Rise [Bruno Mars]

Chapter ten

Chapter ten

“Adrian?”

“Yes?”

“I have something else to tell you.”

Every emotion that once made me crumple was gone, replaced by a void. I could take more pain. It wouldn't be felt. Just sucked into oblivion. I lifted my forehead from the window and gave Bruno my attention. “Jamie did something. I guess after you went unconscious? She took some pictures of you and uploaded them online.” He showed me the small screen of his BlackBerry. On it, a picture of me curled up on the floor, a bottle of liquor and throw up accompanying my sides. “Phil sent this to me today when I had cell service,” he added. “We're trying to get it down. . .”

I observed the picture more closely. It appeared as though I wanted to disappear within myself. “Embarrassing,” it came out in a whisper.

“If it makes you feel better,” Ryan piped up from behind the wheel. “They always keep an upward angle on Bruno whenever he's on TV because midget.”

“And they always keep no angle on you because. . . who are you?”

“Your babysitter.” There was the slightest edge to his tone. “I already have you strapped safely in the backseat. Looks like I'm doing a good job.”

I slumped low into the seat and pulled my knees to my chest, resting my head on the window. I was currently being laughed at by the world.

“What can I do,” Bruno murmured soft enough so only I could hear. “to make you feel better?”

“I don't know.”

“I can't stand seeing you like this.”

Ryan sung, deciding to replace the radio.

“Then don't look at me.”

“Impossible.”

I could feel him staring and feel the warmth of his proximity; he'd sat in the middle to show me how the world could see one captured second of you and judge you for the whole.

“Adrian,” Bruno began, “I'll—can you look at me?” My dark ones met his dark ones, gaze dropping when he flinched. How horrible did I look? My fingers went to the few tangles of hair that fell loose from its bun, detangling them.

“No, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and quiet and heavy with something remorseful and sullen. “It's just. . . that look, Dri. That look in your eyes. . . It reminds me of. . . damn. . . that's how Joseph looks sometimes. And it fucking terrifies me to see that in you. That. . . nothing.”

That struck. I was not expecting that. I always described the emptiness in Joseph as hollowness, as if everything once alive had been scraped out of him, leaving a shell behind. Was that how I looked now? A shell? But I felt something, then. The stage one connection that bound me and Joseph. He was driving, speaking in soft, curious tones to Ris. I let the sliver of our tether linger before letting it go, because Bruno's hand brushed my knee. “I'll make it up to you,” he promised. “I'll make everything up to you.” 

He sat in the other window seat, putting space between us, and taking his warmth with him.

As I watched the dry landscape whip by, and listened to Ryan's horrible voice, I made a silent promise to him.

 I will tell you everything when it's over.

I'd been dozing off and on when I felt the Jeep roll to a stop. Ryan gave a low whistle. “Now this is what I'm talking about.”