advice to all: sleep is good. very good.
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"I can't." The words came out in a rush. I couldn't see her. I didn't want to. Sometimes people change, even best friends, and it's okay. I think I was the one who changed. Maybe she did, or maybe I never knew Anna at all. Whatever the case, I had all I needed. I didn't need her, or Scott for that matter. I knew you were supposed to forgive and forget. Everyone deserves a second chance. But I still wondered why Anna never fought harder to know the reason I didn't let her in my house, why I came stumbling over some nights crying without an explanation. Why she didn't fight to know: I guess I'd never find out. One thing was for sure. I would've fought hard for her if I was in her position.
"What do you mean?" she asked from the other end of the phone. "I wanted to say I was sorry... I mean... I want us to be okay," she said quietly, a sadness to her tone I'd never heard before. It was weird to hear her sad, after knowing her to be cheerful all the time.
"I don't know, Anna," I said, still watching Chris sit quietly on the ground, still smoothing out the picture he'd drawn that brought fresh tears to my eyes. "You really hurt me." She did, too. She never called before now, never tried to make it okay. Why now?
"Just one question," I said.
"Yeah?" she asked. I could tell she was almost crying by the quiver of her voice, and I felt guilty that I didn't really care that she was crying. Was I a bad person for that? That her tears didn't really affect me?
"Why now? You waited so long..." I trailed off, wondering why she really had decided to apologize. It didn't make sense. I knew Scott had said that she was really broken up about our fight ... but she still hadn't done anything. Never tried. Never made an effort.
"I just miss you, okay?" Anna said, desperation and sadness in her voice. "I'm sorry. I'm just really sorry. I don't know how to make it right."
"I need some time, okay? I'll see you around, Anna," I said, unsure if I was making the right decision of letting go my best friend. But then I wondered if she was ever really my best friend in the first place. Why didn't she ask any questions? I knew she had once accused me of never telling her anything... but she never asked either. Unless it was about boys, or parties. Which didn't matter. Not when everything else was so broken. Not when I had a drunk mom at home. Parties and boys were the least of my damn worries.
Except Nash. I worried about him constantly. I look down at Chris when he tugged on my sleeve, an impatient frown on his face.
"Aria!"
"What?" I asked, smiling a little.
"When is Nash coming over to play?" He blinked innocently. I felt my heart melt into a puddle on the floor.
"I don't know," I said softly, smiling and brushing back his unruly curls. He pondered this for a moment, a frown still on his lips. He looked down at the picture, his tiny fingers smoothing out the corners. His fingers grazed over Nash's superhero mask lightly.
"Aria," he whispered. "Where is mommy?" I felt my breathing halt slightly. I didn't say anything and that's when he looked up with tears brimming in his eyes and fury shot through me. I hated her. In that moment, I hated my own mother. She was selfish. He shouldn't be crying. The next moment, I loved her again and wished she'd just be my mother and not this person who walked out on us. I couldn't hate her. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't.
I pulled him to me, trying not to shake all over. I clenched my jaw and buried my face in his curls, holding him tight as if that could make him see that I could love him more than she could. I wished he'd see that we didn't need her. I didn't want them to take my little brother away. He was mine, not theirs. I was the one who loved him. Not them.
Instead of answering him I just said, "I'm here, Chris." That seemed to be enough because a minute later he was playing with the toys Lucy had bought him, completely back to his normal, smiling self. I was jealous of him. I wished it could be enough for me. My lips were still pressed together, trembling slightly.
I was happy before my mom came back with that man and blew everything to hell again. Sure, I was working too much, I had forgotten the meaning of a good night's sleep, and Nash wasn't talking to me. But there was a sense of freedom I'd never had before. I felt like I could finally breathe. That I had my life back and she couldn't hold me down because I'd always be worried about her, about Chris. I hadn't felt chained to our house anymore. But now she was back, and I didn't know how long it would be until she figured out where Chris was, and that she could take him away at any moment in time.
I wouldn't let that happen, I thought to myself firmly as I left Lucy's house after saying goodbye to Chris and promising I'd play with him soon. I thanked Lucy profusely as I always did, but she waved me off, smiling at me with a hint of worry in her eyes as she stared at me.
I opened my front door, peeking in. It was empty. It looked empty at least. I walked slowly through the house, wondering if they were going to pop out on me. My phone buzzed in my pocket and I sighed heavily, fishing for it and hoping that it wasn't Anna or Scott.
