Flood rains crash against the windows of the house in thunderous uproar, startling me awake. My hands reflexively reach for Harry but instead of his warm body, I'm met with the chill of empty sheets. My eyes open to stare at the ceiling at the realization. Harry and I didn't discuss it last night, but it was understood that I'd sleep in the guest room for the night. My early flight time was one reason for the separation while another, and admittedly the main reason, was the fight we had. My feelings quickly return to the morose mood I held all through the night.
As I shove memories of hearing Harry leave late and come home even later out of my mind, I reach for my phone beneath my pillow. I see a few texts from my parents asking when I'll arrive in Texas and a couple of random messages from people I used to talk to in high school asking if I'll be attending Brady's funeral. I ignore them all and open an email with an eye-catching sender: Oak Market Publishing.
Scrolling through the email from Jackson Frost, it's innately clear that he remembers me from the work I did for Oak Market at Reynolds'; the format of the email is more informal than what I'd expected. Jackson is requesting a meeting as soon as possible in order to give them an idea of what I'm working with as a writer.
Since this entire ordeal started with trying to get published, I've made what feels like a million and one flash drives containing my work on them so I know getting that together won't be the problem; getting it to Jackson however would be. With this crazy weather and my impending flight time I doubt if I'll have any time today and right now there's no telling when I'll be back in LA.
An accidental graze of my back button sends me back to my inbox where an alert for a flight delay awaits me. My gaze immediately raises to the sky; it has to be fate. It hardly ever rains in California but it just so happens the one day I need a disruption, it's raining cats and dogs. The only way the sign could get any bigger would be if God himself came down and told me this was it.
Quickly, I message Jackson back and tell him about my flight plans and inform him that I can't miss it since a close friend passed away. He's very understanding and speedy in his response and once again treats me like a friend. Apparently he's flying out as well so he suggests meeting at the airport Starbucks. He informs me that the meeting is more like an exchange than an actual formal meeting. I'll give him my work and he'll give me information and paperwork and then we can part ways. We agree to meet at the Starbucks and exchange numbers before ending the interaction.
It seems only fitting that I meet him at the one place in the world that seems to bring me the best luck and change my life every time I go there; first meeting Harry and now this. Even though Harry and I are on uneasy ground right now, there's no denying what he means to me. I've said it once and I'll say it forever, he's the best thing that's ever happened to me. Regardless of the ups and downs, I don't regret bumping into him for a second. So many of my dreams have come true since Harry came into my life; starting with meeting him. From that first encounter there's been near nonstop fulfillment; it's a ride I don't want to get off of. It's because of that realization that I've decided to stay in Texas for a while to clear my head. I'm no good to either of us or our relationship with my unresolved issues. We keep running into the same obstacles and bumping our heads, eventually we have to learn how to go through, get over, or move past them â that's what I'm taking this time for. I can hardly bear to leave him but I'd break if I lost him so for now this is what needs to be done.
Sneaking over to his room door, I peek through the crack in the door at his sleeping form and smile. He's taken over the entire bed, his limbs spread around as wildly as his hair. I hate to leave without resolving things from last night but I've got to go and judging by how loud he's snoring he needs his rest. Taking one last look I turn around and head for the front door where my luggage awaits.
Opening the front door, I take in the severity of the weather and groan. I did my make up for this meeting and I'll be damned if it gets ruined. Pulling up the hood on my Chicago Bulls hoodie I lock the door behind me before thanking God I wore Jordans and running like a bat out of hell to my rental car. I find myself laughing out loud as I scramble to get myself and my luggage inside before we're both soaked to the insides.
As I start my car my laughter dies down and the sadness creeps back in. This would've been a nice memory to share with Harry. A huge part of me wishes he was coming home with me but I know full well why he can't. Pulling out my phone I text him and let him know I'm leaving and to take care. Backing out of the driveway, I hope the heart emoji beside the infamous phrase softens it a bit and doesn't give him the wrong idea.
Before I can start to freak out about his possible misinterpretation I push everything else out of my head and focus on driving. The roads are extremely slick with all of this rain and some streets are flooded. Coming from the Austin area, I know all about sitting water and it's potential to ruin your whole day. It was bad enough in Texas, but here no one is ever prepared for this weather so I need to be extremely careful.
As I park the car in the rental return area I sigh. This rain is not letting up. At this rate I may have to drive to Texas or wait until tomorrow to leave. Knowing there's a chance this meeting will be the only thing I do today, I grab my purse and luggage from the passenger side and rush to the entrance of LAX. I don't think the wheels on my luggage hit the ground with the way I'm tugging it behind me. They clatter to a halt against the flooring inside the airport gaining a few confused glances in my direction. A small embarrassed smile takes over my face as I enter the bathroom to freshen up.
