[chapter eleven]
Disclaimer: If you've heard of
them, I don't own them. Everything else is mine, so no stealing, pretty please.
;-)
**
I will never forgive him for this.
I'm writing this while I sit in a doctor's office, waiting for official word that Brendan really is okay.
He hit the wall last weekend.
Didn't just hit it, actually. Destroyed it. Crushed it. Turned it into molecules.
Same goes for his car.
I saw the tire blow, and I saw the car scream toward the wall, and I knew there was nothing I could do but wait and hold on, just like Bren did.
They had to cut him out of the car, it was so destroyed. They hustled him into an ambulance. They wouldn't let me see him after I had run at full speed to the infield care center.
Fight or no fight, girlfriend or not, I had to see him. I had to see for myself that he was alright, that he was the same old Brendan.
He was in there for so long. I just paced and paced and cried and cried.
Finally, he burst through the door and the first person he saw was me, throwing myself into his arms and crying some more.
He hugged me so close and for so long, it felt like home again. Then he kissed my temple and was hustled out to talk to the media.
That was two days ago. Now he's being checked out again, just as a precaution, and I'm the one that brought him here and is waiting in this atrociously decorated waiting room.
When that car hit the wall, when I thought of all I might lose in one instance, I thought again about some of my decisions.
I think it's time to tell Bren about some new decisions I'm making.
The Very Private Journal of Holly Neale
So, it went something like this:
"So, you're hot for my battered body, and want me to take you back, right?" He'd said with a grin.
I glared at him and tried not to smile. "I'm here to make sure they confirmed the head injury I've always believed you had."
"I knew you cared." He'd smirked. "You do care, right?" He'd asked, his voice changing so radically I had to blink a few times before answering.
"Yeah. I care. I just don't...I want...fuck, I don't know what to say." I'd stammered, frustrated.
"If I promise never to fight with you again, will you stay?" He'd asked so sincerely I couldn't help but laugh.
"Yeah, right. Like that'll happen..."
"They say fighting is a form of loving. I guess we've loved each other as much as we can without giving each other black eyes."
I'd laughed at that, and wondered how much truth there was to fighting as a form of loving.
It was true. We loved each other, we made each other crazy, but we can't seem to live without the other.
"Let's try again, only this time a little lighter on the fighting and a little heavier on the mushy stuff." I'd compromised.
"Mushy?" Bren's eyes had raised in mirth. "C'mere, and we'll discuss mushy."
"Why don't you come here." I'd asked.
"Oh great." Bren laughed.
"Here we go again..."
[fin]