"Hello?"
"Can I see you?" Nash asked in a low voice and my whole body tingled slightly.
"I have work," I whispered, wondering why I was whispering. I chewed on my bottom lip, hoping that he'd offer to pick me up afterwards.
"Then can I pick you up?" I tried not to grin, but failed. "We can go somewhere."
"...Like on a date?" I asked him, hoping that he wouldn't detect the excitement I was trying to hide. I kept smiling as I found my work uniform, struggling to pull on the black pants I was required to wear. I held the phone between the crook of my neck and ear, worried now that I'd just scared him off. I barely contained a groan. Great, Aria. Great job.
"What else would it be?" he asked me, slightly confused. I clutched my work shirt to my chest, finally feeling like a teenager for once, my eyes filled with happiness and a stupid grin on my face.
"Okay," I whispered. "Sure. I'll see you then."
"See you," he said, sounding almost excited which of course made me even more excited.
Throughout work I was grinning and smiling and I didn't snap at anyone once. Artie, my boss, looked at me approvingly.
"Got those anger management issues under control, eh?" he grunted in his usual gruff voice, shifting his eyes over to stare at me.
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. "Yes sir," I said politely.
"Good. I don't need a repeat of... the incident." I groaned, nodding and getting my ass out of there before he thought about it more and fired me. The 'incident' was when a customer was unnecessarily rude to me and slapped my ass when I walked away from him. I nearly threw scalding hot soup on them. One of the waiters had pulled me back before it could actually be thrown out of my hands. To say the guy was slightly scared of coming here ever again would be an understatement.
Artie had been pissed. No, furious. His face was a color of red I'd never seen before. I smiled in amusement just thinking about it. Even though I could've gotten fired, seeing him turn all sorts of colors was kind of worth it.
I worked a six hour shift and I was exhausted afterwards. Artie nodded for me to go and be done for the day and I waved over my shoulder. I was slightly put out that our first date would be after I just worked my ass off and was sweaty and tired. I frowned. I should have thought this through better. I waited outside, crossing my arms over my chest to keep myself slightly warmer.
When his car pulled up, he grinned at me and my whole body went warm immediately.
"Hi," I whispered as I slipped into the passenger seat. He nudged the volume down on the radio and turned to face me. He frowned. "What?" Self-consciously, I tucked my hair behind my ears.
"You work too much," Nash said, looking at the bags under my eyes. I shrugged, smiling at him. He let it drop and smiled back. Driving with one hand, he reached over and held my hand and I struggled to breathe normally. "Where do you want to go?" he inquired, looking over at me. I wished I had brought a change of clothes, or something, looking down at my uniform clad body. I frowned up at him, my eyes slightly pleading.
"Can we stop at my house first?"
"Why?" he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.
"I want to change." He rolled his eyes but nodded once in confirmation.
"You're such a girl."
"That's because I am a girl, you idiot," I muttered under my breath making him laugh. After changing and brushing through my hair, I stared into my mirror, rubbing over my eyes and trying to make the dark bags go away. They didn't. I had thrown on a jean skirt and a light blue long sleeve shirt. The blue reminded me of his eyes. I leaned in closer and attempted to put on a little makeup and doing something with my crazy hair. I settled on just some lip gloss and putting my hair into a braid.
I walked out of the bathroom and into my room where Nash was sitting on my bed, leaning into a picture I had on my bedside table. It was a picture of me at sixteen, Scott had his arm around me and Anna was on the other side of us, grinning. I was laughing at something that was off to the side, out of the picture. I squinted, trying to remember what I thought was so funny, but I came up blank. "Hi," I said and he jumped slightly, sitting up straight. I grinned on the inside that I had managed to catch him by surprise. I rarely ever saw him suprised, but he looked cute when he was. Slightly widened eyes and his mouth hanging open. He shut his mouth quickly.
His eyes ran over my body and it didn't make me cringe like it usually did whenever guys stared at me. Instead my whole body lit on fire and I bit my lip. "Is it okay for where we're going?"
"I don't know where we're going yet," he laughed. I rolled my eyes. How romantic. "But yes," he murmured, standing up and fingering the bottom of my shirt with his pinky finger. "You look good." He bit his lip and I nearly groaned.