Taking in my appearance in the mirror I let out an annoyed breath. My hair is soaked even though I had my hood up, my makeup is running slightly, and I'm getting ashier by the second as the rain water dries. Jackson should be here any minute unless traffic caught him which is entirely possible. It never fails, no matter what city you're in, when rain hits people suddenly lose the ability to drive.
With the knowledge I have a little more time left I braid my hair and sit under the hand drier to hopefully restore my natural curls I was rocking before the humidity got ahold of them. My makeup and the lotion are an easy enough fix and before long I'm nearly falling asleep under the warmth of the dryer. It's too early for all of this and I am not in any way shape nor form, a morning person.
My phone beeps, snatching me from impending sleep before it can take me under. The message makes my heart race; Jackson's here.
I hop to my feet and unbraid my hair, thanking God it went back to the wavy curls I had before the disastrous rain struck it. Taking in my appearance I realize it isn't very professional, with my stomach slightly peeking out between my crop hoodie and high waist jeans, but I wasn't going to fly three hours in heels and a pencil skirt; especially not in this weather. Looking into my reflection I take a deep breath and think good thoughts before grabbing my bag and heading out to meet Jackson.
He looks just as handsome as the last time I saw him. He's dressed casually as well in camo cargo shorts, a black tank, and black Air Force tennis shoes. Everything about him is clean cut; his edge up is so crisp it could cut my finger, and don't even get me started on the the sharp shape up on his goatee. His eyes light up when they meet mine and I can't help but smile.
"Bailey Duncan. How the hell have you been?" Jackson asks, opening his long muscular arms for a hug.
I'm surprised by his warm greeting but I try not to let it show on my face as I accept his hug. I knew we'd grown to like each other during our time working together but apparently the friendship was a bit stronger to him than I thought.
"I've been pretty good Jackson, I can't complain," I reply, taking a seat beside him, "How have you been?"
"Couldn't be better," he beams, "I'm on my way to New York to ask my girlfriend to marry me."
A wide smile takes over my features. "Oh my God! Congratulations Jackson. Wow, that's amazing. Have yall been long distance for long?"
He nods as a barista comes over and sits two drinks in front of us and winks at him before walking away. "I got you a white chocolate crème Frappuccino, I remember how much you hate coffee. But to answer your question, yes Catherine and I have been long distance for most of our relationship. We met at a conference in Toronto three years ago and we've been together ever since."
"Thanks for the drink Jack and again congrats. This is a really big step," I say before taking a sip of my favorite drink. I got hooked on them when we worked together and had to wean myself off of them like crack for a few months.
"It really is, but I'm ready for it. Speaking of big steps, let's get down to business so we don't miss our flights. I'd absolutely love to work with you again and my dad's pretty excited about the prospect of it as well. When I met Harry at that party he mentioned his girlfriend Bailey being a writer but I never put two and two together. You always seemed really invested in the job you do at Reynolds, have you been writing long?" he asks, his tone taking on a seriousness I assume he reserves for business.
"It's been about five years now. I started out writing a blog and that become short stories which then became full novels," I explain to his smiling face. He seems convinced already.
He nods, "Once I looked into it, it seems you've had a few setbacks with publishers. I'd like to apologize on their behalf, that's not the way you do business. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's some of the shady business practices in the literary world. The market already struggles there's no need to make it worse on the authors, the people who ultimately keep us in business."
Finally, someone gets it. It's a lot less complicated with Jackson because I already know him and have already worked with him and most importantly he knows about Harry and I. Since this pathway was forged by him and Harry there're no surprises waiting for either of us; we can just work together freely.
"I'm extremely passionate about it and you know my work ethic so you know you can depend on me," I clarify, selling myself a bit further.
He gets up to throw our trash away and on the way back makes a proposition, "Alright, here's the deal. I've got one last question and your answer will determine if this is the right fit or not."
I nod once, ushering him to continue.
He pauses, then smiles before he speaks, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"
His smile is contagious and before I can answer, one graces my lips. "Happy," I reply.
His grin spreads as he nods, reaching into his briefcase. I watch him pull out a stack of papers and listen to him explain what they are. He also tells me that I should have an attorney look everything over before signing.
He's talking signing bonuses and release dates and I hear him but at the same time, I don't. I can't believe this is happening. Though I've been here in this position a couple of times already, it's never felt this right before. It feels like it's really truly happening for me and the thought brings tears to my eyes. This has been my dream for years and now it's happening without any pretenses or hidden agendas.
"So just scan it and email it back to me while you're in Texas if you decide to sign and we'll talk when we both get back to LA," Jackson says, his voice cutting through the running thoughts in my brain.
It dawns on me that I haven't given him my flash drive with my writing on it as he stands to leave. I rifle through my purse and grab the flash, gripping it in my fist.
