Chapter 27
Corrine
“WE WERE ON A brEAK!”
The line makes me smile no matter how many times I rewatch Friends. Except this time, I wonder if Xavier or I could technically make the same explanation that Ross tries to use when defending his actions to Rachel.
Were we on a break when I let Sam come to my place and come in my bed? And my couch? And the shower?
Are we still on a break now?
It’s not like he truly remembers being in a relationship with me. So, I wonder, has he made choices like I have, assuming it’s okay to be with someone else while we’re figuring out what we mean to each other all over again?
I continue to muddle over this feeling that is new to me. I think it’s guilt. Because I believe, deep down, that Xavier is still the man I fell in love with, deep down, and that the fact he’s possibly been pussy deep in someone else makes me a little unhinged.
I sigh, pausing the show and stretching from my couch. I’ve been laying low all day, still slightly shaken up from the events with Xavier and the truths we’re stumbling upon together. I’m lucky that my assistant manages much of the day-to-day needs of the galleries if and when I need her to, though I much prefer to control things myself. But today, today… I couldn’t muster the “oomph” to look put together when I felt a little broken inside.
I had told Riley and Sebastian the high-level details of Xavier and me regarding how the evening events unfolded following our copious rounds of shots. What I hadn’t truly acknowledged then or now is the feeling of hope that night left within me. With that hope comes the fear that comes with falling in love, knowing that there’s no certainty, no 100% guarantee.
I have been able to hold onto anger because it’s easier. I’ve been angry about the car accident, angry that Xavier doesn’t remember anything, furious that he never told me about his fiance.
Angry. Because it’s much safer than being scared, lonely, and vulnerable.
I find myself naturally reaching for the open wine in my fridge. I glance at the clock; it’s just past 4:00. Technically, it's happy hour, right? I pour the light Sauv Blanc into my favorite wine glass and rummage for snacks. I plate my slices of cheddar, apples, and pears, placing a bowl of nuts next to them, and smile at my fanciness.
“Classy bitch,” I mutter out loud. I almost laugh because, really, if I were classy, I wouldn’t be eating cheese and cracks alone on my couch while watching Friends for the 100th time. Before I can dwell more on that, something slams against my front door.
What in the fuck?
Then, the noise is more perceptible—a knock or an attempt at a knock. I would be scared, but I hear a voice on the other side, slurring as the knocking continues. It’s Xavier.
I pull open the door, and my mouth practically falls open. Xavier’s a fucking mess. From the outside, he’s decent, but his face gives it away. His eyes are glassy and sunken back. He looks higher than a kite, but not in the happy-go-lucky way.
“Hello, Flutterby,” he manages, then collapses through the door frame and into me.
“Fuck, Xavier,” I say, barely keeping him upright as I lead him into my hallway. “How much did you take?”
He looks up at me, but his eyes barely register my face. He tries to smile. “Ssss okkkk,” he slurs.
I navigate him to my bedroom, and he instantly heaves his large body on my bed. “My mom… she didn’t tell me.. “
“Xavier, we can talk about this later,” I say. I grab his hand.
“Is there an uncle or a dad?” he says, half laughing and groaning.
He’s upset. Tremendous dude with an even bigger ego. He won’t admit he has a fucking problem, let alone that he may have emotions contributing to this whole situation.
I watch him snoring as he sleeps peacefully on my bed. He can’t keep doing this to himself. I’ve watched him grab the bottle of pills from his pocket over the last few weeks, thinking he’s being discreet when it’s completely obvious to the rest of us that he’s using “medication” to dull his sensory and emotional response to the world around him, and the pain that comes with it.
“You have a problem,” I say to him. “I won’t let you kill yourself.” It’s stupid because there’s no way he hears me, but I need to say it out loud as a commitment to myself. I can’t watch him drown in this shit. I spend another minute watching his chest rise and fall, his breathing undisturbed, before walking back to my living room. I opt for the wine over the plate of food, now needing the lull of the alcohol to calm my nerves.
I don’t want to be upset about this, yet I am. I’m scared for him, and I’m afraid for me. The tears are rolling down my face before I can register the emotion. Then it’s a complete breakdown, the kind where you ugly cry and heave for breath. By the time it passes, I’m exhausted and bleary-eyed.
I wipe my face, refill my wine, which disappeared in the last half hour, and look at my phone on the kitchen counter. I have two text notifications and one call from my assistant. She would have called more than once if it were urgent, so I look at the texts.
Sam: Hey! I’ll be in your part of the city later.
Sam: C? Is it ok if I stop by?
