Just because I felt like updating :)
Chapter Sixty-Three: "Let Me At Her!"
"SO, WHAT DID YOU TWO do the other night?" I ask Justin casually while my fingers run against a red and black plaid shirt.
We're in the mall, doing more shopping for my 'country lifestyle', because I still needed more. Since arriving in California, I currently own over a dozen pairs of dark wash skinny jeans and plain coloured t-shirts, two pairs of cowboy bootsâankle cut and calf-highâa few different hats, which includes cowboy hats and baseball caps, and I have a pair of work boots for the mud and cold weather.
I won't be taking anything with me; Justin and Lacey are organizing for all the clothes to be shipped off to Canada, scheduled to hopefully arrive for a few days after returning to Thunder Bay, if not a week after if they have delays.
In total, after today, I'll've maybe spent about four grand on everything I bought, which, wasn't that bad for living in L.A. and buying as much as I did. Our family is very well-off, but we aren't completely rich. My dad makes some decent money for just flying around the world dozens of times a day, but mom makes the most, with her offices worth over a billion dollars in total, for the twelve locations they have in all of the world.
"Stuff." Justin replies, and I chuckle.
"That stuff wouldn't include your two naked bodies on her bed fooling around, would it?" I tease, nudging his arm.
"Possibly," he smirks, making me slap him hard. "Ouch! Brookie, you need to stop being so physical. I'm still recuperating, y'know!"
"I don't care! You didn't call me the day after. I need details!"
He scowls at me playfully before smiling slightly and directing his attention back to the rack of jeans. "What about this pair?" He asks, pointing at a pair of light blue jeans that have rips right where my butt would be.
"Yeah, no," I gag. "That's exposing a little too much."
"What?" He screeches. "JâLo, darling, these are in style right now."
"Not where I'm headed it isn't," I point out. "Justin, I'd refuse to even wear them if I still lived here."
"Okay, okay," he says in surrender, "I'm just saying that K-Jenner's jeans are popular."
"Because we live in Los Angeles, doofus. Where most celebrities live and work."
"Okay." He says again, then moves ahead. "These?"
"Those are cute." I shrug. They're black, with a few rips on the thigh areas that ran along until my knees. There weren't several rips where it would look like roped up raw animal, but enough that shows skin and keeps it hidden at the same timeâif that even makes sense.
Justin shrugs also and picks them up. "So what about you, then?" He questions.
"What about me?" I question.
"What did you do after we left?"
"I went home." I shrug, not really knowing what else to say. Of course, I'd definitely tell him what happened between Taylor and I, but I'm definitely not having this conversation in a mall. Especially when three of the employees in this very store go to the high school I went to.
"Taylor didn't stay?" He questions, raising his eyebrows.
"Of course he did," I say. "But I'm not talking to you about this right now. Especially when one of Stacy's friends is ten feet away from us, and the two others are just drama-igniters."
"I guess that it's a good thing I can speak Spanish then, eh?" He grins wickedly, and I narrow my eyes at him.
Sneaky little bastard, he is.
"Fine." I huff. "So, long story short, we got back to my place, he apologized for everything that happened before, I accepted said apology, I made sure he wasn't going to get involved again, he kissed me, I kissed him back, said I was ready, and he took me to bed."
"So you actually did the deed?" He asks excitedly.
"We did," I giggle foolishly.
"How was it?"
"Oh, Justin, it was amazing; he was amazing. He was so nice about everything."
"That's great, baby." He says with a wide smile. "I'm happy for you guys."
I smile back, but it falters. "Yeah, I'm happy too."
He frowns. "Then what is it?"
I sigh, wiping my eyes. "Everything is great. The sparks have returned, and somehow they're stronger than before. Whether it's the sex or not I'm not sure, but he makes me so happy. I don't like it."
"You're happy, and you don't like it," he says, repeating my words, then finally catching onto why I said I don't like it. "Brooklyn, I'm sure he'll wait for you. Think of it this way, you only have to go back to school for four or five months before being able to permanently come home."
"But what if he moves on during then?" I protest, voicing my number one fear.
He smiles at me softly. "If you actually know him, then you wouldn't even be thinking of that."
He has a point. If Taylor waited this long for me, and still feels the same he did before, then surely he can wait a few more months until we can be together again, then, right?