We walked back outside together and I couldn't help but sigh happily. He gunned his engine, his eyes running over my legs again. "I've never seen that skirt before," he muttered. I smiled to myself, turning to look out the window so he wouldn't see.
"I don't really wear skirts," I said, pleased that he liked it.
When we got to wherever he was taking us, I grinned. It was a small restaurant, but romantic. I turned to him and smiled. He looked at me, looking strangely insecure, which was something that Nash never was.
"Is this okay?" he asked almost shyly. This was another thing Nash wasn't. Anti-social, most definitely. Shy? Never. I bit my lip. I liked this side of Nash. It was cute.
"Of course," I grinned, grabbing his hand which surprised the both of us. Nash raised his eyebrows, but looked pleased. Pulling me along, we entered the restaurant and Nash gripped my hand a little tighter when the host's eyes flickered to my legs for a second. The host was a scruffy, lanky guy who looked to be in his mid twenties. Nash cleared his throat. The host looked up, smiling unashamedly. I was regretting putting on such a short skirt now. It felt more short than it actually was. I tugged it down, frowning.
"Table for two?" the guy asked. Nash nodded stiffly. We followed him to a booth, and I noticed the place was pretty empty. It was late, around eleven at night. The guy looked at us, raising his eyebrows.
"First date?" he asked, his eyes trained on Nash, his eyes mocking.
When I opened my mouth to say yes, Nash cut in.
"Nope," Nash said, his jaw clenched tight. The guy shrugged, loping away to go back to the front. I looked at Nash questioningly.
"...What?" I asked, confused. This was our first date, technically.
"Nothing," he smiled tightly. I wondered what his problem was. I let it drop, though.
The date was fun. I felt like a teenager going on her first date with a guy she liked. I blushed slightly. In my case, loved. I had sweaty palms the whole night, and was slightly nervous I wouldn't find things to talk about, but we did. Talk, I mean. About everything.
Except his parents and brother. We kept it light. Which was fine, but not as real. It felt almost like he was specifically avoiding talking to me about either. I frowned but then he made me laugh again and I wished for only one thing: for me to be in love with him as I was right now, always.
The food was good, too. When we left, Nash abruptly stopped, staring over at the host who was checking me out again. I stepped slightly behind Nash, feeling uncomfortable under the guy's gaze. Nash clenched his jaw again. He stepped closer to the guy.
"Hey man," the guy said when he realized Nash was glaring at him, holding his hands up slightly. "Calm down."
"She's mine."
I never knew Nash to be possessive, but the possessiveness in his voice made me shiver. Nash stepped back and took my hand, pulling me in front of him probably so the guy couldn't stare at my ass as we walked out.
"Fucking asshole," I heard Nash mutter under his breath as he got into the driver's seat. I followed suit, slipping in to sit beside him. I just stared at him, my eyebrows raised. I could swear his cheeks turned the lightest shade of pink when he realized I was staring at him. He nudged up the radio probably so I couldn't ask him anything.
What did he mean, she's mine? Did that mean I was his girlfriend? Did he want me to be? Or did he just not like other guy's staring at me because he was protective of me? God, so many possibilities. I bit my lip, trying to stop over thinking everything.
"Did you talk to them? Your parents?" He asked me a while later while we were on the road, coming home from the date that was perfect. I watched out of the window, wishing he hadn't brought it up. Wishing he hadn't just done this. Now there was going to be a fight, I could feel it deep in my bones.
"I don't want to talk about it," I said lightly, thinking of Chris and the way the tears were so close to spilling from his eyes. Please drop it, I silently begged him, don't ruin our date.
Nash didn't like this answer and I could tell by the way his hands tightened on the wheel slightly. "You don't trust me?" he asked in a low voice. I clenched my jaw to keep from screaming at him. He always made everything into a fight. I didn't answer him, just pressed my forehead to the cool glass of his window and closed my eyes, resenting him for ruining our first date with his anger, his never ending anger.
"Aria," he growled.
"What! Like you trust me?" I shot back and regretted it immediately. "I'm sorry," I said quickly before this could turn into a huge fight. "I'm sorry," I said again, frantic to stop the fight before it began. "I'm just tired." And I love you. And I wish you trusted me a little more: with helping you talk to your parents, with talking about your brother. I didn't say any of that. I couldn't. He'd only get more angry. We'd only fight and ruin all the progress we've made.
