I’m not sure what I’m looking at.
At first, I assume the tiny bits are packing material, so I pick the box up, planning to shift it around since I don’t want to stick my hand inside. But the thing is light as a feather. Almost like the confetti sized scraps are all that’s in it.
While I’m too big of a chicken to reach in the box, Brooke isn’t. She scoops up a handful of the contents, staring down at it, her expression pinched. “It’s all my pictures.” She moves around what I can now see is tiny shreds of photographs. “They must have been put through a shredder.”
She drops the handful back in, picking up the box and moving it to one side. “Open this one, please.”
I do what she asks, even though it hurts me to know it’s going to hurt her. This one contains documents. They’re not easy to identify because they’ve been put through the same shredder as her pictures, but it seems to be things like diplomas and report cards.
The next box is bigger items. Shredded stuffed animals. Clothing that’s been ripped to pieces. Maybe a blanket or two.
I continue cutting boxes open, my anger rising more and more with each piece of Brooke’s life that fucker has destroyed.
Erased.
By the final box, my jaw is clenched so tight it starts to ache. This one is the smallest of the bunch, and I hope to God whatever’s in here isn’t important, because it might push me over the edge.
I open it up to find another box inside, this one smaller and decorative.
I’m shocked it’s not damaged, so I hold my breath as Ireach in to lift off the lid, concerned this might be what lands me in the same state as dead Dan.
But there’s no explosion as I remove the top. Like the outer box, the contents inside are weirdly undamaged. I reach in and pull out a dehydrated and decrepit rose, lifting it up, brows raising in question.
Brooke gently takes it from me, her lips curving into a small smile as she looks down at it.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy she no longer looks ready to cry, but how is anything Matt sent her making her smile?
“Remember this?” She holds the mummified flower carefully. “You brought me this on our first date.”
I don’t remember it. And I thought I remembered everything about the time Brooke and I spent together.
She reaches into the box, this time pulling out movie tickets from our second date. Then there’s the card I gave her on her birthday. A note I left on her windshield one night.
And at the very bottom is a pack of Pop-Tarts still in the foil.
“Please don’t tell me those are the Pop-Tarts I threw at your head.”
Brooke gives me a grin. “These are absolutely the Pop-Tarts you threw at my head.” She reaches in, picking them up. But instead of pulling them free, she goes still, eyes focused on the spot just beneath them.
There’s one more note left inside, but this one isn’t from me.
It’s written in big bold letters that are impossible to miss.
WHORE
Brooke stares at it a second longer before dropping her eyes to the ground.
I step close. “Don’t let him drag you back down. He doesn’t deserve?—”
“This stuff isn’t from Matt.” Brooke’s eyes lift to my face, her mouth curved in a sad smile. “It’s from my parents.”
28
Brooke
“Ican’t believe this.” I look over Tobias’s new and improved backyard. “You know this is ridiculous, don’t you?”
He shrugs. “I’ve been called ridiculous by a pretty woman before. It didn’t bother me then, and it doesn’t bother me now.” Crouching down, He trails his fingers through the water, sucking in a breath. “It’s still a little cold. I think we might have to wait for the heater to bring it up a little bit more.”
