The Young and Lost Club
022
“You are the best cook ever,” Brendon declared.
I rolled my eyes, picking up his plate from the coffee table. “You only think that because you’ve been living off fast food for the past couple of months,” I reminded him. “Besides, that was a sandwich, it was hardly ‘cooking’.”
“Hey,” Brendon said, grabbing me around the waist and pulling me into his lap. “It may have been a sandwich, but it was made with love, so that makes all the difference in the world.”
I smiled and kissed him quickly on the lips. “You’re a dork,” I informed him, ruffling his hair. I tried to stand up and take the plate to the kitchen, but Brendon tightened his hold on me.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He growled playfully. I let out a small shriek as he tickled my sides and then hushed me by kissing me on the mouth.
Just as a very nice make out session was underway, my cell phone rang and I quickly reached over to the side table and grabbed it. “Hello?” I said, pushing Brendon away slightly. Every phone call recently had been putting me on tilt. After a meeting with Cate and Colin Creevie last week, to discuss joining their label, Starting Point Records, our entire band had fallen in love with them. Max had been right, it was everything we wanted and more, and Cate had instantly put me at ease, being strictly professional and obviously knowing her way around the music industry. We had decided to take the next couple days to think things over on both sides, and were having a meeting tomorrow afternoon to make some final decisions. The final decisions on our end were looking like a definite yes, and the more I realized I wanted us to be signed, the more anxious I got that they would decide to back out.
“Clark,” it was Max, and I was instantly worried, because he sounded sort of odd, like he did when he was upset. “I’ve got some bad news.”
I glanced at Brendon who made a little silly face at me, and I smiled slightly. “One minute,” I mouthed and got up, walking to the kitchen. “What’s wrong?” I asked Max with trepidation.
“It’s Dad,” he said, and I felt my stomach drop.
“What’s wrong?” I repeated.
“He’s had a heart attack, I just got a call from the hospital, he had our apartment line as his emergency contact.”
I swallowed, my throat instantly dry. “Is he going to be alright?”
“The hospital said that it was still iffy. I don’t think he’s in good shape,” Max said.
I breathed out a gust of air I hadn’t realized I was holding in and clutched the counter top for support. “Oh.”
“Clark, we’ve got to go down there.” Max said hesitantly.
“No.” I said instantly. “No we don’t. We have the meeting this weekend with the label, he’s going to be fine, I don’t think…”
“He’s our father!” Max said loudly, making me wince. “Look, I don’t like what he did to us, but I’ve forgiven him. He’s in the hospital, Clark, and no one is there to be with him.”
“Then you go!” I snapped. “I don’t give a shit!” I heard Brendon come into the room, but I didn’t look at him.
“I can’t! You know that!” Max said, on the verge of yelling at me.
And that’s when I understood what Max was telling me. “Oh.” I said stupidly. “Fuck you, Max!”
“Clark, you have to go! I’ll be there on Monday, I promise, but you know I can’t miss the meeting! And you know I want you to be there too, but we can’t just leave him…I’m so sorry. You know I wouldn’t ask you if I could avoid it…”
“But…Bren is here this weekend, and…” I trailed off, almost ashamed for trying to use this as an excuse.
“Our father might be dying, okay Clark?! We have to be there! And I’ll be there as soon as I can! Just do this for me, if you can’t do this for him!” Max begged.
“Fine.” I snapped. “Fine! I’ll see you Monday.” And I hung up.
I was shaking. I may not like my father very much, but Max saying that he may be dying struck a chord deep down inside me.
I couldn’t lose another parent.
I spun around quickly in a daze.
“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Brendon asked, sounding worried.
“I’ve got to go…” I said vaguely, rushing from the kitchen to my bedroom. I yanked out the old suitcase I had under my bed and began throwing clothes haphazardly onto my bed.
Brendon followed me. “Clark!” He said, taking hold of my arm to prevent me from throwing another fistful of clothes. “Clark, what just happened? What are you doing?”
“I have to go to Maryland. My dad had a heart attack.”
“Oh my God,” he said. “I’m so sorry, is he going to be okay?” He pulled me into a hug, but I didn’t respond to it. I was thinking a million thoughts a minute, Brendon was not high on the priority list at the moment.
“I don’t know.” I said in that same flat voice. “Max needs me to go be with him, so he won’t be alone.”
“But…what about the meeting?” He asked hesitantly. “Couldn’t like…your mom, or someone-“
“My mom is dead.” I snapped, without even thinking. “There is no one else.”
