BRIE

          My days have successfully become so boring and repetitive that, after the whirlwind my senior year of college has been so far, I'm starting to see it as a welcome change.

          I attend my lectures, making sure to behave like a model student, and be the apple of every professor's eye to ensure I'll still have a shot at becoming someone in life in case plan A and plan B don't work out. At least I won't be a friendless, contactless loser, even if my only friends in life besides my immediate family are my college professors, feeling sorry for me.

          Just thinking about that being an actual possibility sickens me with humiliation. It's never been a feeling I've been comfortable around, the way it sits on my chest like an anchor tied to my heart. I don't want to be the type of person that fails to properly enjoy their college years because they're so preoccupied with the opinion of every single person on campus, but my people pleasing tendencies will always be too overpowering.

          I care too much, love too hard, and cope too little. What a fantastic combo.

          At first, my ambition was praised, as the drive to succeed runs in the family and we're known to overcome hardships like it's no one's business, like it's second nature, and I sort of went with what has always been expected of me. I push through, I fight the system, I don't quit. My heart is a stubborn little muscle, but that also means I never know my own limits.

          So, when I'm finally offered a break from the mindless stress my academic life has been pushing down on my shoulders, I'm not entirely sure what to do. I haven't known what it's like to not feel suffocated (there goes that horrid, vile word again, following me around like a raincloud during a thunderstorm) by academic pressure since freshman year, when I realized all the extra work I'd have to put into my career in comparison to the majority of my peers.

          I have a scholarship to honor, not to mention my entire family's hopes for me, and, at my core, I really am just a girl. A girl needs a break every now and then—unless her name is Brooke Sheridan, of course; in that case, she needs to square her shoulders, force herself to smile, and act like everything is fine.

          Realistically, though? Everything is fine. Somehow, that's the worst part.

          I could have it so much worse and yet I don't, so it feels fruitlessly selfish to constantly complain when I'm being offered so many things I've always dreamed of, regardless of how hard and tooth and nail I've fought for them. They're still there.

          Rhett has proved to be a saving grace—something I never thought I'd say this time last year, two years ago, or even at the beginning of freshman year of college, back when I was still an open wound, mindlessly walking around campus while praying we wouldn't run into each other too often. Back when I thought there was no going back, no way in hell he would ever change.

          However, I was grossly mistaken.

          It has taken one heartbreak after the other, thousands of shards of glass piercing through my stupid, naive little heart, but I've given myself permission to forgive—forgive him and myself—and have chosen to believe there's a chance for us in the future, if not now.

          Now, everything we do serves a greater purpose and we're playing a part for everyone who's watching and for those who might be watching, hyper aware of what one mistake could do to our fragile castle of cards. I can't risk his future or mine, and it's the one thing we agree on—we've come too far to let our egos ruin this for us. We can't get too comfortable and assume we're always out of the woods because of how naturally we fit together.

          If all of this is fake, if all of it is for show, we could simply stay away from each other whenever we don't need to keep up the façade. I wouldn't be thinking about Rhett Price as often as I do, nor would I be anticipating the moment I'd see him next. I wouldn't be practicing every line of conversation hours before they happened in my head or housing an entire swarm of butterflies in my stomach every single time he glanced my way.

          I wouldn't need to be affectionate with him in private. I wouldn't need to want to feel closer to him, to burrow under his skin.

          Long story short, it has stopped being fake for me, and I don't know how to come clean about it. I don't know if he's matching my actions and urges out of politeness, because he feels like he owes it to me, because he's still leading me on after all these years (God, please, if you're there and if you're listening, don't let that be the correct option . . .), or because he feels the same way, and it kills me being this big of a coward. 

          It makes my stomach clench and turn, a permanent sense of nausea, like I'm out on sea, but realizing I've never stopped loving and being in love with Rhett Price has been humbling in its own twisted way.

          We won that game Rhett was so deadly worried about, in spite of himself and his self-sabotaging tendencies (which aren't his fault, obviously, but I know he shoulders that responsibility even while not being the captain), and he even scored—multiple times. I was right there on the sidelines, wearing his letterman jacket and cheering him on so loud my throat was hoarse and I had no voice left by the time the final whistle blew.

          We even attended that stupid party together, the one Paige was so desperate to be invited to, and, though I was far from being in a party mood, I still went. Jackie had helped me convince the other WAGs to invite Paige and Ripley, showing off just how influential in their circle she was, and leaving me to wonder why Paige had asked me instead of her in the first place.

          Jackie is dating her beloved older brother, after all, and people will always listen to her—a lot more than they'll listen to ditzy Brie. At least Jackie Caulfield has a good head on her shoulders.

