Chapterish 76

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I cross the room to where he's standing. For a second I think I might pause, breathe in his smell one last time, but somehow I manage to keep walking past him, to the door, and out of the room.

The lobby. That's how far I got before Brody came to find me. News Flash Star Resorts: You have thin walls. Still, I'm grateful for those paper-thin walls now. I didn't have much of a plan after walking out on the argument with Brooks. I was relieved when Brody suggested I take his room. He was going to stay with Lauren on the floor below us.

I took the elevator up with him, noting how nauseous the décor was making me. He gave me his room key and I crawled into bed without showering –my slinky dress-shirt-napkin still melted to my body –my hair still damp with sweat from dancing.

It seems whack that an hour ago I was exiting the nightclub on a high. That we walked back to the hotel, our silhouettes moving like tiny black ants against the sunrise sky. An hour ago Brooks was threatening to throw me over his shoulder if I didn't walk in a straight line.

An hour ago I should have been sleeping with Brooks. Nestled close to him in our room, NOT leaving black mascara smudges against a pillow in Brody's bed.

Pull yourself together, bitch.

The next morning I'm a mess. It's expected, though. I don't pretend to think more highly of myself. I wait until I'm certain there's no movement from Brooks's room before I open the door conjoining the two suites.

I'm halfway to my open bag on the ironing board when I hear the shower turn on. The rushing of water floods through me and I might drown. I hear him moving in there. I hear the faucet turn. The glass door opens and then closes. It KILLS me thinking of him on the other side of the door. Naked. Hot. My demi-god.

The last time we were in a shower together was months ago. It feels like a lifetime ago. I'm pissed at myself for not making sure we showered together every chance we had. I pull my white pants and a coral top from my bag and my wedges sitting right on top.

I cross the room and go back into Brody's. I shower and let the steam consume me. It's easy to pretend I'm across the way showering with Brooks. We're showering at the same time at least. I wonder if he's thinking of me as I am of him. Of how good his hands feel on me, how our bodies fit together so perfectly it's like they were molded together.

Of course not. He's thinking of her. My smarter self pushes through. Fuck, this is unhealthy. Suddenly the shower seems like a dirty and disgusting place to me –a place where happy thoughts go to die.

I change and flip my hair into a bun. My face –well, my face is shit. My mascara has left a brown trail of tears running down both cheeks. Bags under my eyes don't help. Bloodshot eyes don't help. I use my finger to brush my teeth. Not risking going back for my toothbrush.

I'm down to breakfast in 10 minutes. This is the goal. Get in and get out. I sit with Brody and Lauren. I find myself turning edgily in my seat. Brody glances at me every time I do, but he keeps shaking his head. Brooks is nowhere in sight.

I realize in this moment how much Brody has changed. In some ways he is more mature than his older brother. I am grateful he doesn't ask any questions. It seems like there's the unspoken agreement that he's on my side. That he blames Brooks in all this. I wonder if he feels protective of me too. In a different way, but a safer way. Maybe he's just used to Brooks and I fighting –arguing –never getting along.

Then without realizing it I am exploring Brody's face and finding all the similarities he shares with Brooks. Their hair is the same color, but Brody's doesn't hang quite as long, quite as in his face. His eyes don't have the same hungry fire, but they do have the same gray-blue skies.

STOP.

Eat your breakfast and leave.

That's what I'm here to do. Two coffees and half a fruit cup later that's what I do. Get up to leave.

I stoop to kiss Brody's cheek and even hug Lauren as I leave. "Tell your father thanks," I find myself saying as I hug Brody. Fury at Ken resurges through me. "Or don't."

My eyes keep flickering toward the door. Then I realize: I'm going to leave without seeing him. I'm going to leave without seeing Brooks.

When will I see him again?

Maybe never.

The flight home is trash. I'm three hours into it before I realize I've completely torn apart the in-flight magazine advertising vacation packages. Everything I see passes in waves of black and white, solid surges devoid of pigment. Drowning.

This is drowning.

There's a new song for the tape. First by Cold War Kids. If you don't know it, well, get on it. It never stops being ironic when the one who needs convincing ends up being the one screwed over. He was there first.

I can't even be unhappy because I know it's for the better. Really if I'm being honest, it should have happened months ago. But we all know old habits are hard to kick. Sometimes old flames burn the brightest.

Sometimes you don't make the same mistake twice.

Sometimes you do.

People. Never. Change.

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