Brendon’s arms fell off from around my waist, and I realized the impact of what I’d said. It was enough to briefly snap me back to reality. I had never once, not in the nearly 6 months we’d been dating, told him about my Mom.
Brendon did not look happy. “When did your Mom die?” He asked slowly.
I started chewing on my lip. “When I was seventeen.”
Brendon turned around and for a second I thought he was going to leave, he went to the closet and pulled out his duffel bag and began piling all his clothes that he had just taken out back inside.
“What are you doing? Are you…leaving?” I whispered.
“No.” he said shortly, not looking at me. “I’m coming with you. It seems that you have some talking to do.”
|||
We didn’t speak for a long time, we finished packing in silence, picked up the car from the lot in silence and drove out of the city in silence. The guilt and panic was pressing down on me, and so, I was the first one to break. “Brendon,” I said quietly, throwing him a quick glance. He was staring out the window, his elbow resting on the edge of the windowsill, his chin in his hand. “Brendon, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you about my mom. I should have. It’s just hard to talk about, it’s still really, really difficult for me. Please don’t be mad, please.”
Brendon just shrugged, and the gesture felt cold. “You should have told me. I mean, are you not comfortable enough to tell me about something big like that? What else haven’t you told me?” He said flatly.
I swallowed, keeping my eyes on the highway in front of me. “I’m just not good at opening up to people…”
“Then maybe you should practice,” he said coolly, the edge in his voice was harsh. “How the fuck am I supposed to trust you? I’ve told you everything! I've told you everything about me and I don’t know you at all, do I? I don’t know what the fuck goes in that head of yours.”
“Don’t say that,” I said quietly.
“Why not? It’s true! I’m starting to think you like being mysterious and dark and jaded. I mean Jesus Christ, Clark, what more do I have to do to prove that I won’t judge you and leave you?”
I bit my lip, trying to bat away tears, when I saw an exit for a rest station on the side of the highway, so I made a sharp turn and pulled into a parking space. “Alright,” I said, throwing the car into park and yanking the keys out of the ignition. “Maybe I do need practice.” I took a deep breath, I didn’t know where to begin, so I just started talking. “So here is the truth. The last friend I made was Taylor back in 7th grade. That was before my Mom died. I didn’t have secrets back then, I wasn’t messed up then, so it was easy. I’m no good at opening up to people because I’ve never had to before. Taylor, Max, even Brian, they know all my secrets, and everyone else is at a distance. I’m sorry if I hurt you, it’s not something I’m doing intentionally, I’ve just been, like you said, out of practice.”
Brendon said nothing as I sat there trying to figure out how to talk about something I had never talked about before.
“My Mom was my best friend.” I said eventually. “I idolized her, I wanted to be just like her. She was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was fifteen, and for two years, I went through hell with her. I skipped school to go be with her during her chemo treatments. We had so much hope at first, all of us. But they kept finding more, and she wasn’t responding to treatment, and it became such a nightmare, this spiral downward where no one could do anything to stop it. It was horrible, seeing the person I loved the most sick, and…dying. I knew she was dying. I kept trying to hope and hold on to something that would make her okay, and…and…eventually they told us that there was nothing they could do,” I was crying slightly, keeping a firm grip on the steering wheel, and I could feel Brendon’s eyes boring a hole into my face, but I ignored him. “And I still kept trying to hope, like that they were wrong, that they made a mistake. I still tried to hope even when she died, and it was so pointless…and I was so…so angry. I’m still angry because she shouldn’t have died, she should have never had to suffer like that.”
“And I hate my dad. I really, really hate him, and I know that probably makes me awful, but I don’t care. When Mom was really sick, he started having an affair with one of his co-workers, and it was this huge scandal for my town. Everyone knew our business, and Dad just didn’t care. He didn’t give a shit about me, or Max or my Mom. He went to work early, he came back home past midnight, or not at all. And Mom was just so sweet about the whole thing…and Max and I both just wanted to kill him for it. Do you know what that’s like?
“And after the funeral, Max and I moved out, and I just felt like…I was so angry, I just wanted to escape from it, I just wanted to kill this guilt and anger in me. I…I did stuff I’m really not proud of, like drugs, and sleeping with random guys, and fuck, I don’t even remember all the stuff and I hate myself for it, I honestly do. And I don’t know how to say it and I don’t want to say it because if I do…if I do it makes it real and honestly I don’t think I want it to be real. No one knows. No one has ever cared enough to know, and I guess the truth is is that I am ashamed. And I have such…anger in me, and sometimes I wake up and I’m scared. Okay? I am scared, and I hate myself and I hate my father, and I hate my family, and sometimes I don’t think I’ll ever be able to feel anything other than hate. And you…you sitting there, judging me, thinking that I kept this from you for some fucking selfish reason, that I enjoy being some mystery to you when the truth is I’d rather be anyone else in the world. Is that enough for you?” I was yelling now and I didn’t know why. I was angry at him for being angry at me over this. I was angry I never told him and now I had to do it like this, caught rather than confessing. “Do you want me to confess more? Do you want me to just cut myself open so you can see everything inside? Do you want to see every dark corner of my mind so that you can finally say you know me? ”
I couldn’t even look at him. He said nothing.