Shit. How do I explain to Sam that things have changed for me? Before I can think more about it, there’s a knock at my door again, much softer this time. Shit.
I open the door and see Sam standing there; she’s beautiful and happy .
“Hi,” she says and hands out a long-stemmed pink rose. “I didn’t want to show up empty-handed.”
She smiles, and then I see her expression change as she looks at me more closely.
“Corrine? Are you okay? Did something happen?”
“Oh,” I say, realizing I look like complete shit. “Yes, I’m okay.” I look behind me, seeing the plate of food I’d left behind and the wine glass on the table, and I deflate. “I think we need to talk.”
Sam nods, looking worried. I can tell she sees the evidence of my afternoon on the couch and asks, “I thought it would be okay for me to show up like this, but now I am kind of feeling like maybe it wasn’t?”
I feel… terrible. I take Sam’s hand, leading her inside. “Let’s go sit.”
“Is someone here?” she asks, for the first time realizing this could be why I’m acting so strangely.
“Yes,” I start, “and no. Someone is physically here, but he’s not mentally present.”
“Oh,” she says, barely allowing herself to rest on the edge of my couch. “Xavier’s back?”
I had told Sam about Xavier and me after some time together again. I felt I needed to explain why I’d disappeared as a friend and reappeared. Now, I feel like I need to explain to her why I’ve let this happen again.
“It’s just… Xavier is going through some things right now.”
“But he doesn’t even know who you are, Corrine.”
“Well, he doesn’t remember everything but knows me. Again.”
“So you two are fucking again?” she asks, both indignant and crushed.
“I think things are coming around to where we were before. And I… I love him, Sam. And it was so unfair of me to bring you here and let this thing between us continue when I knew I was in love with him.”
I can’t look at her.
“I knew you were Corrine,” she says, and I finally look up at her face.
“You knew I was in love with him?”
“Of course,” she says. “It was so obvious you were heartbroken. I’m not clueless. But I thought, maybe, you’d decide you weren’t waiting for Xavier anymore, and you’d be okay with me .” Her chin quivers like when she’s concentrating hard, and a tear slides down her face.
“Sam,” I say softly. “You are too good for having someone be okay with you. You deserve fireworks.” I hug her to my side then, realizing that I wasn’t hiding any of my true feelings from her all along. Because she’s a woman. And women constantly fucking know.
“Don’t let him forget you,” she says, smiling softly and standing. I stand, too, knowing already that we won’t talk anymore. We walk silently to my door, and I open it for her.
“Goodbye, C,” she says, not looking back my way once.
I close the door and sigh heavily, leaning against it and sliding down to sit on the floor. Despite the hurt I know that caused Sam, I’m relieved I won’t be deceiving her anymore. I want Xavier now; it has only been him since I met him. Even if he is a fucking nutcase.
A nutcase who, if I can guess by the sounds coming from my bedroom, is now heaving his guts out.
I stand up and rush through my bedroom door, seeing that, thank God, he’s made it out of the bed and into the bathroom. I tap lightly on the door.
“Xavier? Are you okay?”
“Give me a minute,” he says, continuing with horrific purging noises. I give him his space, leaving the bathroom door and sitting on my bed to wait. Within a few minutes, he’s out, looking sheepish and green.
“Lie down,” I tell him, and feel the weight of the bed shift as he ignores me and sits beside me instead.
“Corrine,” he starts, “I just don’t know who I am right now.”
“I know,” I say softly, “but this deserves a conversation when your head is fully here. And right now, you’re not.” He nods slowly, his foggy eyes staring at the floor before us.
“So lie down,” I instruct again, “and I’ll bring you water.” This time he listens, and I make my way to the kitchen. I fill a glass and consider whether he’ll need something to eat. It’s probably too soon.
By the time I return, he’s passed out again. I simply set the water down and lay beside him, watching him breathe and wondering what I do now. At some point, I drift off and dream about being somewhere away from the mess I seem to be in now. In the dream, Xavier is there, sober and happy. And I’m not giving two shits about some Lockhart dude trying to come after my sister, or Xavier, or me.
Soft crying noises enter my dreams and don’t align with the scene's fun. I wake up, realizing the crying isn’t in my dream but from Xavier, who is now openly weeping beside me.
“I’m so fucked up,” he says and barely contains himself as his sobs rack his drugged body.
“Shhhhhh,” I say softly, pulling him closer to me and letting him get out whatever he’s been holding back these past few weeks. My heart breaks at his sadness, and I find myself crying for him, for myself, and for the challenges we’re up against.
We both fall asleep again at some point, and when I wake up, he’s gone.