23. “A sea nourished with lovers’ tears”

23

"A sea nourished with lovers' tears"

Then

The last weeks of that summer, the one Selby moved to Alabaster, were filled with a very unique blend of emotion. Oh, there was anger. So much anger. Anger and despair. Anger, despair, and a heaping serving of defeat. Anger because fuck him. Fuck him forever for walking away from me and going to talk to her that day. Fuck him for getting her number, and mostly, fuck him for choosing that summer, of all summers, to get over his crippling shyness around hot women. Despair because I knew, in my bones, in my soul, we were good together, even if he didn't realize it, even if he didn't know what we were or what it meant. Defeat, endless and rolling, because what it really boiled down to was the simple fact that I'm a man and he wanted a woman.

Anger, despair, and defeat because God had a truly sick sense of humor for making me love Romeo the way I loved him when he didn't love me back .

I'd been offered a scholarship to do my master's at Cambridge. I'd been on the fence about it, but by the end of that summer and a fucking truckload of exposure to seeing Romeo and Selby's stupid faces pressed together, talking complete bullshit and smiling like the biggest idiots on the planet, I couldn't get far enough away from Alabaster.

Perhaps it was more a reflection of my mood at the time than reality, but it rained the whole time I was in Cambridge. The entire time. Morning, noon, and night. All I saw were gray skies and clouds weeping. Romeo still called a lot, and because I had a terrible sickness when it came to him, I still answered most of the time. When I didn't, he'd call over and over, finally resorting to messaging the words that rendered me completely defenseless.

Is your window open?

Those words became a knife to my heart. A cold steel blade that twisted and killed me over and over. It didn't matter how broken I was. An oath was an oath, so when I saw them on my screen, my reply was the same.

Always

Sometimes, conversation between us flowed easily and things felt almost normal between us. On those nights, I felt better. Not quite happy, but not on death's door. When we were talking and laughing, he was my friend, not my lover, and I could almost forget he was the one who wielded the knife still lodged in my chest. Sometimes, conversation didn't flow well. It felt like we were fighting without drawing our swords, disagreeing about small things neither of us cared much about. Sometimes, most times, it was his fault. He'd become cagey and prickly. Quiet and hard to draw out.

Other times, it was my fault.

I guess I'm one of those people who likes picking at scabs. I can't help it. I just can't seem to allow a wound to grow closed without ripping nature's Band-Aid off a few hundred times.

"So, how's Selby?" I'd ask.

"Fine."

Fine? That wasn't enough. I needed more.

"Are you happy with her? Is she happy with you? Is it serious?"

Pick, pick, pick.

Rip, rip, rip.

"I don't know. She's great, and I guess it's serious. I guess it has to be. She's not like the other girls I've been with. It's different dating someone older, Jude. I can tell you that much. She knows what she wants, like, all the time. She's sure of herself. She says she's dating to marry, not fuck around."

Turns out, he was right. Selby did know what she wanted and she was dating to marry, and not only that, she was someone who knew how to get what she wanted.

I hated her more than I'd ever hated anyone. More than I thought I could hate anyone.

I remember them calling to tell me he'd proposed. It was a video call. Selby looked radiant and Romeo looked like a prop on a well-lit stage. I remember the words and the sound of his voice. I remember that when he stopped talking, I said, "Cool."

I don't remember anything that happened for a full week after that.

Life took on a strange quality. It was an eerie dreamscape where things were tilted on their side, nothing made sense, and everything hurt all the time. A dark trance that had a distinct beginning and no end. The same snippets of conversations long past played over and over in my mind.

" You're the best person I know, Tiger ."

"… the best person …"

"… best person …"

" Why the fuck are my feet so fucking big ?"

" Is it me, or do they look like boats in these shoes ?"

" I'll kiss you ."

" You wouldn't ."

" I will. I'll kiss you for sure ."

" I was underwhelmed, to be honest ."

" And you won't tell anyone ?"

"…won't tell anyone…"

"… tell anyone …"

" Feels good. Don't stop ."

" If I have a son, I'll name him Romeo ."

Drinking to blackout was the only way I could escape them.

Sometimes it worked.

Sometimes it didn't.

It was that man, the one occupying that mind, who left Cambridge at the end of the year and flew home to attend his friend's wedding. The best man, they called me.

Time was the strangest it had ever been. A freight train with the wind behind it. It thundered toward me, and there wasn't a goddamn thing I could do to stop it. Selby was in a wedding planning frenzy, sending Romeo and me around left, right, and center, throwing her father's money around like it was nothing. Like it was confetti.

"Are you sure we need doves and butterflies?" Romeo asked.

"Babe." She smiled, but there was a clear warning in her eyes. "Of course I'm sure."

When the wedding talk reached a fever pitch, Romeo would zone out for a second. Not for long, just a quick dreamy wander to reset himself. Selby didn't get it at all.

"Romeo!" she'd say, clapping her hands together with a loud crack to jolt him out of it.