Except he has freedom and women near him now. He's not surrounded by only men, my brain tells me, making me groan.
Stupid thoughts.
"But there's girls around him now." I say, voicing my thoughts. "He's gotten popular from prison, Justin, and he's like a bazillion times hotter, which means girls are going to throw themselves at him every chance they get."
"Brooklyn, stop." He says annoyedly. "He's stupid if he didn't wait. Besides, I'm going to tell you the same thing I tell Lace and Jode when they have boy troubles: he's just a boy. You can get over him, and it's still the beginning, so it's not like you're losing much."
"Except I'll be losing everything." I snap. "He took my virginity!"
"Actuallyâ"
"No! He took the consenting one. Something I can't get back. You don't understand."
"Brâ"
"I love him, Justin." I hiss. "I've fallen in love with him even more than I had before and I want to kill myself over it because our lives together equal trouble and drama."
***
I dread Mondays. Truly, they aren't all that bad, but they just have bad luck in general. Everyone is moody and unhappy, and frankly it just makes me angry having to deal with their attitudes. People are the reason why I hate the day so much, and really, if they treated it like Friday or even Wednesday, maybe life would be easier, but that's definitely not the case.
Sitting by myself in the cafeteria, I pick at the mashed potatoes in front of me, which is saying something because mashed taters have become one of my all time favourite foods to eat.
I'm alone because apparently everyone has joined clubs or sports, and Taylor, I don't even know where he is.
Feeling a tense presence behind me, I sigh. "What do you want?"
"Old habits die hard, I take it?"
I place my fork back in my potatoes and turn around to stare at the three people before me. "My habits are none of your business." I say in boredom. "Now if you don't mind, I'm trying to eat."
I'm ignored. "Really? Because last time I checked, your habits were the whole towns business. After all, it's all about supply and demand, is it not?"
"I'm going to politely say this once, so your elephant ears better listen, and carefully." I say lowly. "Go away, don't talk to me, and never come up to me again, okay?"
"But what if I need?" She questions, and my jaw clenches. The one thing, one thing that I warn people never to bring it up, and of course, the idiot brought it upon themselves to fucking mention it.
"Stacy, get the fuck out of my face before I do something to it." I snarl out.
"Now why you do that, Brooklyn?" She frowns sarcastically. "I thought we were friends."
"We haven't been friends in over three years." I growl out. "Go away, Stacy."
"But I want some drugs."
"Get away from me now!" I snarl, my voice rising and eyes deadly. By now, this encounter has drawn the attention of everyone in the cafeteria, all bodies silent while they watch what they think is a very good movie that got sold outta box offices.
"Or what." She snaps, leaning in closer to me, trying to be intimidating. "You gonna kill me like you did Christian?"
I usually have a pretty good way of tolerating her shit, but she's crossed a line. Tease me, beat me, I don't care, but bring up my past that everyone knows I hate and get emotional about?
It sets me off. Bad.
And usually I try not to make a scene, especially if it's a fight, but this. . .
I harshly push the table away from me, standing up and getting ready to show this bitch who's boss. I've never killed anyone intentionally before, but right now will be my first.
I get right up to her face before I'm pushed away from her and pulled back, the distance between us growing each second. "Let me at her!" I scream in pure anger. All I see is red, and that isn't good. I haven't seen red or felt this angry in months; since I found out that girl ratted me out in the Canadian prison.
"No!" I protest, struggling against the person behind me. "Let me go! I'm going to bash her skull in where it hurts! That'll teach her not to mess with me. Eugh, just one hit!"
I'm dragged out forcefully into the hallway, where my struggle finally starts to wear off.
"Get off me." I snap, and thrown myself out out their strong hold.
"What happened?"
I spin around and look up at Taylor. "What happened?" I hiss. "What happened is that she attacked me! For no reason!"
My chest is heaving very heavily, like I've just ran a hundred miles without stopping. I can't help but clench and unclench my fists, my jaw ticking as I try to calm myself down; as I try to see where I am and not bowls of red, hot, fiery fury.
"I told her not once, not twice, but four fucking times to leave me the hell alone before I'd hurt her, and she kept pushing and pushing and pushing and I swear if you were just a second behind. . ." I rant out hurriedly, so fast I could beat Eminem and Busta Rhymes combined.
