Page 3 of Be Your Forever
I glance out of my bay window and focus on the Pacific blue sky and the white, cotton candy-esque clouds in the sky. It’s a particularly chilly morning. The trees are a collection of sticks and twigs bound together, completely void of life and color. I walk toward the small bench to open the window, allowing the bitter winter air to slap across my face, leaving a faint stinging in its wake.
Breathe in the calm serenity of the morning.
Breathe out panic and shame.
I repeat this mantra in my head. Slowly, the tingles evaporate from my body, my mind returning to its resting ground. Well, as much as it can with how chaotic it’s become.
I’ve never been this much of a hot mess express. Outside the normal levels of anxiety everyone experiences, I never had an issue with my mental health. Yeah, I struggled with inadequacy from time to time, but I’ve always prided myself on being an open book. Sometimes too open. But that was something I loved about me. Now, the very thought of sharing my internal dialogue makes my skin itch as if tiny ants are crawling over me.
The accident did a number on me, especially because I wasn’t alone in the car. It was me who wanted to go out and have fun. A little sibling bonding time, if you will. It was me who planned everything out. It was me who ended up in that car wreck, and it was me who put my brother in harm's way.
My skin twitches with discomfort. I hate who I’ve become, but I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know if I even want to fix it. So instead of dealing with everything head-on like a mature, responsible adult, I slink back under my covers and hide from the world. It’s become my new norm.
The sound of my front door unlocking has me bolting upright. I know without looking in the mirror that my wavy hair is a rat's nest and my eyes are puffy. In this installment of my nightmares, I prayed it was me who got injured and not Max. Maybe if it happened to me in the dream instead of him, it would relieve me of my guilt. Spoiler alert—it did not.
“Brianna?” The soft, soothing voice belonging to Avery calls from downstairs. I love Avery to pieces. She’s my soulmate, my person, but Ijust can’t face the disappointment on her face when she sees what I’ve become. Especially after I pulled an Irish goodbye at her wedding and ghosted her. So I shrink back under the covers, hoping she’ll give up and leave. I should have known that wouldn’t be the case.
Her normally soft footsteps are drumbeats as she makes her way toward me. My room is usually organized and clean. You could swipe your finger along any surface and there wouldn’t be a speck of dust. Now, it looks as if a tornado and hurricane flew through it. Empty bags of snacks and candy wrappers decorate my floor. Clothes are tossed haphazardly. It’s so bad that I can’t recall what the actual floor looks like anymore. Do I have carpeting or laminate flooring?
My blanket still covers my head, and I brace myself for judgment when she peels the layers back. It isn’t fair to assume she’ll judge me; she’s my best friend, for fuck’s sake. Avery and I have been attached at the hip since we met in college. We’ve had our fair share of messy moments without any judgment. We accept each other as we are—flaws and all. Yet, it feels like I’m a disappointment to her. I haven’t been a proper friend, which only adds fuel to my fire of shame. My mind is a master manipulator, excelling at spinning webs of lies.
“Bri?” Avery asks again, her voice much closer now. Despite hiding under my blanket cocoon, I know she’s standing in the doorway to my room.She is going to run for the hills. You can’t even clean up your room. You’re such a failure. She’s going to take one look at you and walk away for good.My thoughts buzz in my brain like wasps. Stinging me regardless of whether I bother them or not. I’ve prepared for the worst, so when I feel the bed shift next to me, I squeeze my eyes shut. If I don’t see her, then she can’t see me. I cling to that hope like a child clutching their favorite teddy bear. It doesn’t work, and Avery just crawls under the blanket with me.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
I repeat that mantra five times before gaining the courage to open my eyes and shift to look at her.
All the preparations for what I thought I would see evaporate. Avery doesn’t look disgusted with me. Her eyes shimmer with empathy, opening her arms and inviting me to crawl into her embrace. I feel like a puppet on strings, my life no longer my own. I can’t fully register how good it feels to have a choice. Avery just lies there, her arms outstretched and a smile on her face. Her body language screams comfort. Her eyes sayI’ve got you. I’m here for you and I’m not going anywhere.I know that even if I reject her warm gesture, she won’t go anywhere. Despite the toxic sludge my brain tosses at me, that’s a fact I know to be true. Avery will always support those she cares about, even when said person doesn’t give two shits about themselves.
