We Go Down (Bremmy 2)

Chapterish 75

GOLDEN HOUR

The string-lights flicker above me like stars desperate to shine in a cloudy night. The party is only 20 feet behind me, but I feel a world away.

The illuminated L•O•V•E casts a shadow onto the rocks beside the pathway.

"Fucking love," I scoff aloud to myself. "Stupid, fucking, useless -LOVE!"

I am at a complete loss for words at how FINE Brooks is. It's like he's totally OK –like nothing ever happened –like he didn't just fly out to Seattle and drunkenly beat on my door at 3 AM.

Is that how I seem? Do I seem utterly unphased?

Do I seem fine?

I don't even know who the fuck he is. I've just spent the last two years kidding myself into believing he's the same Brooks I knew. He isn't the 17-year-old golden-boy dreamer who had never seen the world, who was innocent and inexperienced, and who came in ten seconds the first time he had sex!

He's Jay Brooks. The fucking life of the party and everyone's favorite fucking person here. The resident douche bag.

I can't help but turn and search the crowd for him. He's too visible on the dance floor. Too perfect. He doesn't even notice I left.

I'm nothing to him. You could tell him my name and he'd forget it by tomorrow.

Pull yourself together, Em.

I blink the tears away. I cannot cry at this wedding. Not only so my makeup doesn't smudge, but for such a plethora of other reasons. Dignity being among them.

I know, I know. I barely got any left to protect.

I smooth the dress down against my chest, blot my lips, and return to the path.

I'm 10 feet away from the last bend when Brooks comes out of nowhere and stops me in my tracks. I almost run into him, narrowly avoiding a collision with his unbuttoned, sweaty dress shirt and perfectly solid chest.

A chill runs down my spine.

I blink hard, praying, begging the universe to stop its fucking laughing at me. Before I can even circumnavigate him, Brooks is putting up his hands to stop me from leaving.

"Ems," Brooks says.

"I can't do this Brooks." I swallow hard, determined to suppress the swelling in my throat.

I don't care if all I've wanted this entire weekend was for him to come up to me –to fight for me. Now that he's here, I can't help but thinking it's just to save face. I can't help thinking I'm one giant joke to him.

"Please, just –wait," he urges. "Hear me out."

His hands slide into his pockets. I focus on the beads of sweat pooling around his clavicle. His musky ocean skin is intoxicating. My legs need to move. NOW.

I part my lips, but no words escape them.

"I'm leaving," Brooks says abruptly.

Great, changing his mind again already!

"Then go," I snap, crossing my arms over my chest.

"No. I'm leaving leaving."

He takes my hands in his and I feel something in them, crunching between our joined palms.

"What?" I can't help but sound too interested.

"I'm running away. I'm leaving everything that I can't be, everything I can't live up to." Brooks's eyes blaze with something I can't place.

I part my lips. "Jay–"

"Don't." He half smiles.

We are so close I swear I can feel his heartbeat. I can't stop smelling the floral aroma from the bouquets mixing with his skin. A song floats on the wind from the dance floor. It's all I'm concentrating on.

My hands focus on his –on the crinkling feeling of paper between ours.

"It doesn't scare me when I think of you coming with me," Brooks says, earnest. "In fact, it's what makes me want to go."

"You're insane. Absolutely insane." I laugh at him, and not a good laugh. He can't be serious!

"Come with me, Ems. We'll do everything we talked about. Go everywhere we dreamed of." Brooks squeezes my hand in his. "This is just the first stop. The first of the rest of our lives."

Brooks drops my hands and turns away from me.

I don't think I'll ever forget this moment –ever stop playing it like some spectacular movie reel in my mind. It's like something my head and heart agree on –that this is something to remember: Brooks turning on his heels and walking away from me, his arm dropping as he lets go of mine, and his dark silhouette shrinking against the orange sky.

I'm watching Brooks leave and I can only think of one thing: A song. For some stupid reason it's an old 90s one by Third Eye Blind. How's it going to be? I really do wonder, is there anything I'm going to miss?

It just completely encapsulates that everlasting mood of endings.

And suddenly everything lacks time. It's all in slow motion: Alex bringing two beers towards the table, Meg and Nate tossing their heads back in laughter, and Trix and Travis stopping mid-dance to kiss in my blurring peripheral.

I realize I'm not breathing. I realize I may not be able to open my mouth to speak if I tried. The lump in my throat is rising. I clench my fists and that's when I'm brought back to the moment.

I look down at my hands for the first time since Brooks walked away. I'm holding an actual plane ticket. It's not some barcode on a phone or confirmation printed out on a piece of computer paper. It's an actual airline ticket, perforation line and all like it was torn straight out of some 90s rom-com.

My name is printed across the top, right above the flight path.

Emmeline Lou Rhodes

Palm Beach International, Florida ➡️ Charles de Gaulle, Paris, France

Oh my fucking –

Paris!
The emotions, they stir. My heart, it beats. Fucking hard. It's separating from my body.

My heart is screaming from the pain, writhing inside my chest. My head is cursing me out for not calling after him, for not commanding my legs to follow him down the sunset-lit path. To chase him down. To jump on him. To show up Trix and Travis's love story at their very own wedding.

All the sudden I'm moving again. Everything is a blur.

Somehow, I end up inside, tucked out of view from the party. No one comes to me. Brooks's sudden departure from the reception went unnoticed. I'm sure mine did too.

At some point, the music stops. The laughter slowly winds down until it transforms into a few muffled voices. I watch what's left of the sky melt into the horizon until it's so dark I can hardly see the dance floor.