"Here Jack, I almost forgot to give you this. My work is on it, from the first thing I wrote to the latest. I want you to know what you're signing onto too," I smirk, holding the drive out to him.
He accepts it and slips it into the pocket of his briefcase as we walk together. "Thanks Bailey but I didn't need it. I'm a pretty big fan of your Spoodle account."
Heat rises up my back as the effects of his flattery reach my face. "Good luck in NY, Jackson," I offer as we reach the exit.
He opens his arms for another hug and thanks me as we do. I watch his frame get smaller and smaller as he walks away to board his flight.
After interacting with Jackson I know exactly what I want to do. Walking towards the restrooms I notice the rain is letting up and the sun is slowly starting to peek out. I have no doubt in my mind that this all worked out this way for a reason.
Pulling out my phone as I walk into the restroom, I call Berkley. He picks up on the third ring and I launch myself into the craziest thing I've ever done. I tell him that I quit.
"Wait what? Is this because of your friend's death? I don't want you making a decision out of grief Bailey," he responds, panic in his voice.
I shake my head as if he can see me before answering, "It's not grief Berkley, this isn't what I'm meant to do. I can give you two weeks if you'd like but that's it."
He's silent for a while before he offers, "How about this, I give you two weeks. You take the next couple weeks to be with your family, grieve your friend, do whatever you need to do but think this through. Then and only then will I accept your resignation. You're too good at your job for me to just let you go."
Since I know he won't let me off of the phone until I do, and frankly I realize it's a good deal, I agree to his terms. Moments later, I'm alerted my flight will be boarding soon.
When I woke up this morning, I never intended for my life to change so drastically. I suppose by now I should be used to my life deviating from the plan I've set but each time is still as surprising as the last. I'm not sure if everything will work out the way I want it to but as I board the plane I know for certain that I don't regret a thing.
~*~
Texas is just different. It's like each time I come home I feel like I'm getting back to myself, the self I'm used to. Texas soil makes me feel like the girl who would be a teenager forever, who'd wear beat up chucks or sandals faster than a pair of heels. The girl who, no matter what, always protected herself and didn't take unnecessary risks. LA has made me reckless.
When I'm here I don't feel like I have to have everything together or be an adult. Texas is my Neverland and I can be a lost boy for as long as I'd like, never having to grow up or face anything challenging. Life here could be complicated but one thing was for sure, I could always lock myself away in my room and everything outside of that door dissipated.
Curling up on my old bed I take in the sights, the scents. It smells like home, like I never left. My furniture and old left behind clothes greet me like old friends surprised at my return. I can't help the small smile that meets my face as I sink down deeper in my old bed.
Reaching for my phone, I bring myself back to reality and text Harry that I made it safely. His reply is nearly instant which makes my smile grow until I see his reply.
K. Be safe.
No 'I love you' or 'I miss you', no emojis', nothing. Placing my phone down I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling like I used to, watching the fan spin round. My eyes close briefly and tears immediately rush to escape them as I wish for a bit of that Neverland magic.
A knock on my door snaps me out of spiraling. I answer it with a shaky, "Yeah?"
"Your daddy and I want to take you out to lunch and maybe go to a few stores. Do you want to go?" my mom asks warily. Somehow she always knows when I need uplifting. I can only hope to be half the mother she is one day.
"Yeah, give me a second to put my shoes on," I reply, rolling off of the bed.
Once my shoes are on I lean over to grab my phone but think better of it and leave it. The point of this outing is to spend time with my parents, if I take my phone the only thing I'll be able to think about is the status of my relationship. Although it's important I can't lose sight of who I am and what I've been through. I promised myself I'd never allow my life to be controlled by a man again and it's a promise I intend to at least try to keep.
The day flies by without the constant reminder of my problems, in the form of my phone, glaring at me. We went to a Cajun restaurant called Razoos and feasted before walking it off at the outlet mall. My mother, an avid shopper, drug my dad and I from store to store ignoring our complaints. It always makes me laugh how much alike my dad and I are. We both shop like the stereotypical guy- get in, get what you need, and get out. My mom on the other hand can look at one item, walk the store twice and somehow end up back at that first item and still be unsure about buying it. Needless to say, by the time she dropped me and my dad off at home we were exhausted.
We've been watching the latest season of The Flash and talking like we used to while mom is out at the store. Although I haven't gotten up to get it, my phone is definitely on my mind. I guess it's not really my phone, more like the potential messages on it. It's really hard being in this space with Harry. You'd think I'd be used to it but this time is different. We've never gone our separate ways like this and it's leaving our relationship in limbo.
"So," my dad starts, dragging the word out, "How's it going with you and Harry these days?"
The awkwardness in the room elevates to a level I can thankfully manage but it rises nonetheless. I can tell my mom probably put him up to asking but either way I'm kind of glad he said something. I've been dying to get male input and Damien has marriage brain right now so he can't focus.