He stayed silent and I wished he'd talk to me, or yell at me, or ask me more questions... anything at all. The silence, I realized, was a lot worse than getting yelled at by him. It meant he was thinking and I didn't really want to know what he was thinking about.
"Tonight was perfect for me. Don't ruin it." I admitted in a low voice. He looked over to me fleetingly, his face beautiful as always, lit by passing streetlights. A muscle in his jaw started to tic and I knew he was angry. Always so god damned angry. At me, at his parents, at the whole freakin' world. I could see him gritting his teeth and he concentrated on the road, not sparing me a glance. I clenched my fists, hating this.
"No," I snapped. He looked up, his eyes confused. I shook my head. "Stop the car."
"What are you talking about?" he asked, looking at me like I was insane. I didn't even know anymore. Maybe I was. Maybe I really was.
"Just stop the car, okay?" Something in my voice made him pull over and cut the engine. "You're going to talk about him with me. You're going to talk. You have to stop being so angry."
He stared straight forward like I wasn't even there. "He's dead, Aria," he said slowly and calmly, which scared me more than if his voice had been quivering and scared. "He killed himself and now he's gone." His nostrils flared slightly as he tried to remain in control, his jaw ticking even more furiously. "It's over, done with. I already talked about this with you," he said, not looking me in the eye.
"It's not. It's never going to be over. Not unless you talk about it," I snapped. "Holding all this inside, look what it's doing to you!" I yelled, my voice echoing in his car. All I could see was him thrashing in his bed at night. Lying in a hospital bed, nearly dead when he got into the car accident. The look in his eyes when his father was so cold to him. "It's going to kill you, Nash. It is killing you!"
"I don't have to talk about this," he snapped.
"It's just making us fall apart," I whispered to him and he froze, his whole body tensing and whipped his whole body to face me, his eyes burning right through me.
"Don't say that," he growled shakily. "Don't say that to me. This doesn't have to change anything. If you would just drop it..." he looked away from me.
I shook my head. "I can't."
"Fine. Then you should just—" he cut off abruptly, tightening his hands on the steering wheel, his knuckles slowly turning white.
"What? Were you going to tell me to leave? Are you back to that? Pushing me away so you don't have to deal with it?" I shook my head, annoyed. I thought we were over that.
"Okay," he snapped, grabbing my face between his hands roughly. "Okay. I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry."
"You know that's not what I want to hear," I half-shouted, his palms cold on my cheeks. I tore them away from my face.
His eyes grew watery. "I can't give you what you want. I can't—" He shook his head, pressing his trembling lips together.
I love you, I love you, I love you. Let me help you. I swallowed hard, a lump forming in my throat. "Please," I whispered. "Trust me with this."
He bowed his head, closing his eyes. His black hair fell more into his eyes than it already was. I itched to brush it back from his forehead. He took a shaky breath. "His name was Tom. You know that. He was eighteen when he..." He swallowed roughly, unable to continue that sentence. My breath caught in my throat. Was he really telling me this right now? "My parents...they worshipped him. He was everything my dad ever dreamt to be, you know? Sporty, popular, good at school." Nash looked up at me for a second before closing his eyes again.
"You never saw him frown," his lips trembled a little more and pressed them even tighter against each other. "Not once. He was always happy...and then he wasn't. And then he was coming home drunk, and staying up all night, and..." his lips trembled harder and he let them this time, "No one even noticed. I didn't notice anything was wrong."
He looked up at me once. I stared back, my breathing stopped. Just pain and agony in his eyes and voice and I knew I could never take it away. But God, if I could I would.
"Lissa was his girlfriend. They loved each other so much," he paused to take a heaving breath and I realized how hard it was for him to tell me this and still be trying to hold it all together. His eyebrows furrowed, "He cheated on her. I mean.. I don't know. He wasn't himself. He was drunk all the time, and there were always girls I didn't know coming out of his room. He was drinking too much. I... one night," he swallowed. "One night he was piss drunk again. I was pissed at him for not being perfect anymore. For being human. Because then my parents expected me to be. I ignored him the last time he spoke to me," he whispered. His fists clenched, his knuckles white as snow. "And then...and then I found these pills..." he swallowed. "My God there were so many," he groaned, imagining it with his eyes shut tight, his teeth clenched so tight it looked like it hurt.
