fracture | the cracking or breaking of a hard object or material

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3/15/17

"BROOKS WAIT!" I call after my friend as I make my way down the hallway behind him.

His body stills at the sound of my voice as it bounces off the empty locker walls. I jog over to him until I'm standing right behind him. I want to reach out and place a hand on his shoulder. I want to tell him it's not what he thinks. But he knows exactly what happened because it was clear as day the moment his brown eyes locked on Asher and myself stumbling out of a closet. A closet where Asher touched me and kissed me in ways that suddenly makes me feel dirty and shameful.

"What?" his gruff voice whips out at me without turning around. I flinch at the harsh tone. A tone I'm unfamiliar with because Brooklyn doesn't speak to me like this. Never has.

I wet my dry lips trying to find the right words to fix this moment. To fix the way his brown eyes turned cold on me. Eyes that always watched me with happiness turned to pure sadness in a single instant, and I hate that I caused that.

"Please," I beg, wanting him to turn around. Needing him to face me. Needing to know I haven't completely lost him. Lost my friend. Lost the person who nowadays makes me feel most normal. Most like me when I've begun to hate the new person I've become.

He slowly rotates on his heel until his gaze narrows in on me and his eyes grow hard with anger. The warm brown of his irises freeze and darken, and my heart begins to ache at his cold demeanor.

"You're just friends, right?" he questions, sardonically calling back to our last conversation at the coffee shop about Asher.

My eyes burn with unshed tears as my eyes flutter with the need to hold them back. "Can we please just talk?" I plead.

"I don't want to talk with you right now Mae," he states with an edge of disgust. As if he can't believe I would ever be with someone like Asher Lawton. He thinks I'm too good to be with someone like him. Whereas the rest of the world sees it the other way around, I'm not good enough for the town's prince.

"It's not what you think it is," I tell him though the moment the words leave me everything turns bitter because they're a lie.

He scoffs. "Sure," he drawls as he crosses his arms across his chest.

I pause afraid to admit the next words. "It's more," I tell him faintly, opening myself up to the truth I've been so eager to bury.

"It's Asher," he chuckles dryly. "He isn't capable of more. Don't be dense," he says letting his anger not only cloud his eyes but his words.

His words hit my chest and sink under my skin making me frustrated and heated all at the same time. "You won't get it," I say with a shrug blowing off his words completely. I won't give him the satisfaction of showing him he's pissed me off. That maybe just maybe his words rang a bell in my head awakening me to the fact that he may be right. "No one will," I add dropping my gaze to the tile floor.

"Don't act like this isn't more than him manipulating you," Brooklyn says, causing my eyes to lift back up to his. His brown eyes still are frigid, but the edges begin to melt with gentleness as they take in my face. "Don't fall for this Mae," he whispers.

My chest feels heavy with his words. My head wants to acknowledge them; my heart wants to ignore them. I stand in front of my friend confused and on the verge of breaking down, because I've never wanted someone like I want Asher. But I'm also acutely aware of how bad he is for me. "Just please don't tell Franny," I request simply. The only words I can bring myself to say at this moment.

Brooklyn's jaw locks and he takes a step away from me. "That's all you care about, don't you," he says as his eyebrows scrunch together as he looks over me. As if he doesn't recognize me anymore.

"Of course not!" I fight not wanting him to be right. Not wanting to be the selfish person he paints.

Brooklyn shakes his head and his Adam's apple bobbles slightly as if he's fighting off the emotions that want to drag him under. "Wow, Mae," he says looking at me with clear brown eyes as if he's truly seeing me for the first time. "You're turning into him," he states with a new awareness towards me.

I take a step towards him just as he takes one away from me. "I am not!" I shout angrily. How could he ever say I'm like Asher? I'm not. I'm not. I'm not.

Am I?

"You don't care about anyone but yourself," he tells me as if that realization brings a wave of sadness over him and his eyes tear up along the edges.

At the sight of him breaking down, my whole body does. "Brooks—" I breathe out, but before I can get one more word out he turns and storms away from me.

I watch his form get smaller and smaller until he's left the school, and I can no longer see him. Until I feel numb. I stand in the now empty hallway for what feels like hours when I finally hear a few footsteps echo from behind me. I don't turn around because I know whom they belong to.

"What do you need?" Asher asks simply from behind me. His deep voice filling my body and soothing the parts of me that are left bare and raw from Brooklyn.

I clear the lump in my throat that threatens to release the waterfall of tears I have locked away. "A drink," I finally answer. An answer just a few months ago I would never give. But now all I crave is the smell of Asher's smoke and the taste of the drinks he makes me. Drinks that drown out the shame I should feel for being around him.

A few more footsteps until his arm slides around my shoulders and encourages me to walk alongside him.

