Page 59 of The Beginning and End of Everything
Then his fingers wrap around my jaw, pulling my face toward his, and his lips touch mine. For a second, I can't breathe, I can't move, and I almost kiss him, but then I think of Connor, and I shove Brandon away so hard he staggers back against the lockers on the opposite wall.
He swipes his hand down his jaw, then over his mouth. Tension coils between us, tightening and constricting my chest until I feel like I can’t breathe.
“We can’t…” I swallow my uncertain words before turning to leave.
I left the bar,went across to the Tesco, and grabbed a cheap bottle of wine. It didn’t take me long to find my way to a random spot on the Piccadilly Circus fountain, where I sit, sipping from a brown bag, the absolute cliché of someone struggling with life. A red, double-decker bus spits out exhaust out while a band of tourist snap pictures left and right.
The last time I was here, I was with Connor and Brandon. It was one of the few times I got so drunk I couldn't walk straight, and Brandon carried me, in true possum fashion, from the pub to this exact spot. As soon as he sat me down, I started dry heaving, and he turned me around so I'd vomit in the water instead of all over my new shoes.
The few times I got to that state, Brandon was the one who took care of me. One, because it was usually his doing, and two—well, I never wanted Connor to see me like that.
I take a sip of sweet wine and wince. I wouldn’t want Connor to see me like this, either… But still, I drink, and when the bottle is half empty and a blissful numbness tingles through my veins, I call Hope.
“About time you answered your phone! Where in the world are you, Poppy.”
“London,” I shout over the hum of traffic and laughter of people spilling from the pubs.
“London!”
“I found Brandon. He’s fighting in some illegal fight ring.” I give a disheartened laugh. “Not much of a surprise.”
Silence falls over the line.
“Hope?”
“There’s so much I want to say, but I’ll save that for him.” She huffs. “Where are you in London?”
I glance at the bright lights of the Piccadilly Billboard. “Westminster.”
“I’m coming to get you.”
“I’m fine.”
“You sound drunk.”
I shrug a shoulder even though she can’t see me. “I just wanted to tell you I was okay. And I love you.” I mute my phone when I hang up before I can tell her how confused I am, how torn. How guilty I feel that I wanted to kiss Brandon. How could I?
Placing the wine on the ledge of the fountain, I rummage through my purse for Connor’s letter. I read over the words I know too well, then pause.
I ask nothing of you except this: Don’t die with me. Live. Be happy. Love again because you deserve to experience as much love as this life has to give.
And I swallow.
It’s almost been a year, and I have done everything possible to die right along with Connor. People move on, not because they want to, but because it’s the only way they can survive. I rub at my chest, wondering if maybe I’m not as awful as I feel. But then again, Brandon was Connor’s best friend, and maybe one reason the guilt is growing insurmountable is that Brandon has always,alwaysfelt like a betrayal when it came to Connor, for the simple fact that Connor never knew…
34
Brandon
What the hell is wrong with me?Poppy? Of all the people. I just lost it. My mind was completely engrossed in violence, and then, there she was, like an apparition. For a second, all I wanted was to bathe in her warmth, to immerse myself in that glow she emanates. She's so beautiful and good and—Connor's.
She always was, and while she always will be, Connor's, she has always been my peace. She makes it all disappear; the hate and the anger and the battle raging in my mind. The second my lips touched hers, there was nothing but silence, and my mind hasn’t been silent since that bomb exploded. That one, short kiss, was peace in a lifetime of war, and it terrifies me. The guilt is eating me alive, gnawing away in the pit of my stomach until I feel physically sick. I've done a lot of wrong in my life, but my best friend's widow—that’s the shit that will get you a spot in the inner circle of hell.
I push and shove my way through the swarm of spectators, all focused on Kyan's fight. People turn and glare until they realize who I am, then they can't get out of my way quick enough.
I go straight to the fire exit on the far side of the room and shove it open. In seconds, I’m climbing up the short flight of stairs that lead into the alley at the back of the pub. I inhale the icy air deep into my lungs, allowing it to clear my mind.
A spark of light catches my eye. Finn leans against the wall of the alleyway, clinging to the shadows as he cups the flame from his lighter. Wordlessly, he holds out a packet of cigarettes, offering me one. I take the cigarette, and he lights it for me. Thick smoke lingers in my lungs before I allow it to drift past my lips.
