Broken Girl(59)

The truth of my relationships stung deep. It was Garrett Theodore Chadwick who announced he was engaged to Ashley Hancock. It was Sybil St. James who died at San Francisco General, leaving me to navigate the streets alone, and it was Shane West who made me fall in love with him even though he had a girlfriend. They were the only three people who were able to thieve my heart, and become the dealers of my missed chances. I stood on our black shaggy carpet between our beds and looked around the apartment. Sybil’s bed was covered in stacks of clothes, mine covered in boxes from Mr. C and I realized time was being a damn snitch and curiosity was being a motherf*cking killer. I picked up a package from my bed and wondered if I should open it.

For the next couple of days I grieved everything I had lost. I spent hours staring at the mountain of packages on my bed and packing up all of Sybil’s things. When it all would become too much, I’d pass out from pure exhaustion and wake up to the same pain I tried to escape. I never once answered my phone or unlocked my door, and only managed to drink every last drop of alcohol in the apartment. Without hesitancy through the last two days, I’ve picked up that f*cking mental dagger every second since I’ve been alone and thrust it over and over again into my heart. I tortured myself with wasted moments, unopened packages of empty apologies and unfulfilled promises and I loaded what equated to Sybil’s entire life into eight large black plastic trash bags.

I figured at this point would the content of Mister’s packaged bribes really matter? They represented nothing more than intentions lost on expensive gadgets. Packages that were better left untouched under my bed. I hated him for the curiosity the boxes and padded envelopes sparked in my gut, and hated myself even more for deciding to open one of them, let alone the one I was clutching in my hands.

I held the small white padded envelope, flipped it over and dragged my fingers down the bubbled texture. It was light, yet bulky, dusty from the time it laid in wait for my attention. I gripped the corner and noticed a gap inviting my finger. Do I really want to open the promise Mr. C made to me in this envelope? Promises made to me with material things, things I could easily replace if lost or stolen. It was my heart which ached to be opened and cherished, not this shit. I didn’t want what was waiting in the clusterf*ck of cardboard and plastic envelopes piled on my bed. All I wanted was my heart back from Mister, Sybil and Shane.

Stolen by the thoughts cluttering my head, I was startled by a loud thunderous knock on my door. It wasn’t a delicate, I know you’re in there suffering knock, or a can I come in and help you knock. It was a what the f*ck are you doing in there one, a scary knock, a pounding knuckles upon the aged wood that sounded like it could be splintered into a thousand pieces type of knock.

I took a breath, as I tried to steady myself in my crumbling certainty. I clutched Mr. C’s package to my chest, as if it was something that could protect my heart from dissolving. I wasn’t gonna open my door to just anyone, especially iron knuckles on the other side.

I shivered from the inside out, when I heard whose voice belonged to the thunderous knock.

“Aye, Rosie, you in here? It’s me, Briggs.” Kean’s voice penetrated the door, floated across and landed in the gaping hole in my chest. I froze as the envelope I was clutching tumbled down onto my bed. I didn’t know if I could handle seeing him right now.

“Come on, sweet’art, let me in. I know what happened to Sybil. I want to make sure you’ okay.”

I heard him jiggle the doorknob, and felt the same tempo pick up in my heartbeat.

“I’ll only stay a wee bit Rosie gir’. Com’ on now.”

I crept over to the front door; the floor creaked loudly with every other step I took. I pressed my face against the cold plastered wall for a handful of seconds before I reached out and grasped the door handle.

“That’s right, Rosie. It’s goin’ to be okay, you hear me? I’m go’na be here, Rosie. When you’ ready to op’n the door, I’ll be waitin’ righ’ here.”

Tears spilled over my eyelids, drenching my cheeks. Briggs was here for me, he came here just for me. I pulled the chain from the door, and unlocked the deadbolt. It was the last thing between us before I was going to let him see me more broken than I’ve ever been.

Briggs cautiously pushed the door open, I didn’t stand there waiting for him to come in. If I looked at him and our eyes caught each other, I would break down and lose my shit all over again. I did the best survival mode action possible, I shuffled over to the kitchen and started fussing with the handful of dishes in the sink.

“It’s been two days, Rosie. I’d been tryin’ to call.” He followed me to the kitchen, his words filled with concern sharpened to a point which easily pierced my heart.

Every ounce of resolve I held drained painfully from my soul.

“Well, Briggs, I’ve been here, living it up!” Sarcasm dripped from my words, words I regretted the moment they flew out of my mouth.

“Com’ on, sweet’art. Don’t do tis. I’m just here, worryin’ about me gir’.” With a tug of his hand, he pulled me around to look at him.

“Two days too late, Briggs,” I spat before I turned back to the sink. I knew it was an * answer, a thoughtless way to let him know I was still hurting and too drunk from the bottle of lemon flavored Smirnoff I had polished off twenty minutes ago. In fact, every last drop from the bottle of vodka still swam fiercely in my veins.