"I'm sorry." He frowns.
I groan. "Don't. It's not your fault, it's hers."
"It is," he argues, "had I not asked you to come to school this wouldn't have happened."
"Taylor, she insulted me, it's not like embarrassed me."
"It's equivalent, is it not?"
"No." I sigh. "Just a big pain in the ass."
We sat on the floor in the hallway for a bit until I fully calmed down.
"So where were you anyway?" I ask. "I haven't seen you since this morning."
"Just had some work to do for teachers." He shrugs. "Why were you eating alone?"
I shrug. "Everyone had extracurriculars to do." My stomach starts to growl unattractively, making me feel sheepish and shy. "Well. . . at least I was trying to eat."
He chuckles, and stands up. "Come on, then."
I knit my brows together. "Where?"
He rolls his eyes. "To get some food, obviously. God, I swear you've gotten dumber over the years." He says teasingly, making it my turn to roll my eyes. He holds his hand out expectantly. "So, are you joining me or are you just going to sit here hungry?"
I cross my arms. "Are you asking me out, Taylor Vulcano?" I ask jokingly, though I sound serious.
"Not if you say no." He winks, and I giggle, finally accepting his hand and letting his strong arms pull me up.
"Then I guess it's your lucky day, because I am starving." I say matter-of-factly, my stomach rumbling in agreement.
"I can see that." He teases, and I playfully slap his arm.
***
At the restaurant munching on a huge BLT I most definitely won't be able to finish, I notice Taylor's eyes staring at me while I scan around the restaurant. Not many people are here, which I guess is a good thing because I would preferably not have people staring at me while I shoved my face in a sandwich.
"Why are you staring at me like that?" I ask softly, peeking up at him through my lashes. I've noticed greatly his change in attitude and actions towards me, which seems to be playing the role more as the 'boyfriend' than 'old-time friend', which kinda makes me confused mentally. I know we have historyâhell, you could make a book bigger than War & Peace about our beginning time together to leading up to arrestâbut we never exactly classified our relationship with anything since reconciling. I don't even know what we are anymore; we are exes who really never broke up but were forced apart, but we've taken each other's virginity plaques merely three days ago and now we're acting like a couple, when in reality, I have no idea if that's what we are.
For all I know, we could basically be a 'summer fling' except it's Christmas break and we'll have been only seeing each other two weeks instead of two months, and instead of praying we'll never see one another again, it's inevitable that we will if he sticks around in L.A. for the next year.
"Like what?" He asks innocently, not breaking contact.
"Like you're in awe or something," I mutter. "Like you're admiring me. Maybe even the sandwich in my hands."
"I am, if I'm honest." He says, making me raise my eyebrows. "I mean being in awe with you, not the sandwich." He adds with a nervous chuckle.
"Why?" I question quizzically. "I look ridiculous."
"I beg to differ, you look gorgeous." He says nonchalantly. "But it's unexplainable, really. I've watched you a million times when we were together, but that was years ago, and you had issues. But seeing you here, now, eating intentionally and not secretly throwing it out your backyard for your neighbours dog when you think nobody's watching, is making me feel like I'm seeing an angel."
"Nothing is angelic of watching me eat."
"Watching someone who had severe anorexia and mild bulimia eat like they had no issues of all, is." He tells me seriously.
I frown sadly. "Tayâ"
"No, hold up, I need to say this, alright?" He interrupts me, making my eyes widen at how authoritative his voice is.
"Okay." I nod, gesturing for him to continue.
"I never told you this, but I always worried about you and your health. Always. That. . . that one day, you would just stop eating. You would go weeks without eating a single thing; what if it just became so casual, you forgot to do it at all? All those appetite suppressants made you think food didn't even exist, and it fucking terrified me to see you one day and not the next because you weren't eating enough.
"It fucking broke my heart to see you like that and not be able to do anything about it. Do you know how hard it was to see the love of your life, the person who had your heart wrapped around their finger and care so much about, be in that kind of state and not being able to do fuck all to help them? I was scaredâfearfulâeveryday, worried that that day may be your last. Baby, you were going down and I didn't know how you pull you back up."
