"You are allowed to be both a masterpiece and a work in progress, simultaneously."
"I see why you care about him so much." Zoe's eyes followed Brock out the cafeteria doors.
Second semester had begun. And we had spare time between classes with her. At first, it had been awkward to sit at a table with both my best friend and my boyfriend. They spent an awful lot of time staring each other down, silently challenging the other to try and take me away. It exhausted me.
"And why is that?" I asked, fingers tapping on the hardcover book in front of me.
Zoe sighed, those amber eyes still on him. She looked back once he vanished from sight. "Brock is like your dream guy. He's a wonderful person." Sadness swept over his face. "But he's not happy."
Everyone could see it. After what happened a week and a half earlier, with his mother walking in on us, things had slowly started to go downhill again. Whether it be that flicker of emptiness, or the way he became less affectionate. I was always on the verge of screaming.
The only comfort I had was that he was still clean. Three weeks. Come Friday, it would be four. An entire month. Scars, I could deal with now. Fresh wounds, not so much. I prayed every night to never find any new cuts. To see that would destroy me even more.
"So, about your dress..."
"Please, don't." I pushed my glasses back up, the habit second nature after so many years. "I'll never have it. I do not wish to be tortured by talk of it."
She cleared her throat. "I found one almost exactly like it. For two hundred bucks cheaper."
That caught my attention.
Since the morning we shopped around for prom dresses, I couldn't stop thinking about that red dress. The way it was flared at the hips, fitted like a corset at the waist and bust. Tiny sparkles covered the entire bodice, in a pattern that would make me look like moving flame if it caught on the lights at the prom venue. I lusted after that dress. It was in every dream, the heartbreak that I would never be able to afford it tearing me up.
Funny, how I spent my time wanting a dress, when Brock's condition seemed to be worsening with each passing day.
"Do not blame yourself. It isn't your fault."
I looked up at Zoe, slowly raising an eyebrow. "What?"
"You always get this...look. When you think of Brock. Like you think it's your fault that he's this way. It's not, Claire."
"I—"
"What did I miss?" Brock took a seat beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. It still left me breathless, the way he looked at me.
As if I was the light in his world of darkness. The one glimmer of feeling in a sea of emptiness. If only it were that simple.
"Nothing," Zoe chirped, already starting to pack up her stuff. "Listen, I think I should head out. Anthony wants to meet up before math."
I almost choked on the sip of water I'd taken. "Anthony? Anthony Santos?"
She shrugged her toned shoulders, throwing her backpack over one. "He asked me out to prom in May. How could I say no?"
I didn't have to fake the amusement as Zoe walked away, turning around to blow a kiss at Brock and me. She focused on me, a wink the only indication she had no real plans to meet up with Anthony.
Things had been a lot better once I told her the truth about Brock. We still hadn't discussed my own issues yet, but I was begging to think I could trust her. Zoe would never use that against me. I now knew that.
"Have you spoken to her yet?" asked Brock.
Just like that, the smirk fell away as I turned back to him. I knew exactly who he referred to.
"My mother wants to drag me to a shrink without talking to me about it first. What do you think?"
Brock sighed, taking one of my hands with his free one. He drew small circles on the back with his thumb. "It could help, Claire. I know you don't want to do it, but—I think you should."
"I'll be fine. I can handle it myself."
"That's exactly the kind of thing someone who secretly wants it says."
I frowned, twisting to the side to look at him. "Seriously. Why would I want to talk to someone who doesn't know me about my problems?"
"There are psychiatrists, Claire. It's their job to listen. To offer advice without judgement. They can also prescribe medicine to help you."
Tears began to fill my eyes, despite my attempts to hold them in. I turned my head away from him, not wanting Brock to see me like this. I hated to cry. It made me feel weaker than I already knew I was.
"Hey." Brock's tone lost any hint of harshness. "It is entirely up to you, my darling." He gently turned my face back to look at him. "They will not judge you, I swear. How do you think mine feels? I've told her about all my attempts. She never once looked disgusted or made me feel stupid."
I reached out to touch his cheek. He smiled, leaning into the touch. "Sit your mom down and talk to her about it, if that's what you want to do. Try to make her understand."
"She won't—can't understand," I sighed.
He echoed the sigh. "I know."
"How do you deal with it? With this constant sadness?"
Brock pressed a soft kiss to my cheek and pulled away. "It's not just sadness. Darling, it's a lot more complicated than that."
The names he called me felt so sincere. When I was with Brock, the people around us no longer mattered. He became all I could see. I cared about him so much, wanted the world for him. But that damned inner battle... "You mean the world to me."
"You mean the world to me, too." He smiled. It did not reach his eyes.
We were a few weeks away from his eighteenth birthday. Fast approaching our one-month anniversary. I wouldn't trade the past few months of my life for anything. All the sadness, the panic attacks, the dull ache that was ever-present in my heart, was worth it. For Brock. To be able to call him mine.
"Would skipping this afternoon's classes be completely out of the question?"