          At the time, I didn't want to consider the possibility of it all having been a test—I still don't, for the sake of my fragile ego—and she looked so damn happy to just be there, all happy and shy like a fairy as she floated around a tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed guy who clearly wasn't Jeff Jefferson that I was ashamed to even think she had any ill intent. Ripley had Nancy, too, so everyone was paired up nicely. Even Jackie and Andy stayed for a bit, albeit keeping a safe distance from the most chaotic gathering places.

          Rhett stuck by me the whole night. Not as a protective alpha male, growling and baring his teeth at any guy who even dared to glance my way, but he kept a steady arm wrapped around my waist, his thumb drawing gentle lines across my hip bone. It was the kind of possessiveness that wasn't overbearing or toxic; it was a way of making me feel safe in someone's arms for once in my life, the feeling of belonging, and I welcomed it.

          I know all about the dangers of making a living, breathing person with the capability of free will your home, but I've officially thrown all caution to the wind. I've never felt like I belong anywhere, not like this, and maybe I'm not being the smartest cookie out there by opening my heart as much as I am to someone who has hurt me so deeply, but I've also never known a life in which I don't love him. It's been different types of love throughout our lives, but it has withstood so many hardships, so many obstacles, that I feel like we've earned a happy ending together.

          However, there are certain bumps in the road I can't swerve past or ignore. Magnolia Hawthorne is one of them, especially with how secretive Rhett has been about her and with how devastating everyone around me paints their relationship with each other to have been—of whatever nature it was.

          Or is. I have no idea.

          He can keep his secrets. He's entitled to them, much like there are things I don't share with him, and I know most of what Cole told me that fateful day was meant to hit me right where it hurts so I'd run back to him with my tail between my legs and all would be forgiven, but still.

          It's a special kind of haunting, except this mysterious girl is haunting both Rhett and I in different ways.

          In my head, she's the coolest girl in the world—cooler than Nancy, cooler than Ripley, cooler than Paige, and, without a sliver of a doubt, a thousand times cooler than I am. She's fun, not a drag, and a pleasure to have in class. Animals love her, children love her, and she's so tooth-achingly sweet to everyone and everything that it makes me nauseous. Appearance wise, she's a blank slate to me, as I might have walked past her on campus without suspecting a thing.

          All in all, she's perfect. She's perfect in ways I can't even aspire to be, not when the only thing I have that she doesn't is Rhett, like he's some prize to be won, like this has ever been a competition, like there wasn't any destruction between them. Whatever happened between them was bad enough to have turned him into the shell of the guy I've known my whole life, and at least I get to pat myself on the back for not having done that to him.

          I've always been a bare minimum kind of gal, anyway.

          It makes me wonder if she's losing sleep over me the same way she keeps me up at night—like I was the one to have been involved with her. If she knows Rhett, if Cole knows of her, if she even attends Bennington, there's a high chance she's heard about me. There's a high chance she has an opinion of me, and it irks me to have been perceived by a stranger who lives rent free in my head and about whom I know next to nothing about.

          So, when I go home for the holidays around Thanksgiving, I'm not looking forward to all the secret-keeping I'll have to worry about, in case there's not enough on my plate as is.

          When you're a college student, there comes a time in your life when you learn to stop expecting too much from yourself in November. It's the busiest month of your fall semester and it makes you feel like you're constantly swallowing the sharpest shards of glass whenever you realize you could be doing more and something productive with your time instead of doomscrolling on your phone and procrastinating to oblivion.

          Part of me is so mentally exhausted from all that's going on that, combined with the workload piling on my desk and in my email inbox (no emails from Doctor Ramos, because of course she's still mostly leaving me to my own devices in spite of my insistence that I need more guidance), I'm blocking it all out. I'm dazed and numb to the stress, which is simultaneously a good and a bad thing.

          At least I can rely on my family for moral and emotional support, and there's something heartbreakingly heartwarming about coming home for the holidays when you're constantly tethering on the edge of a meltdown. Even my brothers, too manly and strong for public displays of attention towards their baby sister, welcome me with open arms and bear hugs so tight my bones always turn to dust in their embrace.

          "Look at Baby Brie, all grown up," Dante coos, while I shoot daggers at him from across the kitchen. "She even made Mom a casserole."

          "Ten bucks on how it's store bought," Flint adds, with a chuckle. I carefully place my homemade veggie sausage casserole on the table, as it's my year to cook the main dish for Thanksgiving dinner. Since Dante went full vegan a couple of years ago, we've all had to adapt traditional recipes. "It looks too pretty to be a Brie concoction."

          "Hilarious, guys," I mutter, through gritted teeth. I can't cook and, in a family where everyone but me is well versed in the kitchen, this is a frequent punchline. You'd figure either I or the jokes would get better with time, but that hasn't come to fruition—neither of those things have, as if I need another reason to feel inadequate in the safety of my own home. "You're, like, really funny. As a matter of fact, I did actually make this casserole myself. Surely that's a dish not even I can screw up, right?"

