the same way Hunter did, and I will always defend Hunter. She's the one person. "He's gone through the same thing I've gone through. Am still going through. How dare you?"
Mom's face pales. "Oh, sweetheart. Come on. You know I didn't mean it like that. We adored Hunter. She was like a second daughter to us. But with Theodore's brother. His name was Edmund or something, right? That's a completely different thing."
"Edward," I correct. Eddie.
It infuriates me the way she says his name. It's the same way Theo said Hunter's name the day we first met. Disdain. Lack of respect. Like saying their names is something to avoid because of the way they died.
"I feel sad for Theodore and his family, but that doesn't mean that you should hang around someone with a reputation like him. He's on a spiral for self-destruction, and you don't need to be around that. I know you had a tough time for a bit after Hunter, but you snapped out of that. Theo doesn't seem like he's been snapping out of it."
The red gets thicker. Mom acts like she knows him. Just because she's seen him on TV and his stepfather is rich and famous. Just because there was news coverage on his brother.
It's the same as people who think they knew Hunter and then come up to me and want to talk about her. Or offer fake condolences when really all they want to do is gossip. Mom's no different than all of those people.
I blink back angry tears. Not just because of what she said about Theo, but also because of what she said about Hunter. The fact that she thinks Hunter killing herself is just something I'm going to snap out of. How dare she? How dare she act like me losing my best friend is just something to get over? And suggest that Theo should, too, after losing his brother.
Though I feel the fire rising inside of me, I don't speak any of it. Mom and Dad look at me like they genuinely don't believe they've just said anything wrong. That's the most sickening part of it all.
I know that Hunter would be disappointed in me for not saying anything, but I can't. I can't stand to be around them anymore, even though I know that I should be defending my best friend and Theo and his brother. So, like I've done for most of my life, I retreat to being a coward.
I storm to my room and slam my door behind me. My door shakes against the wooden doorframe. Hot, angry tears fall down my face as I pace in a circle. I'm mad at my parents but angrier at the world.
I know that my parents aren't alone in those beliefs. I hate that people who have lost people to suicide cannot grieve as openly as people who have lost loved ones in other ways. I hate the guilt. I hate that it's such a taboo topic. Theo and I have lost people in terrible ways. Our pain should be valid. But to so many people, it's not, and it makes me sick. It makes me hate everything.
The quiet hum my mind was in just twenty minutes ago has disappeared. Back is all of the sadness, guilt, and anger. It's so intense. My head feels like it's going to explode. Maybe I want it to explode. At least then, I wouldn't have to deal with processing all of these thoughts and carrying them day after day. And as soon as that thought crosses my mind, I fall apart.
I think like a lot of people, I've had those thoughts from time to time. I never thought anything of it before I lost Hunter. Now, those thoughts come attached with the idea that maybe that's what Hunter thought before she ended her life. Maybe she was thinking things like that every day. Maybe for a long time. She must have. People end things because they can't see a way out of their pain.
For the millionth time since that terrible day four months ago, I wonder how I didn't see it. Hunter always felt like such an open book to me. I thought that we always told each other everything. I still can't believe that she must have been carrying that awful, terrible weight around for the longest time. And I didn't see any of it.
I cross my arms tighter around myself as I sob.
I was supposed to be her best friend. We always said that we were sisters, even though we didn't share any DNA. Numerous times throughout the years, we had made pact after pact that nothing would ever come between us. We would always be each other's number ones and ride or dies.
I never imagined that I would have to do life without her. And now, there is only life without her ahead of me.
I clutch her pink bomber jacket around my shoulders. The front is still as heavy as it always was with all of her pins. Hunter always had a thing for pins. She began collecting them in elementary school, and every year after that, she added at least fifty more to her collection.
When her dad was going through her room for the first time, he called me after going through her closet. He said that he was planning on donating a lot to GoodWill. He had called to ask if I wanted anything.
It had been hard not to take everything.
Everything Hunter wore was her. She didn't wear something unless it felt completely like her.
I remember the day we went to the mall, and she got this. We were freshmen in high school, and bomber jackets had been making a comeback. We had been talking in the car about how she would never get one unless they had a pink one. Once in the mall, we rode to the top of the escalator. This pink bomber jacket was hanging on a mannequin in the window display. It had been fate.
Hunter had worn it pretty much every day freshman year. She had retired it to the back of her closet after that because bomber jackets went back out of style. But when she dyed her hair bubblegum pink over the summer, she had brought it out again and wore it often during our senior year.