"I don't understand," he whispered. "I just don't fucking understand!" he half shouted, and slammed his car door open, making me jump at the loud noise.
We were in the middle of nowhere, the road stranded, with no cars passing by. He stood straight, his head tipped back staring at the sky, fistfuls of his hair in his hands. I could see he was trying to calm himself down, gain some composure back. But his chest was still heaving, no matter how hard he tried to breathe normally, his fists clenching and unclenching rapidly.
I stood next to him. He looked down at me. Finally, finally tears built in his eyes. Just like Chris' eyes had earlier, they pooled at the bottom of his eyes, filling rapidly. I expected sadness and agony, like he had only moments ago. But there was only pure fury. Pure rage in them. It scared me. His nostrils were flaring. He started to kick his car, over and over he kicked into the side of it, rage making his whole body shudder and jerk. I stood, frozen, unsure of what I could do to stop him.
He started to pound his fists into the metal, his whole body trembling now. He slammed his fists until there were dents starting to show and I could see blood starting to stream down his knuckles.
"I just don't..." he shook his head, cutting off and pausing to lay both hands flat against the hood of his car, panting. His head was bowed, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace. "He fucking left me," he whispered so low I could barely make out the words. "Left me," he muttered, starting to pound his car again, his fists growing redder and redder with blood.
"Nash! Stop!" I panted, trying to pull him away but his body thrashed under my hold, ripping away from me rougly making me almost fall to the ground.
"I don't get it," he shouted. He kicked harder. I clenched my fists and wrapped my arms around him, pressing my face into his back. I tightened my arms when he started to fight against my hold again.
"Stop it!" I screamed, my voice shaky and shrill, echoing around us.
And then like a switch was turned off inside him, his whole body slumped over, the fight knocked right out of him. His shoulders heaved and shook. "Why..." he couldn't finish, his voice trailing off and turning into a pained moan that made my heart beat faster in fear. His body jolted with the effort to hold in sobs that I could feel were ripping their way up his throat. We slid down the side of the car together, my arms wrapped tight around his whole body scared that he would start punching again. He was trembling hard, making me shake right along with him, jerking each time a sob tried to make it's way up his throat. My forehead was pressed into one of his shoulder blades.
"I'm — so — pissed — at — him," he said each word slowly, gasping them out. I shushed him, rubbing my nose on his shoulder, trying to comfort him. I shushed him again when a low sound that sounded like it came deep from within him came out of his throat. I gripped my fingers in his hair. "I hate him," he panted. "I hate him so much." He shook harder each time a sob hit him again and he held it in.
"Shh," I whispered, knowing I couldn't take away his pain, but hell I could try. He turned around to press his face into my neck. Finally I felt tears.
After so long of thinking that Nash was incapable of crying, of letting someone see anything other than his anger, he finally let me in.
Something like a sob, but more painful, more full of agony, ripped it's way out of his throat and he tried to pull away from me, tried to swallow his tears down, but it crashed into him like a tidal wave and took me with it. I rocked us back and forth under a street lamp that was flickering, shushing him each time he tried to talk, to apologize, to say anything.
I wondered if it was possible to take away someone's pain with a kiss. I pulled his tear stained face up and kissed him and he started to shake but kissed me back. His fingers found their way to my hair and started to make their way from my roots to the tips of my hair, and he kissed me back with just as much fierceness as I kissed him. Tears were smudging against my cheeks and into my hair and I didn't know if they were mine or his.
His sobs came out of him like he had no restraint anymore and his shaky breaths were loud and uneven, and he pulled away from me to muffle his cries into my hair. I gripped his shoulders, holding on tight.
I pressed my face into his shaking shoulder, trying to hear the words he kept whispering, kept repeating over and over between his violent hyperventalating.
And finally, I heard it.
"I didn't mean to kill him."
- - -
me likey writing sad things so dont hate me ok people
i also think it's slightly hot when hot guys cry which is probably a sign that i really am messed up in the head or something ???????????!?!?!?!
time to sleep
sleep is good
by the way so no one is confused no he did not really kill his brother ok he just blames his brothers suicide on himself so no nash is not a murderer and if i see a comment asking if nash killed his brother i will smash my head into a wall
WOW OVER DRAMATIC MUCH
okay bye (no i will never stop my creepy authors notes NEVER)