Panic quickly filled my body.What the hell did he just say to me?Stepping out of his arms, my back hit the wall, hard. “Bren, if you can’t handle me at my hairiest, then sweetie, you don’t deserve me when I’m waxed.” I seriously did not want to dothisanymore.
Bren moved forward and cupped my face in his hands; he stood rigid and hard and seemed so easily breakable to me. I felt so sad for the friendship that was lost between us. I grabbed onto his wrists and gently pushed his hands from my cheeks. “Bren, I don’t want to be that messed up, loudmouthed, hurt kid again. I was that way because I waslost." I stepped back, shaking my head and trying to make space between us. "I moved on with my life, let the crap go and things that were so important when I was twenty changed and aren’t so important at twenty-four. Bren, I want to be put on a pedestal for being me and not because of what I can give you. Neither of us seems happy together," I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "I know you think I’m just a hopeless romantic, but I want more. I deserve more.”
His hands were back cupping my face instantly. This time though, his grip was tighter, and his breath was shorter. “There you go again, living in the fictional worlds of those stupid romance novels you read. I’m sick of being compared to make-believe dukes, supernatural rock star angels, and fictional vomit. I’m in love with you, Sage. We are going to be married one day. We’re going to put this shop on television and live like royalty. Mark my words, baby.”
“Holy Hell in a hand basket, I just want to slap the crap out of your face for saying that to me. Brendan Gage Laux, my books have more substance to them than you have in your entire body. Hell, you make me so freaking sick sometimes. What the hell happened to my friend, Bren? If I knew this was going to happen, I wouldn’t have…” I didn’t want to speak anymore. Instantly my brain planned on taking two distinct actions, in no particular order. One was to put a call in to Auburn’s lawyer about the shop. I needed to know how tied up Bren was in the ownership with me, because I needed to get the fuck out of this relationship. And, the second was to one-click whore my way through a bunch of faceless book boyfriends that knew exactly the right way to make me feel good.
“Don’t give up on me, Sage. I need you.” His eyes looked haunted, but my heart just didn’t care anymore. Maybe it never really did.
My phone chirped in my pocket, and Bren curiously watched me as I opened it and read the text message.
J: Big day tomorrow? Thinking ‘bout you.
I rubbed my thumb over the screen. God, how much did it say about me that I couldn’t care less about wanting to break up with Bren or leaving the shop, but my gut wrenched and my heart basically flipped its shit in my chest whenever I got one of my special texts?
“Who was that?” Bren asked gruffly.
Eff you, Bren. You’ve never earned the right to know. “Oh, it’s just Goldilocks. She just got arrested,again, for burglary. Stupid kid.”
“I’m serious,” he said.
“Fine. It was the national children’s book brigade; they just found Waldo.”
“What thehellis wrong with you? Is it another man?”
“Truth? Prince Charming just texted me,” I walked to the door and glanced back at him. “And he thinks I deserve my glass slipper back… Don’t worry about my phone and my texts. Just spend some time helping yourself, Bren. Then, we’ll see if we can make things work for us.”
I walked through the door, leaving him standing there speechless, and I made damn sure I took all his freaking chocolate covered guilt with me.
By the time I climbed the back stairs to my apartment, alone, it was nine o’clock, and I was trembling with nerves. It wasn’t the situation with Bren that had me on edge; it was the truth about what I would be doing the next day. Bren had no idea. He thought I was all talk, but I was actually scheduled to teach my first art history class in one of New York City’s most prestigious art colleges; The School of Visual Arts.
My first class started at one o’clock in the afternoon. I was on the faculty, scheduled to teach two classes that semester. One, a lecture class for the history of tattoos, and the second was a studio class in theory and design. To say that I was scaredcraplesswould be the biggest understatement of the century. I didn’t want to put myself out there and fail; I wanted to shine and light up the sky like those fireflies all those years ago. My damn wings had been broken for far too long. I needed to learn how to fly again.
That next morning, bypassing all the chocolate-dipped goodness for breakfast, which was painfully hard, I ran through the shop to my studio. Still dressed in the small tank top and boy shorts I slept in, I attacked my punching bag and started hitting it as hard as I could, not even bothering with my gloves. I didn’t care if anyone else was in the shop. I didn’t care about anything but demolishing that bag.
A blinding rage took over as I hammered the bag with my bare fists. Bobbing and swaying to block invisible attackers (my demons), my fists pounded fast and strong against the thick canvas. For at least an hour, I fought. My muscles strained before they ached, and the skin of my knuckles burned and bled, until I dropped to the floor in surrender. Enraged, I blinked my teary eyes up at the ceiling and tried to get my breathing under control. I stayed on the floor until the anger drained from my body and seeped out of my pores in sweat and tears.
Thick drops of perspiration dripped off my skin as I stood up and thundered back into my apartment. It took all my strength not to devour all the chocolate in the place. I dumped everything in the trash and grabbed my phone, and thumbed through my contact list.
C: You there?
J: Always here for you.
C: I’m so damn scared about today.
J: Need to talk?
C: No just text. It’s easier.
J: Yeah, for you.
C:!!!
J: Fine. Remember the first day we ever cut school and went to Rockaway Beach?
C: Yeah
J: You were terrified of the ocean
