Crash Into Me | ✓

twenty-eight

I scowled, quickly hitting "delete" and shoving my phone back in my pocket. Every few hours it had been another desperate plea from him, and despite the cracking I felt in my heart, I had ignored every single one of them. The day after dinner at his house, he had called me 15 times, but gave up and resorted to texting when I refused to answer. I couldn't figure out if I was sad, frustrated, angry, or some sickening combination of the three. I rubbed at my eyes again to dissipate the stinging I felt from holding back tears.

"You should get that dress," Nikki piped up. I looked down and realized I was still clutching the long dress tightly in my hands.

I ran my fingers over the lacy navy fabric again. It felt new and exciting - things I was desperate to feel. "I think I will."

Nikki retreated to her bedroom when we returned home with several shopping bags in hand, claiming she was exhausted and needed a nap.

I sighed and felt a pang of remorse radiate through me. It was easy to let Brooklyn's turmoil and shortcomings overshadow everything else in my life, but realizing I used it to forget how sick Nikki was sometimes made me feel ill.

I laid back on my bed and squeezed my eyes shut. An image of Brooklyn's guilt-stricken face flashed in front of me, his cheeks blotchy and his eyes glassy, and my eyes shot back open. My phone buzzed against my hip.

BROOKLYN: I'm outside. Please come talk to me. Just for five minutes.

I clenched my jaw, hovering my thumb over the delete button. Another text came through.

BROOKLYN: Please. I'll stay here all day if I have to.

I inhaled as much air as my lungs would allow before heaving myself out of bed and quietly making my way outside. Even after everything, there was something in me that wanted to keep giving him chances. I wanted to keep believing in something, even if it wasn't necessarily him, just something tangible.

Brooklyn leaned against the door of his car with a bundle of flowers under his arm, larger and more impressive than the previous ones he had given me, and his tired eyes lit up as I approached him. His hair was unkempt and it was obvious he hadn't shaved in a few days. I fought the urge to fling myself at him, to wrap my arms around his broad figure and nuzzle myself into his chest, feeling his warmth surge through me. Instead I crossed my arms tightly over my torso and gave him a stony glare.

"You have five minutes," I said curtly.

Brooklyn gave me a quick nod and handed me the bouquet of flowers. "They don't suck as much as the last ones."

I took the bundle gingerly in my hand and ran my fingers over the colorful array of roses. I looked up at him, and he gave me a weak smile, letting a small dimple pop up in the corner of his cheek. If he was trying to completely unravel me, it was working.

"Look Natalie..." Brooklyn itched at his neck, and I cringed hearing him say my full name. I had gotten so used to hearing him say Nat that Natalie sounded foreign and far away, almost like it didn't even belong to me.