Depression's End, Young Love's Start

Chapter 8

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sky hung dark and heavy.

I fumbled to explain. "I don't know where this came from..."

My hands were shaking before I even realized it.

Brandon's jaw tightened as he called Isaac.

On the other end, Isaac, who'd just found out what happened, apologized over and over. "I'm so sorry, Brandon. I'll fire that assistant who slipped her the card behind our backs immediately. We've just been swamped with work lately. I can't be with her every second. Come on, you've known Abigail for ten years. You know she'd never do anything like this..."

Brandon hung up and looked over. I'd bitten my lip until it bled.

My nails were dug deep into my arm, leaving raw, bloody marks.

It was obvious. Another episode was hitting me.

Brandon frowned.

He pried my hands apart roughly, dug out the first-aid kit without a word, and cleaned my cuts with cotton swabs and iodine.

The sharp sting of the disinfectant pulled me back to myself. I realized I'd had another episode.

I looked up at Brandon, helpless and scared.

Fear and pain tangled up inside me. A desperate thought popped into my head before I could stop it. "Brandon, let's get married."

Brandon froze mid-motion. Then he said flatly, "We'll talk about it when you're better."

Right then, his phone buzzed on the table. The name on the screen was his agent, James Farrow.

Brandon set down the cotton swab to answer it. Panicked, I snatched the phone right out of his hand.

In the struggle, my thumb hit the speaker by accident.

James's voice came through, loud and clear. "Brandon, you got that handled? I told you a long time ago, Abigail's illness is a ticking time bomb. It's gonna blow up eventually. You've done more than enough for her these past two years. Dumping her now is perfect timing..."

Brandon's face went pale. He ripped the phone out of my hand and hung up immediately.

I froze right where I stood.

A crushing, unbearable sadness washed over every part of me. My chest hurt so bad I was shaking.

Slowly, I lifted my head. My voice was rough. "Do you think that, too?"

Brandon ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I don't think that. But look at yourself. Look at what you're doing right now."

I looked down at the cuts on my leg, then at the ugly, scattered scars on my arms.

All of them were from episodes like this.

I forced a hollow smile. It was more broken than any tears could be.

A coldness settled in my chest, slow and steady.

After a long silence, I said softly, "Just go. I'm tired. I want to rest."

This was supposed to be our home.

But Brandon always came and went so fast, like he was just passing through.

Brandon stared at me for a long, quiet minute.

Finally, he packed up the first-aid kit without a word, swept up the broken glass, grabbed his things, and left.

Watching him walk away, that suffocating, gut-wrenching despair washed over me again.

Even breathing hurt badly.

My eyes landed on the broken glass in the trash. I picked out a sharp shard and pressed it to the pulse point on my wrist.

Suddenly, my phone pinged in the quiet room. It was a calendar reminder.

It read, "Brandon's birthday. Plan a surprise!"

The clock had struck midnight. It was already the next day. And today was Brandon's birthday.

My fraying mind slowly pulled itself back together.

How could I let Brandon's birthday be the day I died?

The second that thought crossed my mind, my hand went limp. The glass fell to the floor.

Twitter was blowing up.

Just hours ago, the top trending topic was: #AbigailRumoredBreakup.

Now it was replaced by #BirthdayPostfromGloriaforBrandon.

I tapped into the post. It was a still from their movie, them in matching outfits.

The caption read:

You reached for the stars. How can you ask them to dim for you? Happy birthday, my forever star.

I stared at the photo for what felt like forever. When the sky started to lighten outside, I called Brandon.

Brandon's voice was rough when he answered. "What now?"

My voice was calm, soft, like I was laying my own heart out bare. "Brandon, let's break up."