"Um...fine I guess. I mean...I don't know daddy. We're...weird right now," I reply, not knowing exactly how to phrase it.
His eyebrow rises and his head falls to the side in question. "How so?"
That does it. I overflow with information about the last six months of my life. I tell him things about my past that he never knew and things about my present he probably didn't want to know but I tell him. By the time I'm done, I feel like a weight has been lifted while he looks to have too much on his mind.
"Well," he pauses, "Six months is a long time baby girl. I'm sure he's proven himself by now hasn't he?"
I guess in a way I never thought about it in the parameters of time. By six months Charlie had already laid the groundwork for his manipulation and was cashing in on it; Harry's done some stuff wrong but all in all he's there for me the best way he can be and he's openly cared for me from the start.
After thinking about it, I nod my response.
"Okay then, what's the problem? Trust is a fragile thing; it can be broken, sure, but it can also be earned. I understand that him breaking your heart scares you but if you let fear control your life you'd have never moved to LA â you'd never have met him. Think about your friend Brady, he'll never see another day. Do you think when he died he was thinking about all the mistakes or heartbreaks he had? No. I'm sure he was thinking about the good times and how he wanted more of those. He'll never have that chance but you do. Life is too short to waste time on things that in the end don't really matter," he advises sternly.
I can't even say anything, all I can think is, "Damn."
~*~
It's been a little over a week since I arrived in Texas and I've got to say I feel rejuvenated. The first few days were hard and I moped around a lot; so much so that my mom suggested I make an appointment to see Dr. Greg. Although I felt sad that she noticed my mood, I took her advice and set an appointment for the nearest date- today. I've missed Doc and it'll be good to see him; not only to catch up but for the betterment of my mental health. I haven't had the connection with another shrink like I have with him yet. I just wonder if he remembers me.
Pulling into a parking spot, I grab my purse before walking into the center. They've changed the outside a bit. Instead of the worn out red brick I was used to the building is now covered in tan stucco with brand new black and white signage. The interior is different too, gone are the worn out navy blue carpets and sad looking worn in chairs. In their places are dark hardwoods and plush navy colored seating along cream colored walls. Even the receptionist has changed. Mrs. Betty was an older white lady with big white blonde hair. She reminded me a lot of Rose from the Golden Girls with her endearing forgetfulness and dopey nature. However instead of seeing her seated behind her old wooden desk, a young brunette sits perched behind a marble top covered receptionist area; a headset resting on her head.
"Can I help you?" she asks, chewing her gum wildly.
I stop myself from wondering how she hasn't chipped a tooth yet to answer her, "I'm here for my two thirty with Dr. Greg. My name is Bailey Duncan."
Her fingers fly across the keyboard rapidly before she stares at the screen for a moment. "Right. You're all checked in, the doctor will be with you in a moment."
I nod and give her a courteous smile before taking a seat. It's crazy how much things change in a few years. This place looks like a brand new office.
I remember my first day coming here. I'd fought my parents on it, even though we all knew I needed it. My mom and I had a stupid argument over something small before I came in so I was furious by the time I checked in. I sat there for the majority of the session in silence, with my arms folded across my chest - as if I was hurting Dr. Greg in some way by not speaking. The next couple of sessions went the same way until finally one day he told me, "The only thing you're doing by coming here is wasting your time and money. I get paid regardless." Thinking about it now, it makes me laugh but it was true. After that I shared a little more each session until we'd developed a friendship as well as a strong doctor â patient relationship. He gave me his cell and his home number so I could call him if I had a panic attack that was too much to handle or if I just needed someone to talk to. He was a constant for me and provided structure for my life that I needed in order to get control of things. I feel bad about not keeping in touch but when I left Texas I wanted to leave everything about the old me behind. It just so happens that some of my past wouldn't be so easily forgotten.
"Bailey Duncan...if I wasn't looking at you right now I wouldn't believe you were here," a familiar deep voice booms.
A smile overtakes my face and I hop up to greet him. Dr. Greg is about six foot three and slender built with blonde hair he keeps prim and proper. If I had to give him a look alike it'd be Alexander Skarsgård but he firmly denies any resemblance.
"Dr. G. Long time no see huh?" I greet, shaking his extended hand warmly.
We enter his office and he closes the door behind us softly. The quiet click makes my heart race knowing I'm moments away from a deep therapy session.
"I was surprised to see your name on the books," he admits, taking a seat across from me on his new leather couch. His office is pretty much the same, dark wood covered man-cave aside from the change of couches. "You look well."
"Thanks Dr. G. I uh â I'm in town for a funeral. One of my classmates I was close with died," I reply, giving him the eye contact he always demanded in our previous sessions. Because of my anxiety I have an aversion to looking people in the eye, I feel it's too intimate, however when seeing Dr. G he required me to in order to establish vulnerability and openness between us.