I stared at him. "Someone's quite rebellious now, aren't they?"
Brock grinned. My heart shattered a little bit more each time I saw that it did not extend beyond his lips. He faked the happiness, even for me.
"I want to spend more time with you."
"You spend every free second of your life with me."
He tugged me closer to him. "There will never be enough hours in a day to keep me satisfied."
"I guess it can't hurt to miss a few classes. Just this once."
"Excellent."
Dozens of eyes watched us rush out of the cafeteria. I made eye contact with Michael Pastore. He smiled, looked at me as if we were the best of friends. Even I couldn't stop a blush from heating my cheeks.
Mercifully, Brock didn't notice.
Snow still fell to the ground when we exited the school. The cold weather was beginning to annoy me. I couldn't wait for spring to come. Perhaps the warmer weather would help the two of us relax.
"I'm thinking we get something to drink, then go back to the spot I took you on your birthday. How does that sound?"
Anywhere sounded wonderful. So long as Brock was by my side. I dared not think about a world without him. The world would be a darker place, some of its goodness snuffed out.
A lump formed in my throat. One again, the flashes of a pale body in a bathroom overwhelmed me. My breathing became ragged.
Brock knew what was happening without having to ask. He pulled over to the side of the road, not once trying to touch me.
"Breathe in." He took a deep inhale. "And breathe out." A loud exhale. "In. Out."
It took longer than usual for me to calm down enough to think straight. The pain of that imagining was always the worst. Paranoia about social situations, the stress over tests, I could deal with those easily. What I couldn't handle, what brought me to a breaking point every time, was the thought of Brock alone in that bathroom. Scarlet liquid trailing down his ruined flesh, forever scarring him both on the outside and the inside.
I never told him that he caused most of my panic attacks. The guilt would drive him over the edge again.
"Are you okay now?" Brock asked.
I kept my head down as I nodded. Yet, in the darkest and deepest corners of my mind, the images remained. Always lingering. Forever a cruel reminder that the person I loved would never be able to love himself.
"I'm fine." The lie was so ingrained, I almost believed it now.
Brock did not question me further. He understood that I liked my space, my privacy.
Returning to the lookout point made me calm down a bit. The car doors slammed shut behind us, and Brock led me straight to the spot he'd taken me the first and only other time we came here. Everything was the same, and yet it was different.
Last time, I had been hiding the way I felt about him behind a temperamental mask. Last time, Brock had still been cutting.
Such an ugly thought. I cringed at the word, what it implied. It wasn't that it disgusted me, that it would ever make me think less of him for doing such a thing. I just hated thinking of him in those moments. The scenarios my mind conjured up were almost as bad as the attempt, all those months ago.
I hated trying to analyze him. To picture him, all alone, dragging a blade, or whatever it was he used, across his skin. I shuddered at the thought.
Once, when I was younger, I had accidentally sliced a cut at my knee with my razor. The sting had been so brief, so instantaneous, I hadn't even registered what had happened until the blood started to well at the cut. I could never do that on purpose. Never.
"Do you still come here?" I forced myself to stop, to ignore the inner monologue that constantly went through my head. Brock was what mattered right now. These problems could wait for another time.
Brock took a step toward me, the briefest hesitation before he pulled me into a hug. "Not much. I have you, now. There's no need to drive out here at night. Plus, my parents monitor my car usage carefully. They refuse to let me go out after ten."
"We've gone out plenty of times past that time."
That lopsided grinned that I loved so much appeared. "They don't mind if I'm with someone. It's only when I'm alone that they—" The smile faded until a frown replaced it. "They worry that I'll go off somewhere and never come back. That I'll disappear into the wilderness to off myself."
It felt like a knife through my heart when he talked about it as if it weren't serious. Like suicide wasn't a big deal.
There were still days I wanted to grab him the collar of his shirt, force him to look at me, really look at me, as I screamed at him that his life was irreplaceable. That he meant so much to people, that he was one of the only things keeping my sanity in check. I wished he could see what I saw. Not a broken boy, the boy with the sad eyes. He was so much more than that.
And I loved him. I loved him with every beat of my slowly breaking heart. It wasn't because he was now my boyfriend, that it was the sort of thing I was supposed to say. The reason could not be explained.
Because I knew that, no matter what, Brock deserved a happy ending. He deserved to live. This couldn't be it. I refused to accept a world where Brochan Ruskin succeeded in wiping himself from the planet. From existence. I would spend the rest of my life trying to convince him that there was hope for him.
He would not lose this battle.
I refused to accept that.
Brock was a masterpiece. He was also a work in progress, a painting not quite finished, but not fresh or new. He was beautiful, not for the scars that littered his body, but for the strength he had to continue breathing. None of that would ever make me love him less.
"Can you tell me about them? About the other attempts?" I knew this could very well make it worse, but I wanted to understand.
I wanted Brock to show me a glimpse into that head of his. Try to puzzle together why he tried each year, why he wanted so bad to be gone.