I feel my stomach start to churn. The look in his eyes is so intense, it brings tears to my eyes. I can see his orbs going watery as well, and I suddenly feel selfish and guilty. I had no idea he ever felt that way. I mean, I know he knew I had a severe eating disorder, but he always supported me about it and didn't try and force me to eat. He understood how difficult it was; like an addiction, except it wasn't a decision you made on your own, it just came on it's own.
I didn't think he even paid attention to my intake of nutrients. I took vitamins that substituted for food, but I wasn't expecting him to know so much and feel so useless.
"I'm sorry," I whimper out softly. "I had no idea."
"Don't be," he smiles sadly, "I don't care as long as you're eating again."
I shrug in embarrassment. "It hasn't been that long, to be honest. It hasn't even been a month and a half yet."
The sad look in his eyes gets deeper. "Are you still on antidepressants?" He asks cautiously.
I do a half nod half shake of my head. "I've been seeing a therapist for years," I explain. "Put me on them and never took me off. Apparently I'm still too unstable to be off them, even though I'm right here, fine and dandy."
His eyebrows crease in extreme confusion. "What does that mean?" He asks.
"It means that. . . I've stopped taking them." I say lowly.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up! You're off them?" He demands.
"I never said that."
"Brooklyn, I can't read your Goddamn mind." He growls in annoyance.
"I stopped taking them." I say. "Without permission. Actually, my psychiatrist doesn't even know, so it'd be great if it could remain like that."
"Brooklyn! That's not okay." He says wildly.
"I'm testing myself, alright? It's fine." I assure him, not really understanding why it's such a big deal. Isn't it a good thing that I'm not on medication of any kind?
"It's not," he says. "Withdrawing can be painful." He scolds.
No doubt about that, I think to myself. Especially when I ran out and was going through withdrawal from not having only a few days of doses.
That thought has me confused.
If I went through crazy withdrawal not even a couple months ago, why is it that I'm not having withdrawal right now because I missed two weeks of them? I've been considerably more hungry and tired, but that's about it.
And I seem to be acting out irrationally without thinking; like losing my virginity and giving Taylor false hope and information.
Well, then there's the stress of Landon, Stacy, Taylor, and having to leave and figure out how the hell I'm going to survive when I return.
Okay, so who knows if I'm withdrawing or not.
"I know," I say. "But I'm not facing anything severe. If it makes you feel better, I planned on telling my psychiatrist when I returned."
He sighs, shaking his head. "It doesn't."
"Well that isn't my problem." I say rudely, my mood changing from guilt to annoyance to frustration. Why can't he just accept my actions? It's not him who'll have to suffer this shit; it's not even him who'll have to deal with it. It'll be the McGibbon's, and frankly that thought excites me and angers me.
"Why do you do this to yourself?" He demands after a few minutes of tense atmosphere.
"Do what?"
"Put yourself through this," he explains. "Put yourself in so much mental strain and pain. Don't you like being happy, Brooklyn? Or do you miss the days where we'd inhale the day away?"
"Stop it." I growl out, a wave of emotion coming. "You don't know how hard it was; how hard it is. You may know what's happened since then, Taylor, but you have no idea what I felt."
"It's no different," he says. "We were so stoned out of our minds I'm surprised you even remember the experience."
"Taylor, stop!" I plead. "You're going to make me have a fucking panic attack and I'm going to hate you for it." I hastily put my head in my hands and close my eyes, tuning out everyone and trying to calm my breathing down.
I hated those times.
And not only am I still pissed off about this morning, Taylor is playing it on.
"Brooklyn when people tell you to do something, especially if it's medical, then there's a reason for it! It's what's best for you and you can't repel against health. They know."
"You don't know anything about me." I mutter.
"I know enough." He tells me.
"Please drop this." I beg. "This is too much."
"You never listen, do you?" He continues. "If someone told you something life-changing, you wouldn't even bat them an eyelash. Are you really that uncaring now? What happened to the girl who loved everyone and cared for everything with a heartbeat and always did what was best for others before herself? Who did things out of the goodness of her heart and not push against something to 'test her limits'? Where's that girl, the girl I'm in love with? Because this isn't her."
I shrug exhaustedly. I can't take this anymore. I don't want to talk about this; not now, not ever. It's too much for my brain to handle and I can feel my PTSD returning.
I stand up, sniffling and rubbing my head from the pounding that feels like a sledgehammer is bashing against my skull as I drop money for the tab.
"She died with her virginity."