His eyebrows rise and fall at the news. "I'm so sorry to hear that. When's the funeral?"
"Tomorrow. I'll be leaving to go back home a couple of days after so I wanted to see you before everything got hectic," I explain, watching him scribble in his notebook.
"I see," he says as he finishes up what he's writing, "So why are you here?"
With a deep breath I let go of everything that's happened since the last time I saw him. Saying it out loud for the second time in a few days has me reeling at how silly I've been behaving. Granted, I've been justified in some moments but others I was downright foolish.
As I finish up Dr. G looks at me with a seriousness I hardly see on his face and asks, "You haven't been self-harming?"
The question makes my heart speed. I always hate when he says it that way as if I'm cutting or stabbing myself. However according to him any time you purposely cause yourself pain in anyway big or small it's self-harm.
Quickly I shake my head no, telling a half truth. It's been a while since I did it and I'm pretty sure he means if I've done it consistently. I haven't bit my cheek or pressed my fingernail into the pad of my thumb in a while, I haven't even been toying with my diet the way I sometimes would. It's not a healthy form of expression regardless of how often but the one or two times I slip up are nowhere near as frequent as they were when I first came to see him.
He eyes me suspiciously but lets it go. "Well, it seems to me you're falling back into your old ways. You're treating yourself like because of your flaws you don't deserve happiness and because of that you're angering yourself and taking it out on Harry. You've still got some forgiving to do but you regardless you have to accept that what happened, happened. Dwelling on the past can only hurt your present. You have to let go of the hurt and reclaim your peace of mind. I'm not saying that every issue in your relationship with Harry is your fault either. He's made mistakes as well and seems to have some issues with communication â he's not perfect but he has been patient."
I'm silent for a good while, not thinking really just silent as if I'm letting my mind rest. That's one thing I've always loved about Dr. G, he lets me take his advice in without further disruption. His words are nothing I haven't heard before in one variation or another but they resonate a bit deeper. It's like when a stranger notices some flaw you thought only you could see. It's embarrassing and frightening because now you're faced with the reality of your transgressions.
I've made genuine steps to improve my behavior - my reactions; the things that cause me the most grief. They've always been too big, too severe; I could never measure them out properly. I guess I've always had a flare for the dramatics. "You're right," I finally admit, evenly, "He has been patient."
Dr. G measures my expression before speaking, "I'm not telling you to abandon the idea of protecting yourself Bailey, that's always important. What I'm saying is you need to work out a way to protect yourself and protect and foster what you have with Harry. That is, if it's a relationship you want to keep."
Even after it all I know it is. The kinks just need to be worked out. Something Doc said before revisits my mind, eliciting a question. "What did you mean by I have forgiving to do?"
I watch him close his notebook and sit it beside him on a separate cushion. "What do you think I mean?"
I take a moment to ponder his question. I suppose the most obvious person to forgive is Charlie. It's no secret that I still harbor hatred in my heart, my brain, my bones, for him. I'm not sure if I can forgive him in fact I'm not sure if I even want to. Somehow forgiving him feels like a betrayal to myself. Like if I forgive him I'm okaying his behavior; but is it really necessary to continue to make him pay when he doesn't know? When he doesn't even care? What's the point if he's not being hurt, I am...again.
"I guess," I pause, the words like acid bubbling in my throat, "I need to forgive Charles."
A firm smile raises to Dr. Greg's lips. "If that's what you think you need."
I roll my eyes at the familiar frustration. "You know I hate when you do that."
"I think I've given you enough direct advice for one day. If I solve all of your problems for you in one visit what guarantee do I have that you'll come back to see me?" he jokes, flashing crisp white teeth.
Sighing I stand to my feet and grab my purse. "Ever the negotiator eh Doc?"
He stands along with me with a grin a mile wide. "I do what I can."
We make small talk all the way to the front door of the practice. He told me about the new baby he and his husband, Samuel, are adopting and admonished me for leaving town and subsequently missing their wedding. Apparently it was the talk of the town for weeks. Partially because it was the biggest wedding Graniteville had seen in a while but mostly because, in our conservative Southern town, it was the only largely celebrated gay marriage that had occurred since DOMA was repealed. I genuinely express how sad I am to have missed the affair but congratulate him on the incoming baby.
Our relationship truly was more of a friendship than an association of the patient-doctor variety and I'm sad I left it behind. I'll be sure not to make that same mistake again. Adding his new cell number in my phone, he makes me promise to at least text him every once in a while with updates on my life. I promise I will do that and more and hopefully visit more often since I'm quitting my job.
"Before you go," he opens his arms for a hug as he speaks, "would you like me to email you a few referrals to therapists in California? I have a few friends I'm sure you'll get on fine with there."
