Brie Sheridan has had her heart broken way too many times. Rhett Price is usually the culprit, but, this time, he might be the solution.
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Brooke 'Brie' Sheridan wouldn't necessa...
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BRIE
It's not like I actually want to know who this mysterious Magnolia girl is.
Really, I don't. Whoever she is, it's clear she has brought Rhett considerable pain and heartache and, regardless of how badly he has hurt me throughout the years, it doesn't mean it brings me any joy to know someone might have done the exact same thing to him years after. I don't care about that kind of karmic retribution.
(Though I have to admit there used to be some comfort to be found in daydreaming about him getting his heart shattered like he casually did to me, I was younger, more naive, and thought I knew everything back then. Sometimes, you can't help but miss the not-knowing that comes with lack of hindsight and perspective when you're young and know nothing.)
So, when Magnolia's name leaves my lips and he turns so white I fear he might pass out behind the wheel and crash the car, sending my heartbeat into erratic levels of panic, I regret it instantly. Not only do I want to prevent any sort of emotional suffering from coming his way, especially because of me, I'd also like to survive the night, thank you very much.
"I can't do this right now," he half-whispers. Whatever resolve I thought I had, whatever courage I'd gathered to ask him about Magnolia—it has all vanished into the cold air of the night, swooping out of my open window. The wind glues my hair to my lipstick-coated mouth. "I can't. I'm driving. I'm driving and you're sitting in the passenger seat; if anything happens, if I get distracted or panic—which I will—then—" Rhett gulps, shaking his head for the briefest of moments, and then he's focused on the road like nothing happened. However, even with how hard he's gripping the steering wheel, it's hard to hide the way his hands are shaking. "I can't do this. I can't think about that right now—I shouldn't, but I can't stop."
"Rhett," I murmur.
"I don't know how to make it quiet. I don't know how to make it stop."
"Rhett," I repeat, louder this time. If he wasn't driving, his head would've snapped in my direction—I'm sure of it. I know him well enough to trust him that much. "Pull over. Let me drive, okay? We don't have to talk about this right now. We don't have to talk about this tonight, either, but let me drive the rest of the way."
His face is so ashen just from this girl's name being mentioned that I fear for what might happen in case he ever runs into her on the street or wherever they know each other from. Though I certainly don't know every single student attending Bennington, Magnolia is an uncommon enough name that I'd remember to have heard, even just in passing, and I can't say I remember it.
It sounds old and elegant, a classical beauty. Not like Brooke, so bland and forgettable.
I hate that Rhett's halfway through a serious anxiety crisis and this is what my brain chooses to focus on. Jesus. Isn't that one of the single most despicable things you've ever heard?