Most importantly, I wanted to find a reason to convince him to keep going.
"Are you sure you want to hear about them? It might be a lot to process."
Instead of saying a word, I simply nodded. Brock began to explain the past six years of attempts.
The first time, at just twelve, he had tried to drown himself. It had been in a pool, and he was saved before any serious damage could be done. Everyone whispered it had been due to his lacking swimming skills. He let them think what they wanted.
Attempts two and three, he tried to hang himself. The second time, the rope snapped and also cleared his head, making him sit on the bed crying for four hours. Mrs. Ruskin found him just seconds after he tried the first time.
At fifteen, he tried to jump off the very cliff we were at. He tripped and tumbled fifteen feet before landing on a small ledge. He fractured his shinbone.
Sixteen, a year before we met, he decided pills were the answer.
That's when I stopped him. I didn't want to hear anymore of it, to think of him like that. I didn't want to hear him talk about September again.
"Why?" It was the only thing I could think to ask.
Brock looked at me, sorrow in those gray eyes. "You know I can't say why."
I didn't say a word, just stepped toward him, wrapped my arms around his neck.
"You have me now," I whispered, tears cascading down my cheeks. The flow refused to slow. "I'm here. If you need a reason to live, think of me."
His arms tightened around my waist. That gesture alone made me aware of the darkness starting to surround us once more. I would miss the moment at his house over a week ago, when we could feel like a normal couple.
I wanted to experience so much more with Brock. I wanted to be there for him, to help him in whatever way I could. I wanted to be able to kiss him, to be with him, without the constant fear that any day could be our last.
And, most selfishly of all, a small part of me did want to be the one to save him.
"The world was an endless void of darkness before I met you, Claire Fortescue. You are the first true friend that I've had in a long time."
I pulled away to study his face.
Neither of us said a word, studying the other in complete silence.
I wondered what Brock saw when he looked at me. If he could see the fear in my hazel eyes, noticed the lack of glow in my light olive skin. Winter had not been kind to me. The entire past four years had not been kind. He was all I had to look forward to, a blurry future, uncertain.
"I think you should apply to university for the fall," I said, already regretting the words.
Brock seemed to consider it a moment. A small crease formed between his eyebrows as he took a moment to think about it. Finally, a smile slowly started to tug at his lips. "Okay."
"Okay?" My voice sounded so faint. Disbelief laced with joy rushed through me.
His lips peeled back, revealing white teeth. "Okay. Yes. I will do that."
"Great," I breathed. "Amazing."
Brock started to laugh, leaning forward, our noses touching. He rubbed his against mine, and it was my turn to laugh. I tried to shoot him a glare, but failed.
"God, you complete me."
I snorted. "That is definitely the books talking."
His grin remained frozen to his face. This time, it did reach his eyes.
"I mean it."
"What will you study?" I asked, excited to hear his answer.
He didn't even hesitate. "Psychology."
I could picture it now. Brock, fifteen years from now, a successful psychologist. Helping people, making sure no one ever had to go through the nightmare he lived right now. We would be there, together. I allowed myself to imagine a future together. The fantasy nearly brought tears to my eyes.
"You'll do great," I said.
"And what is my wonderful girlfriend going to study?" His arms tightened more around my waist, pulling me even closer.
Heat rushed to my face as I said, "Anthropology. At least, that's what I want to go in for."
"I had no idea you were into that."
I lifted my shoulders in a slight shrug. "It's always been a secret passion of mine."
"You'll be wonderful at it." His lips were mere inches from mine.
"And you will be a wonderful psychologist."
Brock stared at my lips a moment before turning away, to watch the city spread out far below us. I smiled, watching him, memorizing every little detail of his face for the moments we were apart. I decided I could live with this. Even if we had our own inner struggles, they were worth it for moments like this.
I didn't so much as flinch when I caught a glimpse of those scars. They were healing, and it might take a long time, but they would fade eventually. As would the scars on his heart. I had never been more sure of anything in my life.
"Would you care to have a repeat of the Friday before last?" Brock wriggled his eyebrows, and I threw my head back in a laugh.
"Was that supposed to be sexy? Because you epically failed."
Brock laughed, slowly walking us back to the car. "You like it, don't deny it."
"Perhaps I did."
I decided right there that this moment would not be ruined by any mention of the darkness that surrounded us every other day. Just for today, I wanted to forget about that. Forget about who I was, who Brock was, and pretend that we were two normal teenagers in love.
"It's kinda chilly out here."
"Should we move to the car?" Brock's grin was maniacal at this point.
It made me laugh harder. "That might be the best idea."
Brock started the car with his remote started. Music blared, heard even from ten feet away. I shoot him a questioning glance.
"Is music your thing? What is with you and this music that makes me want to dance?"
"It makes me happy."
"Then by all means, continue with whatever it is you do."
He laughed, dragging me with him to the car.
It was the perfect day to skip afternoon classes, I decided.