I don't waste any time thinking about my answer, "Yes. Of course."
He smiles brightly as if he's proud of me and squeezes tight while we hug.
Truthfully I'm proud of myself as well. My goal for this break was to take the necessary steps to bettering myself and I know for a fact that work doesn't stop once I get back to Cali.
~*~
I absolutely hate funerals. If I had to make a top ten list of the things I hate funerals would make the list twice. Contrary to what you might think, it's not the death that bothers me. I've never been afraid of death or dying; it's the people at the funerals that drive me insane.
First of all, everyone looks so sad. I mean, I get it, someone just died; family and friends are entitled to their sadness, but even people who are attending in support and solidarity look miserable. Here they are at the funeral of someone they only met once or never at all and yet they look more miserable than the people who actually loved the person. The other thing that works my nerves, and I'll be honest it's the biggest, is the way people talk at funerals and wakes. All of the whispering and low voices drive me insane. What do they think? The corpse is going to pop up out of the grave and yell at them to shut the fůck up? I don't want people yelling but damn, your regular speaking voice isn't going to kill anybody...no pun intended of course. It's like they think the quieter their voices are, the sadder they seem which just feels fake to me.
That sentiment leads me to my final annoyance with funerals, the fakeness. If you're from the country, or maybe it happens in the city too, hell I don't know, then you know how...dramatic funerals can be. From the way people dress to the theatrics when they pass by the casket on the way to their seats in the, usually broiling hot, church. After any possible fainting, wailing, or falling on the casket has commenced the eulogies start and boy do they go on. People will talk about their entire life history with someone, even making up stories and scenarios that never happened â it's exhausting.
Another, and probably the most, exhausting thing about funerals is the fake way people talk. I've only been to one funeral my entire life but I got the belly of the conversation down. People rarely stray from 'Lovely service,' 'It's a pretty day; just like blank would've wanted', His/Her poor insert close relative here', and 'Is there anything I can do?' Only a couple of those sentiments are usually meant while the rest are just customary funeral speak.
I spent the majority of my grandmother's funeral trying to gauge when people's real personalities would emerge. Here were people I've seen be terrors all their lives offering helping hands and condolences, falling out all over the place, and saying kind things even though I knew they hated her when she was alive; I was so confused. Just because someone's dead it doesn't mean they deserve fallacy at their funeral. When I die I'm going to make it a rule that either you carry your real personality or you carry your ass home.
As I curl my hair I mentally prepare myself for the day. Not only because I'll be in the presence of my dead friend but also because I'll be in a church filled with the fair-weather friends from the old days.
These are the same people who made me feel like I was never good enough. Who used me until they couldn't anymore and left me high and dry. I make sure to dress as sophisticated as I can in black and white patterned slacks, a white blouse, and Louboutins. My hair is curled and my makeup is beat to perfection with a flawlessly blended smoky eye, contour, and a deep saucy red lip. Armed to the teeth in nearly every diamond I own, I sigh looking down at the bracelet and ring Harry slid onto my body. I wish so badly that he was here.
I can almost hear his voice whispering encouraging little messages into my ears. I hear him calling me gorgeous, telling me I can do this, promising me that this would be an easy day. His outline in an all-black suit floats in front of me like a mirage. Had I not remembered he was over a thousand miles away I would've reached for him. My body calls for his hands, his arms to be wrapped around me, holding me tightly so I can feel his warmth against mine. Closing my eyes tightly, I sigh and shake the feeling away. I have to get out of here and stop dwelling before I'm late.
Rushing downstairs I yell a goodbye to my parents and slam the door behind me before locking it. The G-Wagon I rented for my stay here is killing my pockets but God does it feel good to drive. I've had two dream cars for the past few years, a matte black Audi TT Roadster and a silver Mercedes G-Wagon. This is my first time ever driving either and it makes me want to rent the Audi just to see how it rides.
Driving down the street I take in the familiar sights behind my Chanel sunglasses. The trees are a deep dark green while the grass intends to mimic their color but fails, due to the dry dead patches the Texas heat causes in the middle of June. I've noticed a few new buildings have popped up, mostly apartments, Starbucks', and office spaces. Nothing like small town living; there's a million separate building plots for apartments, office buildings, and fast food chains at any given time even though there's always an abundance of them and no need for more.
My SUV rocks from side to side while travelling across the gravel pathway to the church. I'm not sure why Mrs. McKenzie, Brady's mom, would have the funeral service here since they went to the newly-built Baptist church near downtown but I assume she has her reasons. The Baptist church is a lot more difficult to maneuver through in terms of suicide so I can only guess that's why she needed to change venues.
As I step outside of the truck, my heels wobble against the unsteady gravel beneath me but I refuse to fall; especially not with the looks I'm already receiving. I'll admit I'm stunting a bit but why shouldn't I? You've got to let people see what they missed out on right?