The second Avery’s arms wrap around me, I lose it, clinging to her like a lifeline as I soak her shirt with my hopelessness. I let it all out. Since everything happened, I’ve shut everyone out—including Avery. Yet, here she is, acting as if we just hung out the other day. My radio silence hasn’t deterred her from being my friend. She’s here in my room, giving me everything I know I need, but don’t have the courage to ask for.
Avery begins to hum the tune ofStand By Youby Rachel Platten. She’s always communicated best through song. And while she isn’t singing the words, I know the lyrics enough to understand what she’s trying to say. She knows that Rachel Platten is my all-time favorite artist, so it means a lot that she chose this song. My head rests against her chest and I focus on the buzzing sensation from her humming to radiate through my body. Right now, I’m protected, I’m loved, and most importantly, I’m safe. I’m not fully committed to accepting all those feelings, but right now, I can keep the fire of hope inside my heart simmering.
Avery massages my scalp, and I feel my body become heavy with sleep. Just by being here and comforting me, Avery has planted a seed of faith. And maybe with time, that seed can blossom into a beautiful, thriving plant that can withhold even the toughest of storms. I fall asleep with a soft smile on my face, and it’s the first time in months that nightmares aren’t the star of the show. I can’t help but think that maybe I’m not so damaged after all.
Asher
I’ll be her anchor
Myfingerscurlaroundthe cool glass, the squeaking sound falling faint against my ears. I’m staring into space, numb to my surroundings. It could be busy as hell, but I couldn’t tell you how packed we are. This happens after visiting Max’s house. No matter how many times I see him, I’m left feeling drained. Visions of him unconscious in the hospital are burned into my brain. Seeing anyone covered in bumps and bruises lying lifeless on a hospital bed can traumatize a person. Seeing your best friend, though? Double the trauma.
Despite everything that’s happened to him, Max is still Max. He’s still the goofy, outgoing guy who will stop at nothing to make you laugh. I don’t know how he manages to stay so positive, but he does.
“Hey, Ash?” Gage, my business partner and friend, asks.
“Yeah?”
“That glass is pretty clean, don’t you think?” I frown at his question before glancing down. The glass is, in fact, in pristine condition, so I place it down carefully before grabbing the next one.
“You’ve been at that thing for almost ten minutes. What gives?”
Gage isn’t one to engage in small talk with people, typically responding in grunts and nods. I’m one of the lucky few who gets more than threewords out of him. Gage O’Reilly is my polar opposite: covered in tattoos, has gauges in his ears, and a permanent scowl on his face. Our female customer base triples anytime the man is behind the bar, with muscles any man would never admit to envying and eyes that stare straight into your soul. Like, seriously, the man can fish out a lie from across the bar. He's a total ladies’ man, and whenever he decides to smile, if you listen close enough, you can hear the hearts of women—and even men—break. Despite the attitude, Gage is a total charmer.
I met him during an intro to business class in college. At first, I never planned to go to college. During my senior year of high school, I had zero idea of what I wanted to pursue. The only things I cared about were baseball, reading, my friends, and Bri. Being my high school’s all-star pitcher, everyone thought I’d go pro, but that never really interested me. To me, baseball was just a hobby, a great way to channel all that excess energy in a healthy way. So when I enrolled at Brookestone University, I was undecided, remaining that way until I met Gage. We were paired together during a project where we had to come up with a business idea and a plan. At first, we seemed like an unlikely duo with him being more reserved, but somehow, we worked. We bonded over our mutual dream to own our own bar, so coming up with a business idea was fairly easy.
In that oversized, bright college classroom was where Aces was born. Gage and I were so eager to open up our own bar that we dropped out of college to pursue our passion. It’s been one of the best decisions I’ve made in my life so far.
“Ace?” Gage asks, using the name Max gave me in high school. Hearing Gage use the nickname pulls me out of my thoughts and into the present.
