Chapter song: Can We Hang on? - Cold War Kids

Becca

Disappointment was a dangerous feeling. It was worse than pain, than hurt and fear. Worse than heartache and sadness. In order to be disappointment, you need to have gotten your hopes up -- to have believed for just one mere second that life had the potential to turn into something beautiful.

Disappointment is the antagonist to hope. Right now, running through the lobby of the hotel, I felt overwhelmed by a wave of disappointment. No, not a mere wave -- a tsunami; one that begged to swallow me whole if I only let it.

I didn't even know where I ran to, but eventually my lungs felt like they were on fire, burning with every ragged breath that managed to escape my lips in between sobs. My legs gave out, forcing me to stop running from the nightmare I had just witnessed.

That was when the disappointment hit me: when Brett opened the door and a woman's voice called out from inside. And hell, did it hit me hard.

I collapsed onto the ground, jumping up quickly as the hot asphalt burned into my legs and palms. I stumbled towards the grass a few feet away and sat down, completely defeated, as the sun blared into my back, a thousand fiery daggers shooting into my skin. The sheer force of the sun wasn't enough to distract me from the pain in my heart.

I pulled my knees to my chest and buried my head in my hands. I wanted to scream out in frustration, to let free the anger residing in my chest. I even tried to cry but nothing would come out - I just wanted to feel something instead of all this pain - but my eyes were dry. There were no tears left. The realization made me feel even worse.

Brett and I were back to square one. It felt as if the past few weeks we had spent together didn't even happen. For all I knew, I was back in Jenny's house, walking into her bedroom and seeing her and Brett together in front of me. I never wanted to relive that pain again, yet here I was -- nursing a broken heart from the boy I thought loved me.

Hope had fled my heart as quickly as it came, rendering me helpless to disappointment.

The distant sound of footsteps hitting the sidewalk caught my attention. I didn't have to look to see that it was Brett, he had wound himself so tightly around my heart that I could feel his presence before I saw him. I lifted my head up anyways, the action alone was exhausting, and looked to my right. Brett was running towards me, wearing nothing but boxers and a t-shirt, a manic expression on his face.

I looked away quickly. The striking beauty of his face was too much to bare. I didn't want to notice the way his hair glinted in the sunlight, making it shine a startling gold; I didn't want to see the way his body managed to move so fluently, as if he defied every law of gravity; I didn't want to feel the way my heart still expanded in my chest just by catching the slightest glimpse of him.

I was too drained to even move, as badly as I wanted to. I just sat there, feeling detached from my body and reality, like I was staring out a window nearby and watching this scene from a third perspective.

"Becca," Brett heaved. From the corner of my eye I could see him crouching over as he breathed deeply, clearly out of breath. "How the hell did you run this far so fast? Jesus."

Leave it to Brett Wells to be standing in the middle of a sidewalk in his boxers, hundreds of cars racing by, and not feel the slightest bit of embarrassment.

I wanted to smile. I wanted to kiss him. Instead, I looked away -- desperate to look anywhere other than his too beautiful face. From the corner of my eye, I could see Brett sprawl out on the grass beside me, laying on his back and staring up at the cloudless blue sky as he regained his breath. He was laying so close, his bare knees bumping into mine and sending a thousand shockwaves coursing through my body.

He didn't speak, didn't try to explain. He laid there beside me for a minute, his heavy breathing filling the silence as I continued to look away from him.

Part of me was begging my legs to move, to get up and take me far away from Brett. But the other part of me, the more dominant part, was forcing me to stay. Even now, I couldn't seem to pull myself away from this boy.

So I did the next best thing: I ignored him.

But ignoring someone who meant the world to you was easier said than done.

Brett finally sat up, crossing his legs and turning his body so it was facing mine. He reached for my hand and dropped it just as quickly when I pulled away.

"Becca," he said, grabbing my chin gently in his hand and turning my head to face his. I looked away, anywhere but his bright eyes that once held all the love I thought he felt for me. Brett let out a frustrated sigh and let go of my chin.

"My father left again last night," he whispered sadly. I looked at him quickly, his eyes were sad but his jaw was tense, angry -- like he was struggling with himself, unsure whether to be upset or saddened by his father's departure.

My heart broke for him and all the pain I knew he must be going through. But I couldn't bring myself to say anything, the words were on my tongue but they disappeared before they had a chance to form into syllables. I stared at him blandly until he said something - anything - that made the slightest bit of sense -- something that would convince me to stay when every part of me was screaming at me to leave.

And then, he did.

"My mom was waiting at my room when I got home last night." I tilted my head in Brett's direction, now interested in where he was heading. He gave me a pointed look, but the sadness hadn't left his eyes. "She spent the night here, Becca."

My eyes widened as I registered what he was saying. He was explaining to me what happened but, more importantly, what didn't happen. He was watching me seriously, waiting for me to say something.

"Your mom?" I managed to spit out, my voice showcasing the shock I felt . Brett nodded. "That voice...that was your mom?" I asked again, sounding like a broken record. He nodded again, staring at me blankly.

I wanted to shrink into myself completely until I disappeared.

My heart felt lighter. It was Brett's mother that was in his room this morning. His mother. The entire situation was so comical and completely ridiculous that I wanted to laugh -- until I saw the look on Brett's face that sent my heart plummeting into my stomach.

"Do you really think I would cheat on you, Becs?" His face fell as he spoke, his voice breaking on the word cheat. "I love you." He said those three words so easily that I knew he meant every syllable and I hated myself for ever doubting him.

"Brett, I'm -" I began to apologize but he cut me off before I even got the words out, holding his finger gently against my lips. I resisted the urge to kiss it, just to feel some part of him.

His touch was my anchor and right now I felt like I was drowning.