I tousle my hair in the reflective metal of the G-Wagon and with my head held high, I strut towards the entrance of the church. Behind the lenses of my shades I catch the glances and whispers of former classmates.
"Who is that?" I hear one whisper.
"Who's she?" another murmurs.
Each guarded comment makes me smile a little until I actually enter the solemn atmosphere of the church. The climate is completely different inside than out in the parking lot and even more different than what I imagined. No one is wailing or falling out; in fact, everyone is pretty calm and seated in the maroon fabric covered pews. As I make my way inside I take off my sunglasses and place them in my nearly empty clutch. Recognition flashes across a few faces once my bug-eyed specs are removed but none of that matters anymore. Every step I take inches me closer to Brady's open casket and the nerves are starting to get to me. My grandmother had an open casket as well and I refused to look at her as I passed her, in fact I closed my eyes. Death doesn't scare me but physically seeing dead people gives me the absolute creeps.
My chest aches with how quickly my heart is racing. I'm two people away; I can see the bright orange wood of the casket. I don't want to be here. As if of it's own accord, my mind floods with thoughts of Harry. What he'd say if he was here, what he'd do to comfort me, how he'd try to focus my attention. Almost like an apparition, I feel his fingers slip between my own, offering a supportive squeeze as I pass by the casket. I decide against looking, instead skimming my eyes just above it so I don't see a thing.
The rest of the funeral speeds by as my mind can't seem to focus on the sniffles around me. I hate this kind of sadness; I hate feeling this kind of sadness. I haven't cried about Brady's death yet and to be honest I'm not sure if I will â I definitely won't be doing it here in the public. It's not that I don't miss him, of course I miss the friend I knew, but he hadn't been that friend for a long time. After high school ended he went off to college but returned home after a semester because he'd gotten into drugs. It started off simple enough with weed, in fact we'd smoked together a couple of times back then. However, ever the overachiever, Brady couldn't stop there â he had to be the best, he had to do it 'bigger' and 'better' than everyone else. While we all thought smoking a blunt between four or five of us was the 'it' thing, he was leaning towards harder drugs like prescription pills and cocaine. At one point I heard he was using heroin and crack; it was then I stopped looking for news about Brady.
The drive to Brady's childhood home for the wake doesn't take too long. My parent's house and his are pretty close, maybe ten minutes away from each other. I think about driving home to change shoes but think better of it; I can make it forty-five minutes longer.
It feels crazy to be back here. The two storied traditional styled house looks similar to another down the road, as builders around here often copy floorplans to the tee within the same neighborhood. Not much has changed. The bricks are still a washed out pink, resembling old bubble gum and the driveway still holds the deep crack through the center of it I'd always trip over. I make certain not to repeat my past mistakes and watch my step as I approach the dark wood front door.
Turning the knob, I realize the door is unlocked and walk right in to light music playing from the living room. Each room in the house is filled with bodies covered in black talking quietly amongst themselves. I routinely speak to a few old classmates that stop me but my mind isn't here in 2017 it's stuck in the memories of old. Brady and I ran in and out of this house for an entire summer. Every hang out sticks out in my memory's filing cabinet because of how covert they had to be. My parents were very strict so riding in cars, let alone going to the house of a boy was firmly prohibited. I'd make up simple lies, close enough to the truth so I didn't get caught, yet vague enough so no one could pop up somewhere I should've been. I lied so much that summer I got extremely good at it which inspired me to stop.
I remember one event in particular was a kickback at a mutual friend's house while his parents were away. I knew we'd be smoking at this party so I wore one outfit my parents saw me in and changed for the party in the car with Brady. After we had our fun, I changed my outfits back and went home; my parents were none the wiser.
My shoulder bumps into a sad looking woman on my way to the kitchen and just as I go to apologize, the words get caught in my throat. Her eyes look just like Brady's, her nose is like his too. I'd only ever seen Mrs. M in passing but now, seeing her up close, she's the spitting image of her son â or vice versa.
"I'm so sorry Mrs. McKenzie. I wasn't looking at where I was going," I apologize as I tear my gaze from hers. It's eerie seeing Brady's eyes on another person's body. "I don't know if you know me but-"
She cuts me off mid-sentence, "Bailey."
I'm surprised and it shows on my face bringing a smile to Mrs. M's.
"Brady talked about you so much when you two were in high school I feel like I know you. He had quite the crush on you back then but he was too shy to say it. The first time I saw you was in a picture the two of you took together, it was the wallpaper on his phone for months."