Have I mentioned that I hated her?

Because holy crap, did I ever.

I prayed for bad things to happen to her. Terrible things. When they didn't, I prayed for them to happen to Romeo. When that didn't work either, I prayed for them to happen to me.

It didn't help. Time marched on. Days blended into nights and cherries ripened on trees. I woke at two in the morning on the day of their wedding. I found myself sitting bolt upright in the dark, sweating, clutching at my throat and chest, fighting for breath.

It was a blue-sky day. Not too hot and not too cold. Selby looked resplendent in a white tea-length dress. She'd told me about it in confidence before the wedding, so I knew not to expect a floor-length gown. She said it was meant to be playful, to remind Romeo of the sundress she'd been wearing the day they met. She wore white gloves and a pearl choker, and overall, much as I hate to admit it, she gave Audry Hepburn a run for her money in the style stakes .

Romeo was heartbreakingly handsome in his suit and completely wrong at the same time. His hair was neat as a pin, which made me feel violent. His shirt was so starched it stayed up when he lifted his arms, making him look like he was wearing a straight jacket.

I felt like I was walking through quicksand.

"Are you drunk?" my dad asked twice.

"Absolutely not," I replied, offended by the suggestion, though I was indeed very drunk.

"Are you okay?" asked Lexi and my mom, taking turns studying my face and then casting furtive glances at each other.

"Of course," I replied, a little more unhinged each time. "Romeo's getting married today. It's a happy day!"

Inside, I broke into pieces. Tiny pieces that shattered and splintered. So many pieces that even then, even on that terrible, hazy day when nothing made sense, I knew I'd never be the same again. By some miracle, I made it through the ceremony, the photos, and the canapés on the pristine lawns of the Alabaster Country Club. I even survived the doves and the fucking butterflies.

I watched as Romeo picked rose petals out of Selby's hair, and I broke all over again. She ran her hands over his chest, straightening his shirt and tie, touching him like he was hers, and I broke more .

Selby had very clear ideas about wedding décor and no trouble communicating them. The Country Club ballroom had been done up to meet her exacting standards. There were flowers and candles on every surface that could tolerate having flowers and candles on them. Hell, there were some flowers and candles on surfaces that didn't look like they could tolerate it. Miles and miles of fairy lights had been strung up, and believe me, I really do mean miles of the things. They met at a single point in the center of the towering ceiling and fanned out to give the illusion that we were in a wonderland tent—Selby's words, not mine. Everyone loved it. I heard lots of people commenting on it.

To me, it was pure horror circus.

My speech went okay. I have no memory of what I said, just that no one looked shocked or appalled, and Selby didn't have me thrown out, so my filter must have held out. Romeo spoke well. He was nervous, of course. His voice was hoarse and softer than usual, but he spoke well. Poetic, almost. He said some things about Selby that made bile rise in my throat, but it wasn't until he started talking about Sal that the salt really started to burn. By the time he raised his glass, tears tracked down my face.

Fortunately, I wasn't the only one. Everyone who'd known Sally had loved her. There was hardly a dry eye in the place. Selby looked at the ceiling during Romeo's speech and dabbed at her eyes with a lace napkin I suspected had been bought for that very purpose.

I sat still, like a statue, until the dancing started. When most people were on their feet and the lights were low, I got to my feet and staggered out of the venue. I turned to look back when I got to the door, though I knew full well I shouldn't. I couldn't help it. I had a sickness, and even then, I believed Romeo was the cure. He was sitting back in his seat, watching me with a hard expression I'd never seen before.

Fuck him.

I made it to the parking lot, waves of nausea rising and getting stuck in my throat. It was a still night and it had rained while we were inside. The tarmac was wet and smelled like damp leaves, dark nights, and disaster. I'd parked near the exit, a wise decision, as I'd never been more desperate to leave anywhere. My car was packed to the rafters, boxes on the back seat and clothes that didn't fit into luggage stuffed into black trash bags. The fa?ade of the Country Club cast long shadows that bent and distorted across the hood. I struggled with my key, hands numb and trembling so badly I couldn't make it unlock.

"Where do you think you're going?" Romeo stepped out of the shadows, his face that of a stranger .

"You know where I'm going." I'd been offered an internship at a well-known firm in Lower Manhattan. I'd mentioned it to him at least ten times in the run-up to the wedding. "New York."

His mouth opened and shut several times and his eyes changed from thunder to something that looked disoriented and almost vacant. Disbelief, that's what it was. The first murmurs of rage whispered my name.

"New York?" He said it as if it was a made-up place. A fictional place in one of the stories he used to tell me back when we rode dragons and I still believed in happy endings. "But, but…"

"Yes, Romeo. New York. New fucking York. I got a job there, and per the multiple conversations we've had on the topic, I'm going. I'm leaving Alabaster. Moving."

"But, but…you can't go…"

"Oh no?" My fury was fire, burning so brightly it turned the finely ground pieces of me from liquid to clear glass. "And why's that?"