Brett's finger dropped from my lips, landing on my hand before he intertwined his fingers with mine. His gaze was trained on our hands -- each vastly different from the other yet somehow they managed to fit together perfectly. I stared at his face, wanting his eyes to meet mine and shine with the light I was so used to; for his lips to form into the knowing smirk that seemed to always decorate his lovely face. But he wouldn't look at me. His brightness had dimmed and I searched my mind frantically for a way to reignite the flame.

"You don't trust me." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. I could tell by his voice how badly that realization hurt Brett to admit. I wanted to reassure him, to tell him that I did trust him more than anything, but that would be a lie. If I truly trusted Brett, neither of us would be sitting here right now.

How was I supposed to tell him that it wasn't that I didn't trust him, but that losing my father made it impossible for me to trust anyone? That I was always waiting for people to leave because in my life, they never seemed to stay? That my life was like a revolving door -- people entered, but no one ever remained.

A strong breeze whipped through the air, blowing around Brett's hair and making it fall messily over his forehead. I reached up to brush it back but his hand was already there, moving his hair back and exposing his sad eyes.

"Relationships are built on trust, Becca. I love you and I'm here," Brett told me, stressing the last word and grabbing my hand in his, "but none of that matters if you don't trust me."

"I want to," I whispered. "It's hard for me to trust people."

"Because of your father," Brett replied knowingly. I nodded, amazed me how he already knew these things about me without me having to tell him. "I'm not going to hurt you like he did. I promise."

I smiled sadly at Brett, wanting nothing more than to believe that to be true.

"You can't possibly promise that, Brett."

"You know what I think? I think you want to love me, but you're afraid. Afraid that one day I'll change my mind and leave you like your dad did. But I'm not going to leave you, Becca. But this," he said sadly, gesturing to the two of us, "won't work if you don't at least try."

Brett stood up suddenly then outstretched his hand to me. I accepted quickly, placing my hand in his as he pulled me up off the grass. I seemed to have forgotten how strong he was as he pulled me too quickly, making me stumble over and land against his chest. I took the opportunity to wrap my arms around him, smiling at how everything seemed to be alright when I was in his arms. After a moment, Brett's arms looped around my back, pulling me tight against his chest as he rested his head on top of mine.

"It's called falling in love for a reason, Becs." Brett murmured, his voice a muffled whisper as he spoke. "A fall is unpredictable, something we don't have control over. But sometimes we need to trust that we'll land the right way."

Brett pulled back suddenly, too soon, and kissed my forehead gently before grabbing my hand in his and leading me back to the hotel.

We walked in silence as I thought over what he said. I had always preferred to be in control over my own life. I despised change, anything unpredictable that I couldn't control scared me. Putting my life, my heart, in someone else's hands gave them too much power, too much control. My father was the only man I ever allowed myself to love and in return, he took my heart and smashed it into a million pieces.

When I was with Brett, I could feel the pieces beginning to find their way back to one another, slowly rebuilding a puzzle that was broken a long time ago. I just hoped they could become whole again soon.

Brett stopped walking and I finally became aware that we were back in the hotel's parking lot, standing in front of his car.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"You're going back to school," he corrected me, holding the door open as he waited for me to enter.

"Why can't I stay here with you?"

Brett smiled at me weakly, the sadness still hadn't left his face. "I don't want you to meet my mom when she's like this."

I reluctantly agreed and entered the car with the vague feeling that something was off between us. The sadness in Brett's eyes haunted me, leaving a feeling of unease in my stomach.

Brett drove me back to school in silence. For the first time, he drove with both of his hands on the steering wheel. My knee felt foreign without his palm resting on it, rubbing soft circles into my skin with his thumb. I glanced at him over and over again, but his eyes remained fixated on the road.

Eventually, I gave up. I stared out the window and shut my eyes, trying to fight back the tears that begged to make their way forward. I knew this was my fault, my inability to trust Brett had made him hesitant, allowed him to form walls around his heart -- walls that I was no stranger to.

When we arrived back at school, Brett killed the engine but his hands remained on the steering wheel. I noticed that his knuckles were white as he gripped the wheel too hard. His jaw was tense as he stared out the windshield, straight ahead of him and avoiding my gaze.

"Call me later?" I asked, hating the desperation in my own voice.

Brett nodded slowly and glanced at me for the first time since we got into the car. He nodded, but something about the look in his eyes told me my phone wouldn't ring tonight.

"Brett," I whispered, the pain audible in my own voice as I reached out and placed my hand on his cheek. Immediately, his eyes softened and for the first time since I met him, he looked like he was going to cry.

Before I could register what was happening, my seat belt was off and I was pressed to Brett's chest as he kissed me so deeply that I didn't know where I ended and he began. I held his face to mine desperately, scared that if I let go I would lose him forever. I don't know how long this moment lasts, but when Brett let go I missed him already.

He kissed my forehead and opened the car door. "I love you," he told me, his voice breathless but I didn't miss the pain in it. My eyes searched his face frantically, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was goodbye.

I love you too, the words tried to drip off my tongue like honey but I felt like I was choking on their unspoken syllables.

Brett looked away from me, his mouth forming into a hard line as he were trying to stop himself from saying the words on his tongue, just like I was.

I kissed my boyfriend's forehead and unwrapped myself from his arms. I grabbed my bag from the passenger seat and stepped out of his car, wrapping my arms around myself to fight the chill in the air, or maybe it was simply in my heart.

Change. The one thing I desperately wanted to avoid had wrapped its unwanted claws around my life before my very eyes. I could feel my control slipping away through my fingertips like sand and no matter how hard I tried to press my fingers together, it found its way through the cracks.

With dry eyes and a heavy heart, I pulled myself together and walked back into school as the sound of Brett's car driving away flooded my ears.

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