"It will be okay," Asher tells me as we walk down the front steps to the school. A few lingering facility cars remain in the parking lot. But besides that we are all alone.

"How do you know that?" I question. The words escape me with little to no emotion as the numbness begins to ascend through my body.

He opens the passenger side door to his car for me to step in. "Because you aren't a bad person Maeleigh," he says as his dark eyes fall on me.

My teeth sink into my bottom lip as the heat grows and expands in my throat and pressure builds behind my eyes. "Yes," I sigh. "I am," I disagree knowing the truth at this moment.

Knowing the type of person I've become because of Asher.

"You're not to me," he whispers before slamming the door shut and walking over to the driver's side.

A pit forms in my stomach at his words. Because to his skewed standards I may not be a terrible person, but to my own I've become the scum of the earth.

As Asher pulls out of the school parking lot and we drive towards his house in the Grove I wonder how long I can last.

How long his version of right and wrong will keep my head above water before I drown and completely lose myself.

"Do you like this top?" Francesca asks, pulling me out my thoughts as we walk through an upscale boutique at the mall.

I nod not really paying attention to the red top that she's debating on. It's been two days since I last spoke with Brooklyn, two days since he's even looked at me. We finished the last part of our project at school today, and the only time he spoke to me was about class.

He barely even looked at me.

At lunch he didn't come by and talk. We didn't sit together as we sometimes do when I need a break from the cheerleader table I sit with Francesca at. He sat with his band mates and some junior girl. I hated that I was staring. I hated that I wondered who she was. And most of all I hated the feeling that all too much resembled jealousy coursed through me when I saw them laughing together.

I needed to find a way to make us okay again. Because I missed him so much. I missed his infectious smile, and the tapping of his fingers on the table as he plays through songs in his head. I miss his friendship more than anything.

"You're quiet," Francesca states with a tilt of her head. "Are you okay?" she questions.

"Yeah," I lie with a nod of my chin. "Just tired," I say before switching the subject off of me. "Have you found a prom dress yet?"

My best friend's eyes light up instantly, and I know this is the topic that will keep her occupied for at least twenty minutes if not more.

"I have it narrowed down between these two dresses," she begins as she continues to pick through tops on the rack. "There's this gold one I think would be super sexy, but there is also this white one that has this Grecian goddess vibe going for it that I kind of love," she says letting the words roll out as I zone in and out of the conversation.

"Cool," I murmur more for her benefit as my eyes fall to an emerald green silk top laid out on a table. My fingers trace the edges delicately almost as if I'm afraid I'll ruin the perfect shirt.

"You should get it," Francesca tells me with a smile. "It would look great on you," she adds earnestly.

"I'm good," I state moving on. It's too expensive and I've been saving my allowance every week for college. The twenty bucks a week my mother gives me is more than generous so I don't need to be throwing it away on frivolous things such as clothes. Besides as my long fingers turn over the price tag I see it would take two months of my allowance to buy this shirt. I instantly drop the tag as if it burned me.

"Well I can buy it for you if you want—" my best friend begins before I cut her off.

"No," I say though the word comes out more harshly than I realize. I wet my lips trying to regroup myself. "I mean seriously don't worry about it," I attempt to wave off though I can feel Francesca's eyes on me. Curious. Wondering. "Which dress do you think you're going to pick?" I ask in attempts to move the conversation off of me.

My hands shake slightly as I realize how on edge I've been lately around her. I need to calm down. I'm nervous she'll see the hickey I'm covering on my neck. Or she'll see the way Asher looks at me when his arm is wrapped around her. He's becoming less obvious and in turn making me more anxious around someone who's been there for me like no other friend has.

I've already lost Brooklyn. I can't lose Francesca also.

"I think sexy, right?" she says once again speaking about her prom dress options. "I mean I'm going with Asher. I should wear something that will catch his attention. Plus it's prom and I'm hoping something will happen," she adds with a playful wink that insinuates something that makes bile rise in my throat.

"Has he asked you yet?" I question trying to play coy.

"No," she tells me with a slight pout that has no reason to annoy me, and yet it does. "But some of the guys have said he's going to ask me Friday night after our date," she says with a bright smile. "So I have to look good," she says once again holding up the red shirt.

"Awesome," I say with a smile that feels beyond fake. I turn away then as she heads to the checkout line.

I swallow down the multitude of emotions that threaten to overtake me and push me over the edge to the point of no return.

I feel shame run through my veins, envy beat my heart, and anger fill my lungs. I don't know who I am anymore and the only solace I can find is in Asher's arms.

How backwards is that?

He's the reason for these emotions. He's the reason for it all.

Yet here I am continuing to crawl back for more.

But why?

Because he makes you feel, my heart whispers.

Maybe too much, my head echoes.