2. Luke
CHAPTER 2
Luke
Eighteen years. Eighteen and a half years, to be exact. That’s how long I have spent walking on this Earth knowing Andrew. The only time I’ve lived on this Earth without him existing is when I was wearing diapers. How do I spend my life knowing that I can never fucking call him again? How do I walk around campus knowing that he should be there with me? How do I go back home every summer knowing I can’t just drive up and find him shooting hoops in the driveway of his house?
They say the first stage of grief is denial. I think I might have skipped that one, because all I feel is anger. When I found him the way I did, I knew for certain what he had done. I wasn’t delusional about it. Gigi was the one who was deluding herself into thinking there had been a mistake.
“Shit,” I groan when I realize that I have to apologize to her now.
What I said to her at his house? Even I know that was uncalled for. Gigi doesn’t deserve that. For all her flaws and my reservations about her, I think she really did love him. He loved her, too, which makes everything even more fucked up. Andrew had everything any eighteen-year-old could have possibly wanted—the jock life, a pretty girlfriend, loving parents, zero money problems, and a chance to study what he wanted. He also had me. Things weren’t the same after he started dating Gigi and I was in college, but I was always only a phone call away.
What the fuck, Andrew?
Knowing I will probably punch a wall if I don’t stop overusing my brain thinking about what-ifs, I yank open the door of my old bedroom and take ten steps until I reach Becca’s. My stepsister comes out after a few knocks.
“She’s already asleep,” Gigi whispers, gripping the door with her hand. “What’s up?”
“Did I wake you?”
“I was on my phone.” With her eyes so red and her nose puffy, any idiot can tell that she was probably crying just five seconds ago. “What do you need, Luke?”
“You can have your room,” I tell her. “I’ll take the air mattress.” I would’ve done it, anyway, but she got home a day before me when her mom picked her up from campus. When I arrived, Gigi had already set up camp in my sister’s room.
“It’s yours. Besides, I miss Becca.”
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out.
“I know,” she answers with her eyes facing the floor.
“I didn’t mean it. I’m just…I don’t know.”
She smiles. I haven’t seen the sight in a while. “I know how you feel. I’m just I don’t know, too.”
A silent moment passes. Unspoken words drifting through the air.
I miss him. I miss him, too.
How could he do this? I don’t know.
Why didn’t we realize anything? He wasn’t showing any signs.
“Alright, you really don’t want the room?” I ask, just to be sure.
“Have a good night, Luke.”
“You, too.” The sound of her voice…It’s always chirpy and light. This time, though, she doesn’t have the expression that usually goes along with it.
Five minutes later, I’m back in my room. Her room now, I suppose. The band posters are now replaced with her framed pictures from high school. The biggest one, a picture of her and her squad in green and white cheerleading outfits with matching colored pom poms, stares back at me from above her bed. I don’t even try to redirect my train of thoughts when it goes straight to Andrew. The cheerleader and the athlete. A teenager’s dream come true. Did they go to each other’s games? Alternating between football and basketball? Was that how my cousin lived the last year of his life?
Walking around, my urge to snoop gets stronger. It’s interesting what she has done with the place. And of course, Gigi would have a live, laugh, love poster above her desk.
When my eyes trail down, I spot a red, rectangular tin. I almost stop with the creeping. Almost. But then I open the lid, and I see him. It must be their memento box or some shit. Autumn, my ex from sophomore year of college, used to keep something like this. The contents are also similar. I shuffle through the tens of pictures of them inside. Gigi also keeps countless ticket stubs from the only movie theater in the area. I feel the darkness leaving my body for a little bit once I hold a Polaroid photo of the two of them in a bowling alley. He looked happy .
I’m about to close the box and leave the memories of them alone when I see something taped to the lid. An envelope. I’m already going through everything, anyway, so I might as well . Since this is the only way I can get close to my cousin now, I disrespect her privacy once again. What I find written down doesn’t only bring back the darkness, but morphs whatever I was feeling into full-blown rage.
Dear Gigi,
I hate that we’re fighting, and I hate that you’re ignoring my calls and texts. They created phones for a reason, you know? I tried looking for a carrier pigeon, but apparently, we don’t have those anymore. So flowers and a good old fashioned letter, it is.
I know we’re not great right now, but it’s going to be better, I promise. I’m going to be better. I’m miserable and I need you, Gigi. The past two weeks have been hell.
I’m so, so, so sorry.
Please don’t break up with me. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’d probably have to jump off a bridge or something.
Your very hot, very sorry boyfriend,
Andrew
To a lot of people, jumping of a bridge is a fucking figure of speech. No one ever means it. Until they do, that is. My fists curl into balls as my mind goes over a hundred miles an hour. What happened to these two? Is she the reason why? I might have a lot of questions, but I know one thing is for sure. I will get to the bottom of it.
I thought Giuliana Bankowski would make my life a living hell the moment she waltzed into our lives. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was Andrew’s.