My heart flutters for a moment at her words. Brady? Had a crush...on me? That's the biggest news I've gotten in a while. I always felt the chemistry between us and I had developed a bit of a crush on him as well but Charlie owned my thoughts then. Had I known then what I know now maybe things could've been different for him, for me. He really was the best before the drugs took him. He was caring and generous and gave excellent advice. Brady never shied away from doing what was right and he was always the first to try and cheer you up or make you laugh â he was goofy and nerdy that way.
It feels stupid and selfish of me to think it but I feel like if we had both put our baggage aside we could've been a good couple. We probably wouldn't have gotten married or anything but I can't help thinking maybe just maybe I could've kept him away from the drugs. If we had been a couple he never would've left to go to that stupid college miles away, we never would've lost touch, and he never would've linked up with the people that got him hooked on drugs. That guilt from that thought alone has me staying far past my planned forty-five minutes.
Before I know it, I'm helping Mrs. M clean up while the final few guests meander about. Gripping the stuffed black trash bag in my hands I start to carry it outside to the garbage can. A hand clasps down over mine, taking the weight of the bag from me as I step foot outside.
"Th-" I begin to express my gratitude but stop when I realize who it is. "Charles."
"Bailey," he grins, gorgeous white teeth gleaming.
He looks good, it pains me to admit. His dark chocolate skin is as clear and even as ever against the crisp black on black suit laid across his muscular body. I can tell he got his dreads relocked for this, they look freshly cleaned and his edge up is sharp.
Shaking my head, at myself and him, I turn to walk back into the house to finish helping so I can go. I suddenly don't want to be here any longer than necessary. I've got a few leftovers to put away and then I'm out of here.
"Wait, Bailey... how long are you going to be in town?" he asks from behind me, his voice is rushed.
"Not long enough for you to waste anymore of my time," I snap, my hand gripping the doorknob.
"I'd like to see you before you leave...to talk," he speeds, hoping to catch me before I go into the house.
This forgiveness thing is going to be easier than I thought...if I can make it through a face to face meeting without slapping the taste out of his mouth. Regardless of my decision to meet with him at some point I can't resist cutting him any way that I can. "Go to hell and talk to the devil, I'm sure he misses your company."
The door slams behind me and to add insult to injury, I lock it. Hopefully he gets the hint to take his ass home so I can finish up in peace.
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What's up my good people!!!!
I hope yall enjoyed the chapter! It was SUCH a struggle to get this up since Wattpad wanted to play me lol But honestly I'm going to stop playing myself by thinking I can stick to this schedule I've set lol From now on every other Monday is the goal but I'm not promising I'll reach it every time. Honestly I love writing but sometimes the story is just stuck and won't come out -__-
As always, the chapter is unedited so please forgive any mistakes!!
This chapter's Question...
Are yall excited for the Bailey v. Charlie showdown?
Sidenote... I am lol
This chapter...
I decided to split this chapter in two once I realized how I wanted things to go. I really want to give the effect of being apart from Harry for a while so I feel more than one chapter apart is necessary. I feel like Bailey's psyche was explored pretty thoroughly in this chapter which I enjoy doing. I feel like yall hate her sometimes lol and that's my fault I feel because I don't think I'm doing her struggles justice. Everything that has happened in her life from childhood (not feeling good enough, being left lonely, feelings of abandonment, placing ridiculous expectations on herself to please those around her, etc.) has been repeated over and over in most phases of her life to the point where she's developed such a grained in fear of it repeating with Harry that it can't be washed away easily. Idk I guess I understand her because she's my character lol but she does work my nerves five days out of the week.
Sidenote....I kind of want to do a chapter from Harry's perspective but I don't know..let me know how yall feel about that!
This chapter's song...
Hallucinations by dvsn. This song is everything to me right now. I had never heard of this guy until my favorite person on social media was listening to one of his songs on snapchat, then I heard him again on Faithful from Views and I was like yo...I need him in my life lol I really love the longing in the lyrics of this song. I feel like that's where B is with Harry.
As for new follower S/O's... (ALMOST 600 FOLLOWERS WTF!!!! YALL ROCK MY SOCKS!!)
This time we have:
bacon1216, Quilaah, Sweet_simple_, niylaah, lissa_oxoDeclanbae, Jeheneboss, jbailey136, TieraLawrence, TacoBellRay, moobooo1, TSmith45, Miracleee, djpandarabbit, redrainbow1997, ZariahTrammell, chevey12, for3v3r_a_king21, pinksparklezz, Californialovin3, ShanShanC, palmbruna, Minnie_99, KeshiaCapers, yakirajordan, maagja24, trishwirtz, ILoveYouIdiot3, ificouldharry_, RosemaryWilliams8, fvcktardzz, fridessm, Forever1a8cynic, YOLLIEBLUES, NotYours99, and Kashlin!!!
Thanks so much for following and I hope I don't disappoint!
Invite your friends to read and follow and leave me some feedback in the comments!! I love hearing from yall!!!!
Until Next Time,
WBN