It was the last thing I ever saw her in.
My phone buzzing against my leg snaps me out of the past. Hunter's dad, Charlie. My heart races.
"Hi, Charlie. How are you?" I choke out, clearing my throat.
I brush back the tears from my face. No matter my pain, Hunter's dad's pain must be a million times worse. I don't want him to hear a trace of my pain when he must be in an ocean of his own.
Charlie clears his throat, which is how I can tell that he's been crying. At Hunter's funeral, he cleared his throat at least a hundred times. Since I sat next to him, I will remember the sound for the rest of my life.
Charlie and I used to be closer. Since Hunter and I were attached at the hip, he's like a second dad to me. Though after Hunter passed, we stopped talking as much. I think it hurts both of us to reach out to the other. Makes it obvious how much Hunter is missing from the picture.
"Hey, kiddo," Charlie says, trying to sound like he's perfectly alright. I suppose we all play those games. "I hope you're doing okay. I was just calling because, you know, I'm uh, going through Hunter's room a little bit each day, and uh, well, I found some stuff that I think you should have."
My heart skips a beat. Something else from Hunter? It's what I ask for every day. I scramble off my floor.
"Thank you for calling me," I croak.
Charlie didn't say if I could go over now, but I don't care. He mentioned that there's something else Hunter left for me. I need it now. I don't care if I have to break in. I've been desperate for more pieces of her, and now here it is.
"You can come over now if you want, kiddo. I'm going to be here for the rest of the day. I, uh, I found some pretty tough stuff, and I want to make sure that you get your stuff. There's a lot here."
"I'm on my way, Charlie. I'll be there in ten. Do you need me to bring anything for you?"
Charlie clears his throat again, but his voice cracks. My heart aches.
"No." He coughs and clears his throat again. "You just get over here safe, alright?"
"See you soon."
We hang up, and I pull my shoes back on my feet. I don't care how crazy I look. I don't even bother wiping my face. I just need to get there and see what Hunter left.
"And where are you going?" Mom asks as soon as I race out of my room.
"Hunter's. Charlie called me."
Mom stops. I can feel both her and Dad watching me as I fumble to get my keys out of the dish. They don't say anything else as I fling myself out the door and race down the street. Hunter's house is two blocks over.
The last time that I ran like this towards her house was the day Charlie found her. He called for an ambulance, and then he called me.
As I round the corner of Hunter's street, my heart races. It's not from the running. I haven't been here since the week after Hunter's funeral. Just six months ago, I came here every day.
I shake my head to get back in the present moment. I can deal with all of my emotional bullshit after I find out what Hunter left me. I take the front steps two at a time and push through the front door moments after.
"Charlie?" I shout.
It gives me déjà vu back to that night I found out she was gone. Chills run down my spine at the memory.
Also, being in her house makes me forget. Just for a quick second that I wish would last longer.
It feels so much like before. When I would come over after school and wonder if Hunter was in her room or if she would come down the stairs and tackle me in a hug. Of course, neither of those things happen. Because Hunter's gone. I try to swallow around the lump in my throat. It burns.
"Hey! Back here, kiddo!" Charlie calls. He's in Hunter's room.
I brace myself as I walk back. As I step around the corner, tears spring to my eyes, and I bite down on the inside of my cheek, hard. I need to get it together. For Charlie. I can do all of this crying bullshit later tonight when I'm alone.
Charlie is sitting on the edge of her bed. It's perfectly made, clearly by Charlie. Hunter never made her bed. The thought of him coming in here and making it forms a hard lump in my throat.
I run my fingers over the foot of her bed. Her pink velvet comforter feels soft, just like I remember on my fingertips.
Her room is emptier than it used to be but still full of stuff. If someone didn't know what happened and looked in her room, they probably would have guessed that she was still alive. Her desk is full of books for classes that she never got the chance to finish. There are mountains of stuff piled in every corner. Her wall still has dozens of pictures. And it still smells like her signature rose perfume.
I should offer to return the books for Charlie. The school would fine for them otherwise.
There are dark purple bags under Charlie's eyes. I feel guilty. I need to do a better job of checking in on him more. Hunter wouldn't have wanted Charlie to look like this. They were always close.
Charlie pats the space next to him on the bed; I sit down. The gesture reminds me of Hunter. She used to always do the same.
"I was going through her bookshelf today. I found some stuff that looks like it was meant for you."
Charlie hands me a small stack of papers. Envelopes. All addressed to me. There are three of them. The lump in my throat grows bigger; it hurts to swallow—my heart races, wondering what's inside each of these envelopes.
