Eleven Eleven

Let It Be

Little by little, I watched every ounce of color drain from my bosses face.

It had been over an hour since I brought him the story and not a word had been exchanged since handing it over. I had seen a hopefulness in his eyes upon receiving it, clearly believing what was given was the story of a lifetime. What he got was no better than the amateur writing my high school newspaper posted on their school website. As he continued on through the article, the hopefulness dissipated. Watching him from the uncomfortable chair at the foot of his desk, I braced myself for what I knew we were both dreading to hear.

"It's not good enough." were the first words that tore through the agonizing and tense silence.

I had no response, there really wasn't a lot I could say. I had known coming in this afternoon that I didn't have a story, one that was worth publishing, that is. My mind had been set on the mental preparation of cleaning my own small office and leaving my safe haven the second I walked through the front doors of the building.

Max clenched his jaw and ran a hand through his ruffled mess of thinning caramel hair. "Tell me this is some sort of a joke and you have the real story in your file."

"I'm sorry, Max." I peered at the middle aged man through my lashes. "That was it."

He cursed quietly under his breath and leaned back into his chair, folding his arms behind his head as he stared intently at the ceiling.

"One chance, Stevens. I'm giving you one last chance. If you fail to get a story to me by the end of August, then I'm going to have to let you go." his voice was quiet, and despite his best efforts, I could hear the strain in voice. He didn't want to fire me, I knew that, but he had to abide by the law and not play favorites.

I recoiled back into the hard chair, reeling in shock over his words.

"Thank you, sir. I promise I went let you down." I stood, arm outstretched. He took my hand and shook with a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. Maneuvering around his messy desk, he grasped my shoulder, worn and tired brown eyes seemingly burning holes through me.

"I'm counting on you, Willow. Don't make me regret this decision. You're dismissed, now get out of my office." he dropped his hands stiffly to his side and nodded toward the shut office door.

I swung my book bag over my shoulder and collected the papers scattered across the chair in my blue folder. Hurrying out before my boss could change his mind, I collapsed against the wall outside the stuffy room, hugging my arms around myself.

My brother peeked up from an auto magazine and quirked one of his thin eyebrows, prompting a long and detailed summary of everything that had happened. When I made no attempt to move from my fetal position against the wall, my brother rose and crossed the room toward me.

"Wills?" he crouched down. "Am I going to have to kick his ass?"

I shook my head repeatedly, laughing hysterically. "He's giving me one more chance, Blake."

My brother breathed out a sigh of relief of his own and offered me a hand to help me to my feet. Once up, I shook my head and headed for the automatic doors of the building. Stepping outside, I scanned the mid- afternoon traffic for any sign of my brother's convertible across the street. Cars and pedestrians from every direction barricaded my brother's car against the curb. I could tell by the expression on his face that he wasn't too happy to see so many people crowded around it.

"So, are you going to tell me what happened?" he nudged my shoulder as we headed for the crosswalk. "I need the deets."

"Deets?" I held back a laugh. "Don't tell me you're going through that gross and annoying phase when all you use is abbreviations again."

He barked out a laugh. "You know you loved that phase. It was the highlight of our preteen years."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, bro."

*

By the time we finally reached my brother's car, he had been driven to the verge of insanity. Every person that passed his car, slowed to a stop and stared at the car as if it were a winning lottery ticket. My brother had to scream at a few college students to keep them from taking pictures in front of it and leaning against the car. He buried his face against the steering wheel inside, running his hand along the dashboard as he apologized to Christine.

Sometimes my brother's attachment to his car worried me; other times I wanted to catch his reactions on video and upload it to Youtube.

The moment the car roared to life, he whistled, patting the clutch with a laugh. "I'm back, beautiful. No more weird people grinding against you."

"You're a weirdo, Blake." I mumbled, fighting a smirk.

He waited until we were at the stoplight to turn the radio up, glaring at the old thing when it refused to catch a signal. When he finally got a station, I wasn't at all surprised or pleased with what started blasting through the speakers.

"Gross." I threw my head back against the seat.

The right side of Blake's mouth curved up in a smile. "It's just a band and I'm sure the song is almost over."

How my brother wasn't tired of hearing about some girl that the guy couldn't get every minute of everyday was beyond me.

"I swear there aren't any other songs on the radio." I grumbled miserably.

"There is, you just to care enough to listen half the time. You have selective hearing, Wills." Blake retorted. I shot him a dark look as the song came to an end. I hardly had enough time to reach for my bag at my feet when a frantic voice took place of the semi-decent song that was playing.

"Live at six, this is Monica with Manic Music with horrifying news. Reports of the hit and run involving  popstar Alexander Cruise of local boy band Eleven Eleven have just been confirmed by band manager and record producer Jack Stevens. Witnesses say-"

The distressed voice was cut only minutes after it had broke through the car, my brother's index finger and thumb furling around the dial.

"What the hell?" I tried to sound angry, but shock was easing its way into the pit of my stomach as the car swerved to the left. My brother huffed quietly under his breath as a horn sounded from behind us and trained his eyes back on the road ahead.

The realization of what I had heard didn't set in until the engine of my brother's car died in our driveway.

"Willow-" my brother started.

"I'm fine." the tightening in my chest said otherwise, but I was in no hurry to let my brother know I was on the verge of a panic attack.

The day Alexander walked out of my life six years ago should have been the day I stopped caring; at least until I walked by his face on the front of some magazine at a convenience store and relieve the pain of that day in a continuous loop in my head.

He had taken the little trust I had left in the world and my family that day and crushed it into the asphalt with what was left of my heart.

He had chosen Eleven Eleven, my father, over our friendship and there was no way I was going to let him, or anybody, ever break down the walls I had built around my heart again. 

***AN***

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~ChasingMadness24