Beauty in the Breakdown

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It seems easy enough, love is something we wait a lifetime for. It's the hardest object to obtain, that's why the divorce rate is so high. True love is in a downward spiral. Unrequited love is on the rise. Keep waiting, you just keep waiting.

You wonder if anything will ever happen. You keep watching that flickering candle in your mind. You know who you want, you're wondering if he's going to come back home. You wonder if he knows that you're in love with him. You fell for him when you least expected it. It wasn't supposed to happen, but it did. You regret every second of it, watching the candle in the window. Beckoning.

The flames flicker and you wonder when they're going to die out. The candle gets shorter, but you find yourself replacing it before the flame diminishes completely. You don't know what to do anymore, you wish you could leave the candle alone, but you're afraid that even then it wont die out. Even then it wont be over.

You know he's leaving in less than a month and you're terrified of saying good-bye. He's the only support you have left here. The only person you trust enough to tell everything to. Other than your best friend, of course, but she lives two states away now. You wonder if you're ever going to be able to make it through the good-bye without her being here to help you pick up the pieces.

As you watch him leave that parking lot for the final time, you tell yourself that it wont be forever. But you wonder why it feels so permanent. You wish it didn't because it hurts so bad. It hurts even worse knowing you didn't even tell him good-bye, you didn't tell him anything. You just watched, letting him slip through your fingers like sand in an hour glass. Time's up, everything inside of you is screaming for you to move on, but you defy that feeling. The candle is replaced, beginning once more to try and flicker down to nothing. You wonder if it ever actually will.

He's online less and less, you send him e-mails that he never responds to. You wish he'd respond. You remember when he told you he would always "be there to help", but apparently he doesn't. You tell yourself that he's just busy, but you're dying to know what his life is like up at college. You want to see him again. You want to know if he's taking care of himself. You call and he doesn't answer. In fact, it goes straight to a generic voice mail.

Hi. You're reached James, leave a message and I'll be sure to get back to you.

You hang up. You know him well enough that he wont get back to you. You've tried leaving messages before. He never called back.

. . . . . . . . .

It's Christmas and you've never been so happy to be going to church in your entire life. You know he'll be there, you can feel it. Now that it's winter, you're dying to catch a glimpse of him. You drive your car fast down the icy roads in anticipation, next to you sits a very freaked out best friend who is screaming at you to slow down. You're too excited to oblige to her, turning on two wheels into the church parking lot Butterflies erupt in your stomach when you see his car.

Your best friend is breathing hard next to you, trying to regain her composure. You almost die laughing when she hurls herself from the car once you finish parking and screams "LAND!" while she's down on her hands and knees. You turn the car off and get out, admiring the silver Saturn that you parked next to. You reach out and press your palm against the driver's door. His door.

You can feel your best friend watching you, her eyes curious until she sees the hood of the car. It's still dented and you have to smile. You remember when he told you about that wreck. It was at youth group. You pretended to be concerned, but once you had walked away you laughed. You knew it was probably mean, but you couldn't help yourself. The mental image of him getting into a wreck was too funny to not laugh. You feel bad about it, but at least he was okay.

Inside the church it's warm, and you're thankful because your jacket is really thin. Well, it's not really your jacket to begin with, it's your younger brother's best friend's. Your best friend makes a comment behind you about how warm the church is today as she takes off her jacket. You aren't really listening as you turn the corner and walk past his mother's classroom. She's not in there and you find yourself a little worried. The kids are being taught by someone else. Your initial reaction is panic. You don't know why you're so uptight. She's missed teaching classes before.

You hear your best friend ask you if you listening and you turn around and look at her.

"I'm sorry, Caitlyn," you say, still distracted by the empty classroom, "what were you saying?" Your best friend looks at you like you've grown another head, and then she asks the question you wishes she didn't know to ask.

"Is he here?" You stare at her and you don't know how to answer. You want to point out that his Saturn is sitting in the parking lot, but for some reason you aren't sure if it's his anymore. You don't know if he's here. You want to tell her that you're afraid he's never coming back, but you don't want to be called melodramatic. She's staring at you expectantly and all you want to do is break down and cry. You want to tell her everything. You want to tell her about the phone calls he never answered, the e-mails he never responded to, you want your best friend to be your best friend again. You don't want to keep all this pain from her. But, as the light on the candle you keep observing flickers you know that telling her isn't right. You'd rather keep it all in.

After all, she wasn't there at the end of the summer when it happened. She wasn't there when you fell to your knees after you watched his car turn right and drive along his familiar path home. She probably understood. She probably knew what was happening to you, but you're not ready to say it out loud. You don't want to cry.

