OWEN'S POV---
"Clarin," I say, getting her attention as I walk into her room. We're back at Brinley's house now, and have been for four days. I sleep on her couch in the living room. I'm too afraid to just leave her here.
Clarin lifts her head up, and her red, swollen eyes meet mine.
"You've hardly said a word since we got back," I say, sitting down beside her on the bed.
"I can't stop seeing it," she says quietly. "It's on replay in my mind. It won't go away. She tried to kill herself, Owen."
"I know," I say, closing my eyes. "It bothers me too. All the time."
"But Owen, you don't understand," she says, looking at me with a sullen expression. "You don't understand what's bothering me."
"What is it?" I ask, holding her gaze.
"She got that same look in her eyes as she had when she jumped out of the car," Clarin explains quietly, tears rising in her eyes.
I'm silenced for a moment, shocked by her words. When she tried to jump out of that car. That's what she looked like. And that time, it was fully my fault. Seeing that crazy look in her eyes brings back all the pain I originally felt because of my first mistake.
"I thought she would be okay," Clarin continues. "She was so happy. You made her so happy. And all of a sudden, she snapped."
"It's something neither of us have gone through," I say with a sigh. "I don't know what it is she's dealing with, and I won't know. The most we can do is be patient."
"I'm trying," she says, eyes filling with tears. "But seeing her like that..."
"I know. I get it, okay? I know, it hurts me too. I want to see her smile more than anything," I say, putting my arm around her. "We can help her through this. All of us."
"Thank you, Owen," Clarin says shakily.
<•>•<•>
Brinley's been asleep a lot of the past two days. It's a part of her medication that makes her drowsy. I spend most of my days sitting at the side of her bed, waiting for the rare moment when her eyes will open and fall on mine and I'll see her, who she really is, for even a split second.
Clarin has to go back to school, and her mom needs to get back to work. I'm supposed to stay here with her for the last three days of this week.
She's asleep upstairs now, her phone still playing the same ten songs on repeat. Just how she left it before she fell asleep. I'm downstairs, making us both some grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch.
She doesn't really like to talk to anyone much when everyone's home. But when it's just me and her, sometimes she opens up a little. I think that's improvement.
"Owen."
My heart skips a beat, and my knife I was slicing the cheese with falls to the ground, cutting my foot in the process. I wince, then look up and find Brinley standing in the kitchen doorway.
"I didn't mean to scare you," she sighs. "I'm sorry."
"No," I say quickly. "No, no, you're fine."
She hasn't been out of her bed since we came home from the hospital. She hasn't wanted to move since then. I can't help but stare at her in awe. Maybe the medication is working. Maybe she's coming around.
"Shouldn't you clean that up?" She nods to my bleeding foot.
I look down. "Oh. Right."
"I can help you," she says. "I'll go get the bandages."
"Thank you," I say, eyes following her as she walks out the door.
I sit up on the counter and pull out a cloth from the drawer. I pour some water from the faucet over the cut and gently start wiping it off. Brinley comes back with the first aid box and pulls out a few different sized bandages. Once I'm fairly cleaned off, I take it from her hand and place it onto the cut.
Brinley picks up the knife from the ground and throws it into the sink.
"Are you alright?" She asks after a moment.
"I'm fine," I nod. Then I hesitate for a moment. "Are you alright?"
She looks down. "I don't know. I'm trying to figure things out. I'm trying to remember who I am. I'm trying to get used to the idea that I don't know myself anymore. I'm trying to find it in me to move forward, but I don't know how."
"I can help you, Brinley. That's what I'm here for. Your family is too," I say, taking her hand in mine.
"I don't want to start this fight again," she says, "but I just can't believe that you would want to waste your time on someone with as many problems as I have. Someone who will never really be the same again."
"A waste of time? You have to understand, I love you. You, how you are now. I don't want anyone else. I know you don't think you know who you are. But I do," I say.
"You keep saying that, but I still have no answers-"
"You're beautiful. One of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen in my entire life. You're smart. I haven't ever seen you get anything lower than an A. You're a hard worker. You get stuff done. You don't give up. You're stubborn. You stand up for what you believe in. You aren't easily swayed. You see the best in everyone. And I see the best in you. Even when you don't, or can't, I do. You're wonderful. You haven't changed at all. You're Brinley," I say, eyes locked directly on hers.
She lets out a slow breath. Then she looks down. "I haven't changed? Is that supposed to be funny?"
"No, Brin-"
"I just threw myself out a window, and you try telling me I haven't changed at all," she looks up with tears in her eyes. "It looks a lot to me like you're holding onto something impossible to grasp. It's time to let go."
"You aren't making sense," I say, trying to bring her attention back on me. "I have her. Right here. I don't need to try to move on, or let go. You're it, and there's no way I'll let you out of my life again."
"Don't say that," Brinley says, a single tear falling down her face. "She's already gone."
Then she silently walks out of the kitchen and I hear her footsteps up the stairs. And a crash. I run over to the staircase, and find a picture thrown over the railing. It's the same one that was on her dresser, the one of me and her on our first week really together. It's shattered. And she clearly wants me to get the message.
<•>•<•>
"Owen?" Clarin asks, walking in with her mom. "What's this mess?"
I almost have all the glass cleaned up, I'm just sweeping the last of it. I wanted it to be done by the time they got back, so they wouldn't have to worry about anything. I let out a sigh.
"A picture frame broke," I say, avoiding their eye contact.
"Broke?" Her mom asks. "Or was broken?"
"She got upset at me," I say after a moment.
"What?" Clarin asks, looking upset. "What happened?"
"She came downstairs today," I say. I can see the surprise on both of their faces. "And she started asking questions. And she didn't believe my answers. Then she got upset."
"I thought she was getting better," Clarin sighs.
"She is," I tell her. "She really is."
"She had better get well fast," their mom says, setting her purse down.
"Why?" I ask her, unable to help my curiosity.
"Because we're supposed to go to Missouri for a family reunion in a few days," she says.
"No," Brinley's voice comes from upstairs. I look up and find her watching us from over the railing. "No way. There is no way I'm going and speaking to family members I don't know. I won't do that, and you shouldn't try to make me."
"We can't just skip it, my father doesn't have much time-"
"Then you go," Brinley says. "I don't care. I'm staying here."
"You can't be here by yourself," her mom looks sad at her sudden outburst.
"She's free to stay with me," I volunteer.
Every eye turns to me. I look up at Brinley, trying to read her expression. It's impossible. She's stone cold.
"Are you really willing to do that?" Her mom asks me. "You've already done so much to help. You don't have to."
"I want to," I say with a small smile. "I promise. I'll take care of her."
"Thank you, Owen," she says. "I don't know what we'd do without you."
<•>•<•>
"So," I say, walking into Brinley's room slowly. "What do you think about all this?"
"About what?" Brinley asks, back still facing me.
"You staying here with me," I say, coming and sitting beside her. She still doesn't move.
"I have no opinion."
"No opinion? Since when? You're Brinley, you have opinions on everything," I say, touching her shoulder.
She doesn't reply, and doesn't seem to plan to. I take her hand and intertwine my fingers with hers.
"We're going to get through this, okay? Me and you. We're going to get better," I tell her softly. I want her to hear that. I want her to know that. I want her to believe it.