BETTER THAT WE BREAK
Fall seven times, stand up eight.
~ Anonymous
Willow
THE DOOR CLICKS, closing on what I believed could’ve been my future. The man barged into my life, showing me what I thought was my safe haven. But who showed me hell. I believed in his promises, in those scattered dreams he drew in the air. I believed all of them, not because they were true, but because I needed to continue breathing. His leaving forever feels like a punch to the gut. Someone is squeezing my chest so tightly my lungs can’t seem to grasp air. That thick, smothering air inside my bedroom.
When the door wiggles and opens my heart beats fast, slowing when I see my sister’s face peeking through. “May I come in?”
I nod. She marches inside, tackling me, and giving me one of those I don’t want to lose you hugs. “You scared the fuck out of me, Willow Renee Beesley.”
Earlier today, I explained that it wasn’t my intention to kill myself. Of course, no one knows I headed to the terrace because I wanted to jump off the building.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, hugging her back.
I close my eyes, ignoring the door that won’t bring him back. I shouldn’t be expecting him to rush in and tell me he’s wrong, that love will prevail. It won’t. He didn’t say it out loud, but what happened between us was infatuation, not love. It was the desire to find a person who can fix what only we can cure by ourselves. I’ll miss his sweet gestures, our long talks, and the feeling of peace inside my soul when he was around. If there’s a man out there for me, I hope he’s like Hunter Everhart. Underneath those walls and the demons haunting him, there’s a good man. A wonderful guy, and how I wish he had been my somebody to love me deeply. So deeply that he was the only feeling lingering in the raw surface of my psyche.
“You and me, Willow. You can’t just leave like that. I might not need you to clean up my scrapes, but I still need my family with me.”
I ask her to tell me everything that happened while I was asleep. She begins by telling me about Scott knocking on her door. Her first thought had been our grandfather. But when he said my name, she lost her composure. “It’s not like I want Gramps to die, but he’s much older than you.”
“I couldn’t breathe during the two-hour flight,” she continues. “Every second I prayed that you were fine. I know things have been difficult between us.”
“It wasn’t only you, Bee.”
“How many times have I said, I’m an adult?” she sighs. “Many, and as an adult, I should have reached out to you too.”
She continues giving me a play by play. Gramps and Fitz were already at the hospital. She remained by my side, even when Hunter wouldn’t leave either. There was talk about sending me to a mental institution, but my grandfather refused to accept it. He wanted me diagnosed or discharged. Grandpa was ready to fight anyone who would want to keep me away from him.
“He loves you, you know?”
“Do you have to go back to school?” I transition the discussion. Right now, I’m not ready to discuss Grandpa.
“Nope, I sent an email to the dean. Gramps is working a deal with them to validate my current grades and . . .” She releases me and grins widely. “I’m transferring to Columbia.”
The grin doesn’t erase the worry on her face, but she’s doing her best to show me a silver lining is right there. That’s my sister, always finding a positive to the negatives.
“You’re welcome,” I joke, rolling my eyes. “I think you owe me something for finding a way to do what you wanted.”
“Well, thank you for that and for the extra weeks off I have now.” She exhales. “We can always go on a vacation.”
“Where?”
“Hawaii. I’m thinking you haven’t surfed in a long time. It’ll help you find your balance.”
“Surfing?” I huff. “Not therapy, surfing.”
“Both. Surfing will come after a few months of therapy. I’m thinking Hawaii or Australia.”
“You miss surfing?”
She lifts her shoulders, taking a deep breath and twisting her lips. I can’t imagine her surfing without Elliot. He taught her how to ride the waves. She was only five when the lessons began. That was their thing. There wasn’t a day they didn’t wake up early and hit the water. One of the advantages of living in Santa Cruz right by the Pacific Ocean. The place is a paradise for surfers.
My sister doesn’t give me an answer right away. I know she’s having a conversation with herself.
“It’s not a game of chess, Hazel. Either you miss it, or you don’t.”
“Actually, I don’t.” She plops down on my bed. “There’s a place on Long Island where I hit the waves every other weekend. Sometimes I take the three-hour drive to the Outer Banks to surf. It’s in my nature—something I love to experience as often as possible. The relationship between the waves and myself is real. It has nothing to do with what I had with Elliot. It takes growth and time to find who you want to be from the debris.”
“Hunter and I were nothing like you and Elliot,” I blurt because that last sentence sounds like she’s comparing us. Maybe I’m being just my usual paranoid persona.
She chuckles, shaking her head. “Nothing in this world compares to what Hunter and you have.”
“It was an illusion,” I say out loud, tasting the sour words.
“Sorry about Hunter,” she apologizes, I arch an eyebrow, not understanding what she’s trying to say. “I did it too soon. You weren’t ready.”
“Ready?”
She nods, sitting up and swinging her legs to the sides playfully. “Never mind, why don’t we discuss your plan of action. You have one, don’t you? We can create a vision board and begin to trace your—”
“I’m going to have to stop you right there,” I protest, scared of what sounds like a boot camp to recovery. Planning on seeking help and having a five-year plan are two different things. Some days I want to rip apart those vision boards of her. Is this what the doctor said earlier?
“Your emotions are so intense when you’re angry, when you hate them deeply, you want to rip someone apart or just hurt them.”
And I hurt myself because by doing it to others will see what their actions created. “Why don’t you let me do it at my own pace?”
She frowns at me, but nods. “Gramps plans on paying for therapists, counselors, and even retreats.”
Hazel is in a hurry to get this done. That’s my sister, a person with solutions who wants to fix everything right away or disregard it if she doesn’t see any possible resolution. She doesn’t grasp the magnitude of what happened last night. Her plan to erase everything by moving forward is five steps away from the place I’m in today. If only I could find the middle between what I need and what I want to do.
“That’s nice of him. I’ll start by calling some of those therapists and find out what I need to do to get better. I do want to heal my external wounds as much as the internal damage.” Reaching out, I squeeze her hand. “I promise, this time I’ll ask for help and keep you updated.”
She smiles. “I’ll be right by your side.”
I roll my eyes.
“I promise to be quiet.” She crosses her heart like we did when we were kids.
The last statement makes me laugh because my sister is anything but silent. She’s hyperactive, loud and everywhere she goes you can feel her energetic presence. But I appreciate her efforts. I love her because of that.
“Fitz fired his assistant.” Hazel changes the subject with a much different one, walking around the room and caressing the vases where the bouquets sit. She holds a thick manila folder. “They found the envelope buried under her messy desk with all the birthday cards and the order in which the flowers had to be delivered.”
“They shouldn’t have done that.”
“She didn’t do her job, Willow.” Hazel hands me the envelope, pointing at the writing. “Plus, she was out of line over the phone. We believe she had a thing for Hunter.”
I nod. That makes so much sense. Unlike the note on the envelope.
Willow,
Only read when you feel you’re ready.
Thank you for those special days,
~ HNE