Chapter 6 Brianna
Brianna
Mourning the death of my teenage dream
Max: Hey, Breezy. Asher came to see me today and we talked about you a little. I know our parents and friends are hiding something from me. I just wish I could hear your voice again. See your face. I miss you, Bri. Please talk to me.
See? We told you Asher was only there because of Max. You’re such a selfish person. Who doesn’t even go visit their own brother in the hospital? You can’t even text him back. He probably hates you, ya know. Everyone does.
Another unanswered text from my brother throws my anxious thoughts into a frenzy.
They’re right. I couldn’t fathom sitting with him in the hospital, knowing I’m the reason he was there in the first place.
It’s not like I didn’t try, though. I went to the hospital when I knew my parents wouldn't be there. Shoutout to Avery for her help—she didn’t ask for an explanation, she just did it.
I rode the painfully slow elevator before standing in the fucking doorway, taking in the scene before me.
Cuts. Bruises. Scars. And tubes. So many goddamn tubes.
Then I ran. I ran to the nearest bathroom, withdrawing all the contents in my stomach into the toilet.
He’s in this hospital because of you. You survived with little damage while he’s in a coma.
Your fault.
Your fault.
All. Your. Fault.
I squeeze the doorknob, hoping the cool texture will shock me out of my toxic thoughts.
I’m standing outside my office door for what feels like the millionth time, struggling to gain control over my anxiety.
Everything feels so big. Everything hurts.
I hear the faint buzzing of my intrusive thoughts in the corner of my mind, but I push forward.
Breathe, Bri. It’s just a room. Who cares if you and Max worked on building an entire wall of floor to ceiling bookshelves? You can do this.
The door creaks when I open it from the lack of use.
The air smells stale, almost stiff. Can air smell stiff?
I flip the light switch, watching as tiny dust particles glitter against the midday sun.
It’s a breezy spring day, so I open the window to let in some fresh air.
The sun hits my face, the wind whispering promises of a light at the end of the tunnel.
Trees sway in the breeze, and if I listen closely, I can hear classical music coming from my neighbor’s house.
What once used to drive me insane now provides a sense of security I didn’t know I needed.
Tears prickle behind my eyes, but I wipe them away and return to the task at hand.
My eyes flicker to the worn cherry bookshelves covered in a thick layer of dust. I’ve always been meticulous about keeping my shelves in pristine condition, dedicating every Sunday to making sure the wood shined so bright you could see your reflection.
And my books? I worked hard to ensure that each book was immaculate.
Now grime and what looks like spider webs coat every crevice.
I should tidy them up, make them sparkle.
But shame is a wet log in a fireplace, refusing to light up, leaving me feeling useless and frustrated.
It doesn’t matter anyway; these books aren’t going to be sitting on the shelves much longer.
There’s something about diving into a story and falling in love with the characters that always brought me joy.
My list of book boyfriends was ever growing.
Now, the place in my chest that reading once filled is completely void.
I miss getting lost in a story, but I just can’t scrounge up the energy to do it.
I have to have at least a hundred or so books to donate, and I’ve put it off for far too long.
I scan my shelves in its entirety, and I’m reminded of a dream I once had…
emphasis on had. Opening my own romance-only bookstore has been a fantasy of mine.
Watching someone's face light up when they’re matched with their perfect book?
Priceless. Ever since then, I’ve been building my collection to add to my future store.
Now? I can’t even fathom following through with that dream.
Now, I just want to get through the day without a breakdown.
I mentally log everything I need to get so I can pack everything up while mourning the death of teenage me’s dream.
Fuck, this is overwhelming. I walk over to the white papasan rocking chair in the corner, grab my grey, weighted throw blanket, and snuggle beneath its warmth.
I’ll just sit down for a few minutes and rest before tackling such a big project.
The sound of my phone ringing has me bolting upright, my heart still racing from my favorite recurring nightmare.
Who the fuck is doing a drumroll with my heart right now?
I wipe the grogginess from my eyes and reorient myself to my surroundings.
My phone rings again and I answer it without glancing at the caller ID.
“Hello?” My voice comes out dopey and slow.
I wasn’t planning to sleep, but that’s all my body wants to do nowadays.
Which I guess is another reason for my current figure.
I grab the fallen blanket off the floor and cover my body like a shield.
What do I need protection from? Me. I need protection from myself.
Because whenever I look at my figure, I get all—no.
Don’t go there. I fight a full body shiver, and the sound of my name on the other line of the phone jerks my focus back to what woke me in the first place.
“Hey, Bri. Everything okay?” The masculine timbre is a blanket fresh out the dryer, its heat curling around me, bathing me in comfort. I rub my eyes, attempting to rid myself of the grogginess associated with a midday nap before looking down and seeing Asher’s name across my phone screen.
“I, um…yeah. I’m sorry, I just woke up from a nap. W-Why are you calling me?”
I’ve felt awful for how I treated Asher when he came to visit me.
I said some god awful things. Things that my anxiety was feeding me through an invisible earpiece.
After a long and surprisingly restful sleep, I immediately wanted to take it back.
With all the hurt that I’m carrying, I don’t have room for anything else, let alone a silly grudge.
Something I’ve taken away from the accident is that life’s too short.
