Never Really Over (Bremmy 3)

Chapterish 52

"Have fun?" Josh's voice breaks the silence once we are halfway home.

I haven't removed my gaze from outside the window, and I've been fighting the urge puke and cry or both.

"Sure," I whisper.

"Happy end to your happy week?" He asks, venomous.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I think you know," he says.

I can tell from my peripherals that he's looking straight out the window, eyes on the road, just like me. I finally turn to face him, to confront his passive aggressiveness head-on.

"No, actually. I don't know. Please elaborate for me, Mr. Knows Everything." My tone is harsh.

"You've been in a mood all week. Don't think I haven't noticed it," he says, his voice softer than expected.

"A mood?"

"A good one." He nods. "And we both know why. And now you're insisting on this wedding and I-"

"Now I'm insisting?" I interject. "Insisting what? We've always been going. It's called being invited."

"Yea, and you just can't wait to go," Josh says, accusatory. "Even more so now."

"What?" I laugh into his car. I feel lightheaded, like there's no oxygen. "You're being ridiculous. Do you even hear yourself?"

"I do. Do you hear yourself?" Josh looks over at me.

"Obviously not as loud as you hear me." I roll my eyes.

"You've been on some euphoric high the last few days. Quickies in bathrooms, getting drunk and wanting to go clubbing?" He puts up a finger for each. "Not to mention the grin you've had permanently glued to your face since Tuesday. Yup, that one."

I know I'm smiling. I can feel my face going numb from it. But mostly, at least right now, it's a result of my sheer incredulity.

"You're insane!" I laugh at him.

"Don't do that," he says, slapping the steering wheel. Light reflects off his Rolex and almost blinds me.

Josh whips the car onto the side of the road, some shitty uneven shoulder beneath a cracked street lamp, with garbage bag tumbleweeds. What an aesthetic. He cuts the engine and turns to face me.

Our eyes lock and have a conversation of their own. I thought we were fine. Solid. I thought everything was fine. But maybe I was just blind to how obvious I was being. Running on fumes. Maybe Josh and I have been running out of gas and I was just ignoring the low fuel light.

"You're not really in this," he says. I can hear the hurt in his voice, but it's not mean. It's defeated.

"I am," I defend myself. "We are -I mean -I thought everything was good."

"It was. And this might seem sudden, but it's not. It's been building," he says.

"Building?" I repeat. "Building for how long? Since we moved in together? Since we just fucked in the studio six hours ago? Since then? Since you were JUST PLANNING our fucking happy-anni day?"

Breathe, Emmy. You've been through worse. Where's my apathy switch when I need it?

"For a while, yes. And all those things -I tried to hold onto them. The good moments. To ignore the rest, but I can't. We can't." Josh shakes his head.

"The rest?" I ask, arms still folded.

"Your absence. Emotionally, you are not in our relationship. I can feel it. And sometimes it's there, but other times it's like you're just empty. And I don't fault you for that. But I don't want that type of love." His warm eyes turn sad.

"I'm emotionally not there?" I repeat.

Tracks, to be honest.

"Your whole life, the whole cycle -the highs and lows, constantly dictated by your friends. And by him."

"HA!" I can't muzzle myself. "Him?"

"Don't." Josh holds up a hand. "You don't get to gaslight me or make me think I'm imagining things. This week is proof. And you're a fool if you don't even see it yourself."

A beautiful fool.

"You heard he called off his engagement to her. And maybe it was for you. I don't know. But it's like you hope that. And now you've entered some high-stakes self-destruct mode. I can't compete. I don't want to."

I find myself on a precipice, one I've teetered before.

"You don't want to? So, what? That's it, then?" My own words sound detached. Like i'm not choosing them and they're not coming from my lips. I'm that far removed.

"Yea, Emmy. I think it is." Josh is so quiet, the quietest I've ever heard him.

I steal a last look. You know, how people do a first-look before a wedding? I do last-looks. It seems my entire life is comprised of last-looks.

This is how I'll remember Joshi. In his joggers and his white sweater, with untidy hair and his wrist hanging over the wheel. I'll remember Josh with 1 AM vibes. And he'll remember me with drunken war-paint.

His car pulls back onto the vacant road. We don't talk again. We don't need to.

I wonder briefly what will happen when we get back to our place. We wanted a life, we wanted a whole thing. Hours ago, we were planning our one year anniversary celebration. Instead, we broke up on our one year anniversary.

It's funny how you can want things. Hope for things. Plan for things. Watch as they come to fruition. And then they shatter, like tiny shards of glass that you cannot imagine ever made up a whole. You can't imagine they ever belonged together.

Maybe some things are meant to be shattered. To make us realize we don't want them back together. To remind us of the things we truly want. Of the things we'd shatter ourselves to fix.