"Wha— I mean, how—" His face was a picture of confusion. Brows raised, mouth forming a near-perfect O . Usually, when I saw that face on him, I rushed in. I charged in to help him, to save him. To protect him. That night, I saw it and wanted to put my fist through something. "Y-you can' t go…" he whispered, "'cause we said we'd go together."

Together?

My mind whited out for a second and then came back online in an even worse state than before. "Together!?" I all but yelled. "To-fucking-gether, Romeo? You just got married ."

My fists clenched so hard that my nails dug into my palms. I wanted, no, I needed, to break something. A window. A wall. A solid slab of concrete. I didn't care what.

"I know that," he replied angrily. "What I don't know is why you're going now, like this. I thought you'd wait until the end of summer. It's weeks away. It's my wedding day, and you're the best man. You can't leave now." I was lightheaded with anger, shaking so hard I was outside myself. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you looking at me like that?" I didn't answer. "Why the hell are you angry, Jude? I'm the one that should be angry. It's supposed to be the happiest day of my life, and you're ruining it."

"Why am I angry?" I overpronounced each word, pausing between each one as my voice and chin shook with venom. "Are you kidding me? Are you kidding me right now? I'm angry because the best day of your life is the worst day of mine. I'm angry because we were lovers, Romeo. Lovers. I was yours and you were mine , and you threw me away. "

"Jesus," he said, looking around to see if anyone had heard me. He took me firmly by the upper arm and hissed, "Lower your voice! And what are you talking about? That was…that was years ago, and it wasn't…We weren't… It was just fuc—"

"Oh no. Don't you fucking dare!" I threw his hand off me and shouted, "Don't you fucking dare deny it. It wasn't just fucking, you fucking idiot, it was love . I didn't fuck you. I loved you."

I ran out of steam abruptly and breath too. Everything I'd been holding in came crashing down around me, and I made a horrible gurgling sound as the first sob tore through me. Tears poured down my face, thick, steady streams of saltwater that choked me and cut off my air.

"I loved you then, you asshole , and, and I love you now. I've loved you forever, Romeo, and you"—there was another, even deeper, more gut-wrenching sob—"you just married…someone, who, who…isn't me."

His face went blank. A splash of white paint on a freshly plastered wall. A kaleidoscopic turned. Spinning and spinning, throwing up a sea of blues that eventually swam together and landed on something lifeless and flat.

Over the years, I'd revisit that look many, many times. I'd analyze it, overthink it, and torture myself over and over with what it was and what it meant, but right then, I didn't have time for that. I had to leave. I had to get as far away from Romeo as humanly possible.

My survival depended on it.

I got as far as the Lakeview Motel, thirty miles east of Alabaster. It was thirty miles farther than I should have driven in that state. I got the key to my room, an ice bucket, and directions to the ice machine. I managed to stay upright until I'd locked the door and dropped my phone and keys on the floor.

I didn't know people could cry like that. Till it hurt. Till it hollowed you out and made you sick. Till everything burned and you didn't think you'd ever be able to stop.

I was dimly aware of my phone vibrating and pinging where it lay a few yards from me, but I couldn't move and lacked the inclination to try. I lay on the bed, curled on my side, feverish and shivering.

It was done. Romeo was married. There was nothing to say that could change anything and no one I wanted to say it to.

Eventually, I slept. I must have because I woke in the early hours, curtains still open, the blue-black sky that heralded a new day an ominous taunt instead of a promise.

The ice had melted, so I drank straight from the bucket, took a leak, and then checked my phone. There was a message from Lexi and my mom, and a slew of missed calls and messages from Romeo. There was roughly one message sent every half hour throughout the night.

Jude

Jude

Where are you?

Call me

I'm worried

I didn't know

I swear

Please call me

Jude

Jude

Tiger

Tiger

Please

Tiger, please

He must have had his phone in his hand because the second I read the first message, three dots appeared on my screen.

A message popped up and I knew what it was going to say before I opened it.

Is your window open?

It was a gut punch. A stab wound. A direct hit that damaged my internal organs.

I didn't think I could cry anymore. My eyes were swollen, bloodshot, and burning, and my lips were cracked open. I thought I'd cried myself out. I thought there was a limit to how many tears one person could produce.

I was wrong. Before I started typing my response, tears began falling again. This time, they were silent. They fell without me really noticing them. No longer a storm, soft rain now. Soft rain that set in.

I knew what I was doing. I knew what it was before I did it.

It was what happens when he's your Romeo, but you're no Juliet.

It was the end of our story.

The end of Romeo and me.

It wasn't the ending I wanted, and it sure as shit wasn't the ending I thought had been written in the stars. It was the truth though. The stark, ugly truth. It was the truth about life and love. Oaths can be broken. Vows and promises too.

They can be broken just as easily as hearts can.

My hands were unsteady, my phone heavy as I typed. My reply was short and concise. Two letters, not six.

No

I closed my eyes and hit send.

Then I went to the bathroom and threw up.