Your best friend says your name and you're snapped out of all the emotions that are begging to be released. You want so bad to just let them go, you know if you don't you're explode. But you can't.

"I don't know," you tell her, heart racing as you turn back towards the length of the hallway and take a step. You don't know how it happens, but you're on the ground in seconds, crumpled on the floor and feeling the worst pain you've ever felt in your life.

You feel the breath being crushed from your lungs, the familiar break in your heart. Your best friend runs to you, touching your arm as you're suddenly reduced to tears. She screams at you, begging to know if you're okay, but you don't speak. You wont say it. You can't say it. She screams for help, interrupting the classes along the hallway, she screams for someone to call an ambulance, but all you can do is lay there on the floor.

People come from the classrooms, wondering who is causing the screaming. You feel embarrassed to know that it's your own stupidity and heartache that has caused this. If only you had let the candle burn out when you had the chance. If only you had been able to erase him from your memory, from your heart. You hear people gasping, more yelling all around you as your silent tears become heartbreaking sobs. Your best friend is frantic, she doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know how you got that way. And honestly, neither do you.

Then it happens, the moment where all the noise and all the air is taken from the room around you. You feel the familiar pulling sensation, as if all your emotions are being drawn to one specific point. You see him rush from the sanctuary, wondering what all the noise is. The boy turned man you've been waiting to see. He looks the same as always, his curly hair hanging in his eyes, over the frames of his glasses. He has the same stubble framing his face, cut short. You always found that charming.

His eyes settle on you and immediately you feel so small, so insignificant. You watch as he stands there, caught up in the pull. You always gravitated towards each other. He takes a step, and then another. You're watching it in slow motion, but everyone else sees him run to you, kneeling next to you and asking your best friend what happened. You don't hear any of this, you only see him kneel next to you, concern evident in his face. You see his lips move and you know that the candle is never going to go out. You know you're always going to be in love with the boy that broke your heart. And now, you know that you're done wishing you weren't.

The sirens bring the noise back to your ears. You hear people praying, people murmuring around you in shock and you take a deep breath through your nose. The feeling is rushing back into your body and for the first time you notice that he's holding your hand. You can hear him saying things, barking orders to the people crowded around you. Your eyes refuse to leave his face. You want to remember how he looks in this moment. Because you have a nagging feel, deep down in the pit of your stomach that there's about to be a huge change between the both of you.

. . . . . . . . . .

Your best friend comes with you in the ambulance. She tells them she's your sister and you don't object. She's always been a part of your family. The whole time you've known her she's been like a sister to you. But part of you wished James had come too. You wanted to spend another few moments with him. He held your hand all the way to the back to the ambulance before he let go. You wished he hadn't. You wished he had told them he was your brother or your cousin or something that would make him able to stay.

You remember him asking what hospital you'd be at, and you hope that later on, he comes to see you.

They're checking your eyes with a flashlight, trying to diagnose what's wrong with you. All the time you're wondering if it's possible to die from a broken heart. You saw it on Star Wars once, and now you're afraid you wont get to say good-bye to the person who broke it.

You try to turn your head, but they've got it between some stupid protector. You don't know why it's necessary, but you aren't a doctor so you accept it. Caitlyn looks worried, her blue eyes gazing into yours, looking for any sign that you're still there. You try to smile, but your body wont respond.

. . . . . . . . .

When you get there, you find out that he followed the ambulance the whole way to the hospital. Somehow you knew he wasn't going to leave you, but you were still surprised when he showed up in your room and stood next to your bed.

"They say you had some kind of break down," he tells you and you find yourself wondering how he knows that. Weren't the doctors supposed to tell you first? He must've caught the questioning look in your eyes because he continues, "your parents are talking with the doctors now." You watch him, not sure what to think as he grips your wrist. His touch sends electricity through your body and you close your eyes, sighing.

He releases you quickly a second later, and you're wondering if he felt it too; the sparks.

Caitlyn comes into the room and narrows her eyes at him. You want to tell her that it's okay, that he can be there, but you're sure she already knows that it's not okay. That he's the reason you're in that bed. But you want him there. Even if it isn't okay, even if he reduced you to this state, you still love him. And your through wishing you didn't. You're through wishing you had never met him. You're finished wanting to be in love with anyone else. Even if he never wants you back, there's no one you'd rather be in love with.

He's arguing with your best friend and you want it to stop. You're too weak to deal with their hatred. You wonder when Caitlyn got so bold. You also wonder why James is fighting to stay with you.