"I don't know when they're from or what's in them. I didn't open them. But I figured you would want em. Lord knows if she had written me anything, I would murder to get them."
Charlie gruffly wipes a tear off his cheek, and I wrap my arms around him for a hug. Just like I did at the funeral. By the way he clears his throat ten times in a row, I can tell that he needs it.
"Thank you for giving these to me, Charlie," I say.
I promise I will be better at checking up on him, Hunter.
"Anytime, kiddo. I know you love her just like I do."
Yes. Yes, I do. Always.
When his voice cracks, I allow a couple tears to sneak out. Charlie pats my arm, and we just sit there for a couple of minutes. The silence of Hunter's room feels unnatural. I'm sure it feels even weirder to him. Hunter's room was never quiet. She always had something blaring.
I take in as much of the room as I can. How it was before Hunter left will always be burned into my memory, but I soak in as much as I can. I know that Charlie needs to clear things out on his own schedule.
I don't get how he stays in this house. Although, I can kind of imagine. On the one hand, being in this city is hard. Almost impossible some days. Everything reminds me of her, and I'm sure it's the same for Charlie. Even more so, especially in this house.
But then again, everything would probably remind me of her no matter where I went. And even though it hurts, all of the pain and being close to places we used to go makes me feel like she wasn't just a figment of my imagination.
Sometimes, I get so caught up in my pain that for split seconds, I wonder if I dreamt Hunter. But then I see a place we used to go to, and I remember that no, she was real. And she was one of the best people to ever exist.
"I think that I'm going to get back to going through stuff. If I find anything else, I'll let you know. And you know, don't be a stranger. It's real good to see you, kiddo."
I nod and blink back more tears. "It's really good to see you too, Charlie. And I will stop being a stranger like I have been. If you ever need anything, call me. Alright?"
Charlie nods, and we hug once more before he leads me back to the front door. Even though it's warm out, the air feels cold on my skin as I walk back home with the letters in my hand.
When I get back home, I don't say anything to my parents. They try to ask me questions, but I can barely hear them. Instead, I speed back to my room and lock the door behind me. No one is going to interrupt me reading what Hunter left for me.
I sprawl out on my floor, my legs already shaking. Hunter didn't write anyone letters, or so we had thought. I don't know exactly when these are from, but something in me just knows that they were from when everything started going to shit.
My fingers shake as I open the first one.
13
HUNTER
February 27th
Sophia Phoebe Vincent,
I'm sorry that it's ending like this. Sitting here, writing this is the hardest thing I've ever done. I've tried writing this at least a dozen times. Ever since January, these thoughts have circled around my mind endlessly. But every time I would sit down to write to you, I would change my mind. The idea of leaving you hurt so bad that I tried to hang on for just a little bit more.
But nothing's changed. And nothing ever will change, and I just can't anymore.
Sophia, you are my best friend in the entire world. You are my favorite person. You're the reason I was able to hold on for so long. You are why I felt like I could overcome all of the bad stuff that happened to me when I was young. You are the reason I kept holding out hope for so long.
After all of my bad luck, I couldn't believe that the world had gifted me with you.
I am so, so sorry. I wish that things could be different. I know that if you left me, it would ruin me. But I can't hold out any longer. There's no more hope. All of the light that I've spent trying to maintain and keep burning has been snuffed out. And I truly don't believe that it's ever going to come back again.
I'm tired of every day being filled with pain. And even if the days aren't filled with pain, there's the knowledge that a future day will be. My heart can't take it anymore. I want to get to the good stuff. A place where no one can hurt me anymore. And where I don't have the power to hurt anyone else.
I don't know where I'm going after this, but I just know that it will be better than this. Or that's what I'm telling myself. I've never really come to terms with what I expect to happen after I die. Which I realize is stupid of me because I've been thinking about it for months now. And before that, for longer.
Maybe there really is a Heaven? Or maybe reincarnation is real? Or maybe it's just a big white room where you watch the best moments of your life over and over again on tape.
I hope it's either of the latter. I hope that we meet up in the next lifetime, and it's better. I can stick around and get a whole lifetime of bliss with you, my dad, and the few other things I adored about this world.
Thank you for everything, Soph. You were the one streak of goodness I never expected to come out of the world. Thank you for all of the fun times, all of the memories, and all of the love.
When I think back on my life, I know without a doubt that you were the best part of it.
Please take care of yourself. I never wanted to hurt you.
