Crazy Girl(82)

I frowned. “You thought I was fucked up before?” I knew I was, but I didn’t know he thought it, too.

He cut a sideways glance at me that said, are you serious right now? But staying true to the Brigham I’d come to know, he moved on without addressing my question.

“You’re just like her…” he mumbled. “I told her who I was, and she didn’t listen.”

“Who?”

He shook his head as if frustrated. Again, he ignored my question. “Women like you think they’re going to change a man, but you’re not. Doesn’t matter how perfect you are, you won’t.”

I frowned harder. I didn’t want to burden my friends anymore with my problems, which had been one of the biggest reasons I agreed to meet with Brigham. I could unleash on him guilt free. And maybe a small part of me believed he’d tell me what I wanted to believe—that it was Wren. It wasn’t me. My only fault was believing he could change. But he hadn’t. Not really. He’d basically said my hurt was my own fault for not taking Wren as he was. But even under the lovely haze of the amazing Jack Daniel’s and my own desire to make myself as faultless as possible, I knew better. Brigham was wrong about Wren. Wren wasn’t like him. But Brigham was like me. Broken. Hiding. Moving through life with a skewed perception. Living unattached to anyone or anything. He flew through women because he never wanted to belong to something. I hid from everything because I couldn’t stand to lose anymore.

“Why did you want to be my friend?” I asked.

He smirked sadly. “You needed one—one like me anyway. I hope someone saw that in her and was there for her, too.”

I cried, warm tears gliding down my cheeks. “I know you, in your own twisted way, meant well Brigham, but I think you messed me up, too. You were wrong. Wren isn’t like you. Not all guys are like you. And now…” My lip trembled. “I’ve lost him.”

“And that’s my fault?” he asked defensively.

I shook my head. “No.” And it wasn’t. It was mine. Brigham only spoke to my own insecurities and worst fears. I’m the one that chose to listen and let his words fuel them. “I lost him. And it’s all my fault. I was scared and stupid.”

He stared straight ahead, his face slightly contorted as if pained by my emotion. “I only wanted to help you. Be your friend. If you feel I steered you wrong, I’m sorry for that.”

I sniffled, wiping at my nose with my wrist. Leaning my head on his shoulder, I sighed. “We’re broken messes, Brigham, you and I. What’s wrong with us?”

“No, Hannah. We’re just some of the few that choose not to live blinded to the truth. Well, I thought we both were.”

“What truth?”

He chuckled, the sound deep rumbling in his chest. “That nothing is forever. And you and I are a lot alike, but we have two big differences.”

“What?”

“I’m okay with it. With me.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and squeezed me once before dropping it. “You…you’re not okay with you. And you want something you won’t let yourself believe in.”

I nodded.

“All I can tell you, friend, is if he is the real deal…if what you had with him was real…he’ll come back. But you need to figure out how to be okay with it if he doesn’t.”

I didn’t argue with him. What he’d said about me was true. But what he’d said about himself…I wasn’t sure I believed that. There was a story there. I knew it. Brigham had been bent by life just like me. I wanted to press him, ask him what who it was that made him this way, who did I remind him of, but I didn’t. Because I knew I had more time to find out. That was the moment I decided Brigham would be one of my people. There was no choice in it anymore. I was always one to love the complicated, and complicated was Brigham’s middle name. He was a mess, like me. He was far from perfect, even though he’d beg to differ. Nothing about our friendship, or how it came to be, made sense. The day I’d met him, I’d been intrigued by him, my mind stretching and twisting, wanting to make him a character in one of my fictional worlds. I hadn’t found a place for him to fit just yet, literary or real-world wise. But either way, he was here. Sometimes life was like a puzzle, the many people we encounter scattered pieces that we fit together creating the bigger picture. Every once in a while, the round edges of one of those pieces are frayed and they don’t exactly fit smoothly, but they find a place within your life, even though they never blend flawlessly into it. But regardless they are still part of it. In all actuality, had Brigham not pushed for it, we wouldn’t have a friendship, but he did and now…we were connected. It wasn’t romantic or sexual…and it wasn’t like any friendship I’d ever had. It wasn’t smooth and seamless. We were so different, yet we were kindred spirits and instead of dissecting each other, or trying to fix each other, we would just accept each other as we were, frayed edges and all. There was something very special about that to me. In the end, however broken he was, I would care for him, and I would call him my friend. I wouldn’t try to figure him out, or attempt to put him back together. I’d simply love him as the imperfect piece he was. And I knew he would do the same for me.





Watered Down