"Stop it," you manage, tears forming in your eyes. They both stop yelling and look at you. They both had the same look on their faces; concern.

"Are you okay?" They asked together, crossing the room to stand by your side. You're immediately reminded of Alex and you wish you hadn't been. You remember seeing his sister in a bed just like this one, helpless. You want to stop thinking about it, but the memories keep coming. You see everything from start to finish. The memories you tried to block out. They've returned with a vengeance and you don't want to be there anymore. You feel James grab your hand and you look at him, with such intensity that he pulls away and takes a step back. You can't handle the memories of the past spring. You can't handle remembering that...he's gone.

You turn to Caitlyn next, who was looking at James, wondering what made him back away. She catches your eyes and repeats his gesture. You don't know how to tell them what you want. You don't know how to tell them that you can't be there anymore.

"Take me out," you whisper and they look confused. You struggle to pull yourself into a sitting position. "I'm not sick," you tell them, "I want to leave. Get me out of here." You hate it there, you don't want to remember what happened in the spring. You don't want to remember what Beth looked like. And you definitely don't want to remember the way Alex's body looked in that coffin.

"I don't..." Caitlyn began, looking towards James, "I don't think we can do that." James and Caitlyn look down at you, sadly. But you wont take no for an answer as you swing your legs over the side of your bed and pull all the hospital attachments from your body. The machine goes haywire and your best friend tries to get you to lay back down. You wont have any of it. You gather up the clothes you came here in and rip off your hospital gown. You don't care who sees you anymore as you pull your clothes on quickly over your naked body.

"I don't want to remember," you tell them, putting your clothes on as fast as you can. James tries not to look and Caitlyn looks annoyed by your actions. You just want to get out of there, so when a doctor bursts into the room, you try to run. They stop you, restrain you, and tell you to wait a little bit longer. You argue that you're old enough to be able to leave. You tell them you aren't sick. You tell them they can't keep you here. They tell you that you're right, but it would be best...you tell them they don't know what's best. You tell them you want to leave now.

You're done remembering. You're done thinking about the things you want to forget.

"I've never seen you like this," James says when they get you back into the bed, begging you to wait. Caitlyn had long-since left the room, too upset by your actions to stay in that room and watch you destroy yourself. You ignore his words, angry tears streaming down your face. You're tired of being here. You don't know why you had the break down to begin with. You never had a break down before. In all the years you were in love with him.

He wipes away your tears and fireworks go off in your head. Your heartbeat races and you curse as the machine broadcasts it. James seems amused by your reaction, cupping your cheek. You pull away from him, your eyes meeting his in a silent question. A question you're sure he wont know the answer to. You verbalize.

"Why haven't you...spoken to me?" You ask, brown eyes searching, grasping for any kind of explanation. He tells you he doesn't know. That's the response you were expecting. That's his answer to everything. You know it isn't because he's unsure, you know it's because he doesn't want to tell you.

"I was worried," you tell him, "I was so worried about you." He avoids your gaze. You narrow your eyes, willing him to look at you. He tells you he's sorry, still staring down at the floor. You tell him that sometimes sorry isn't enough, that this time you'd need more than an apology. He tells you that an apology is all he can offer. And you tell him that he's wrong. You tell him that there's more he can give to you. He tells you he doesn't think so. You tell him that his love is enough. He tells you he doesn't love you. You call him a liar.

The argument was still heated when Caitlyn came back, black eyeliner smudged down her face from the tears she had yet to wipe away. You don't turn from James to acknowledge her. She watches as you try to convince him that there's more to your relationship than he would admit. He tells you there isn't. Caitlyn watches, voiceless.

You reach out in your anger and grab his face, forcing his lips to crash against yours. You feel him struggle away, but you wont release him, your fingernails digging into his face, hard. He cries out against your mouth and you press your lips against his harder. You hear someone gasp and you release him. He breathes hard, touching the place on his cheek where your nails left makings. Your parents are in the doorway, watching with stunned faces as James wipes blood from his face. You're done caring.

"Don't tell me there's nothing," you say to the boy you've just kissed, "because there is." He tells you he didn't feel anything, he tells you that he'll never feel anything. You ask him why he doesn't just leave. He has no answer and your lips curl into a triumphant smile. You tell him nothing his keeping him there, continuing on your tirade. He still doesn't answer, knowing you're setting him up.

You tell him this would've been easier if he had never left you. He tells you that his only regret was coming home.

And it's then that you realize he was never there.

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R&R