It can be ripped away from you fast and hard, shattering your world within mere seconds.
Was teenage me valid in her anger toward Asher?
Yeah. But did she have to ice out someone who had meant the world to her?
No. What can I say, adolescent me was a tad dramatic.
Okay, more than a tad. Asher’s presence has always been my pillar of strength.
My flashlight in the dark, guiding me through my darkest moments.
I pull my phone back to check the time. 2:30 p.m.
I cringe at what Asher must think of me, which of course gives my inner demons the green light to cause chaos.
You're lazy. I mean, look at you. You don’t work out like you used to. All you do is eat and sleep. No one’s gonna want you looking like that.
Stupid fucking intrusive thoughts. They’re a tornado determined to destroy everything in its path.
“I hope it was a good nap. I could use one myself. Things at the bar have been crazy, and I’ve been talking to Gage about hiring someone else.
The best I get out of him is a shrug and a grunt.
I’ll wear him down eventually. I was calling to see what you were doing.
I’ve had a craving for some Uncle Tito’s tacos.
Wanted to see if you were down. You hungry, Bri? ”
Why is he so nice to me? I yelled at him, pushed him away.
Despite all that, my mouth waters at the thought of stuffing my face with tacos.
Then, almost immediately, my mind steers itself into self-hatred territory when I think of the body underneath the blanket.
I really shouldn’t be stuffing my face with tacos—no matter how much I want them.
Just the thought of being seen in public has me panicking.
DoorDash and Uber Eats have been the real MVPs over the last several months.
In person grocery shopping? Don’t know her.
But for whatever reason, Uncle Tito’s isn’t on either delivery service, which is the one thing I’m craving.
“Bri? Don’t feel like you have to say yes. We can just go another time. Or not at all, whatever you want.” Is it just me, or do I hear a hint of nervousness in Asher’s voice?
“Um it’s not. I’m not—” I ramble when I’m anxious.
Wait, why am I nervous? It’s not a date or anything.
I mean…it's Asher. And he’s off limits. I mean, he could get any woman he wants.
Tall, beautiful, thin women. I used to check those boxes.
But because I was fueled by hurt and embarrassment, given the choice between sleeping with Asher and remaining celibate, I’d have chosen the latter.
“Bear?” Asher asks, shaking me from my thoughts.
“I—thank you, but I’m not really up for going out. I’m also not dressed to go anywhere.” I’m not sure what I expect to come out of his mouth, but it isn’t what he says next.
“Oh, well I’ll just bring it to you instead. You still like shrimp with extra cheese and hot sauce?”
The man has the memory of an elephant, rendering me speechless that he remembered such a small detail.
I can count times on one hand that we’ve gotten tacos together, and I’ve known him for over ten years.
And said instances always involved Max. I mean, before I entered high school, I was always hanging out with them.
Not because my parents forced my brother to include me, but because both Max and Asher wanted me around.
My order has always been the same: three shrimp tacos with extra cheese and hot sauce. My heart soars at both the sweet gesture of offering to bring me food and that he remembered my order. The sound of my name being called for a second time has me jumping out of my head and into the present.
“Bri? Just tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”
Is it me, or is there a double meaning behind that statement? Maybe I’m hoping there’s one? Wait, I don’t want there to be one…Do I? I glance at my now uncovered body and wince.
Even if you wanted him, he’d never go for you.
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
“Bear.” My nickname comes out as a growl. I could just give in, comply. But my internal demons are allergic to kindness, spewing venomous vitriol my way at any given opportunity.
“But I—” Again, he interrupts me.
“Answer the question. Do you want food or not?”
“Yes, please.”
“Good girl.” Oh, my. My stomach erupts in flutters and…is that? No. It can’t be. There’s a dull ache between my thighs, something I haven’t felt in so long. And now I’m squirming in my chair, my desire choosing this moment to come out of hibernation.
And of course, my stomach chooses this moment to growl, so I ask him to throw in an order of chips and guac.
I’ll probably regret it later, but right now my focus is on fueling my body.
Despite how I feel about my image, I need to eat.
Regret peeks around the corner, waiting for her chance to shine, but I refuse to let her in.
I quickly get dressed, run a brush through the tangled mess that is my hair, and splash my face with cold water. I have to look somewhat presentable. About thirty minutes later, the doorbell rings, and then it hits me.
Oh, shit. I’ll have to eat in front of him.
Old me wouldn’t give two fucks. Current me cares way too much.
I don’t want him to feel disgusted by me.
It doesn’t help when I scroll on social media and see people who look like me eating food.
The pictures aren’t what bother me; it’s the comments saying something along the lines of damn, that girl needs to go on a diet.
Then I click on someone who’s thin and appears “healthy” eating, and underneath the posts are endless congratulatory words and endless praise.
The comments get to me more than they should, but it's hard when they’re a direct hit to your self-confidence.
The doorbell rings again followed by three consecutive knocks.
It’s now or never, I guess. I head downstairs, mentally preparing myself for his reaction while taking grounding deep breaths.
You can do this, Bri. It’s just Asher. No need to get all worked up.
Despite what I tell myself, it’s easier said than done.
I let out a slow deep breath before opening the door and facing my own inner demons.