          "Don't sell yourself short," Dante retorts. "It looks great, kid."

          I roll my eyes, pouring myself a generous glass of white wine. "Yeah, why do that when you guys take every opportunity you can find to do it in my place? Sorry for stealing your spotlight."

          "We're just messing with you."

          "Well, I'd rather if you didn't." I set aside the bottle, harsher than necessary, and they both wince with the stinging sound of glass hitting the marble counter. I don't want to cause a ruckus by shattering an expensive wine bottle on Thanksgiving. "I haven't been having the greatest of times lately, and I really need to unwind. I need these holidays to feel like holidays, not like . . . not like another situation where I always have to prove my worth."

          They both exchange a knowing look. They're twins, though not identical, but sometimes it still looks like I'm seeing double when I look at them.

          They share the same tall, broad-shouldered build and stature, influenced by genetics and years of playing football (in spite of Rhett's efforts throughout the years into trying to convert them to the hockey world instead), but Dante is the one who inherited the flaming red hair, much like me, whereas Flint sports a mop of dark curls, courtesy of our mom's side of the family.

          "Is that Cole guy still being a jerk to you?" Flint questions, cracking his knuckles. "If he's still bothering you, all you have to do is say those three words and we'll do it."

          "The words are ruin his life, by the way," Dante adds, earning himself an enthusiastic nod from Flint.

          I don't know what I'd do without my family, particularly these two. They've saved my life in more ways than I can count on both hands, possibly more than they realize, and it's the one help resource I'm not ashamed to admit I need. Their undying, unconditional support of me and my endeavors has, without a doubt, been a fundamental pillar of my mental health; although I don't want to be that co-dependent, it's always nice to know I'll forever have a safety net.

          However, Cole is far from being my biggest problem. Though he is a nuisance, a pebble in my shoe, a piece of gum glued to my hair, and he consistently finds new ways of not leaving me alone to move on with my life while simultaneously making it evidently clear we're over (we both have), he also knows exactly how to get under my skin.

          He knew what he was doing when he delivered that the-reason-Rhett-Price-sucks speech to me a few weeks ago. He knew what he was doing when he mentioned Magnolia and didn't get into any details about it, hyper aware it would corrode and eat me alive until I figured it out myself. He knew I'd be obsessing over it, wondering what happened, wondering why it was so detrimental to Rhett's image and reputation and how it could affect me on various levels. He knew it would make me spiral, compare myself to this phantom of a girl, and remember I'm not, have ever been, and will never be good enough.

          There will always be someone better than me. Always. It's about time I come to terms with that, but I've spent my entire life feeling so fucking inferior to everyone around me that, even though I should have grown used to it, it stings like a scorching knife through the heart every single time.

          Whenever I think I'm okay, whenever I think I've somehow gotten it right just this once, and can taste happiness on the tip of my tongue, everything comes crashing back down.

          Every time I feel like I'm doing better, it's things like these that kick me right back to the starting point. I come home for the holidays and spend the entire time stressing out over cooking a stupid casserole that not even my own family trusts me to get right. The one place where I'm supposed to feel safe and supported feels alienating, and I can't even voice my hurt aloud without being made fun of or being told I'm overreacting.

          "It's not just that," I murmur. It's easier to swallow all that pain, gulp down the sobbing mess I would turn to if I dared to be honest, but then I don't get to complain about no one seeing through the cracks. If anything, it tells me I'm doing a great job at acting like I'm fine and unbothered—exactly the way I'm tolerable. "There's just . . . a lot going on right now. There's Cole, there's my senior project, there's my mentor ghosting me, I don't think my own friends like me that much . . ."

          I inhale, hoping it will calm me down, but the whole room is shaking and spinning around me. An avalanche of negative feelings comes rushing in and, though I do my best to run away from it, I still trip and stumble forward, barely finding the time and the strength to support my weight on a kitchen island. The buzzing in my ears intensifies, the edges of my vision blurring, and I can't tell why—dehydration, exhaustion, low blood sugar, whatever.

          Ultimately, it all comes down to one thing: my own inability to be a normal person.

          I'm crying in my brothers' arms before my brain has a chance to process what's going on, each moment passing by in a flash—not even in a blur, as something in my neural circuits just disconnects, like lightning fast blackouts—and it's not a pretty sight.

          It's never fun when girls break down.

          Like that's not stupid enough, like I haven't been brought to one of the lowest points in my life thanks to the memory of Magnolia Hawthorne (a stranger to me, no matter how my paranoia wants to spin it), Cole (the literal devil and a nagging pain in the ass), and a vegetarian casserole, my mouth keeps running and I keep yapping.

          "I'm dating Rhett Price," I confess, "and I think I might be in love with him."

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i love being an absolute menace and ending chapters like this (in my defense, this is already over 3k words and i don't think you want chapters longer than this)