“Fuck you,” I whispered. I wiped up my tears quickly and put the keys back in the ignition, bringing the engine to life again.
Brendon silently reached over and grabbed my hand, making me look at him. He looked so sad, his eyes were actually filled with tears, and I realized, with a jolt, that I had never seen Brendon cry before. “I am so sorry,” he whispered, and the sincerity in his words made me start to cry again too. He quickly unbuckled his seat belt, and then undid mine, and pulled me into his lap with some difficulty, hugging me tightly to him. “I am so, so, sorry.”
And that’s when I said the part that was weighing most on my mind: “I can’t lose my Dad too,” I whispered, clinging onto him like he was the only thing keeping me together. “I can’t. What would I do, Brendon? I can’t lose him.”
“I know,” he said back quietly, his own tears wetting the shoulder of my shirt. We stayed like that for a long time, just hugging one another, and crying; Brendon kept apologizing and so did I. My anger had melted though. It had melted the second I had looked over at him.
I leaned back finally so I could see his face, which had tear stains and his eyes were puffy. “Why are you crying?” I asked softly, kissing the tear stains on his cheeks. “Please don’t cry, I’m sorry, I’m scared Brendon. I didn’t mean to be cruel.”
“Cruel?” He said, his voice breaking. “No, I shouldn’t have said what I said. I shouldn’t have assumed…”
“Anyone would have in your position,” I said quietly. And then suddenly, I was crying again, hard, wracking sobs through my body.
“No, no, Clark, sweetheart, don’t…” he soothed.
“I can’t lose you either, Bren,” I said between sobs. “I’m such an awful person and you are so good, and now you know exactly what I am…”
Brendon shook his head, and placed his hands on my neck. “An awful person? You are not an awful person, Clark. You are an amazing, strong, smart girl who has been put through horrible circumstances. You are trying to cope, there is no fault in that.”
“I’ve made so many mistakes,” I cried.
“And who hasn’t, Clark?” He said. “I don’t care, I’ve never cared. The first time I saw you…God, do you even know what you are? I took one look at you and fell for you. You have saved me, Clark, you have shown me that being with someone doesn’t have to be torture, that someone actually likes me for who I am. You focus so much on what you hate about yourself you don’t even realize how wonderful you are. I…I just want to be here for you. I’m not lying when I say I want to know everything about you. I want to be here for you, I want to be the person you come to when you wake up scared. ”
I knew, at that exact moment, there was no turning back. I loved him. I was in love with him. I loved him more than I had ever loved someone in my life.
I swallowed, looking at him in awe. “Do you remember that night, the night we were on the bench and you were telling me to give you a chance?”
He nodded.
“That was the smartest risk I ever took in my life.” I whispered.
Brendon looked like he was going to cry again, but before I could fully process this, he wiped the tears off my face with his thumbs and kissed me. It was gentle and loving and it felt safe.
And seeing as I was going ahead and admitting all my secrets, I decided to drop another: “You’re one of the most important people in my life, Brendon. I care about you more than myself sometimes.”
And this time, he couldn’t hold back his blinding smile as he said, “I feel the same way.”
|||
As soon as we passed the state line into Maryland, I was finding it harder to breathe. Coming home was not an easy thing. I hadn’t been home for maybe a year and a half, almost two years. I had managed to convince Max to come down both years on Mom’s death anniversary without me, saying I was busy at work, or other thinly veiled excuses.
The truth was, I didn’t want to come back. I left, and that was hard enough. Why come back to the damn state when I was trying desperately to sever all ties?
It was funny though, despite the time that had passed, and my determination to forget Maryland, that I knew exactly how to navigate to my town without once glancing at Google Maps.
It was weird. Weird to drive past all these places that I had grown up in. Because I was nervous, I acted as a tour guide to Brendon, a steady stream of commentary: that’s the high school I went to, that’s Jake Wesley’s house where Max and I used to party, that’s the grocery store Taylor and I once got kicked out of for attempting to bowl with a watermelon and a couple liters of soda, that’s the park my dad took us to.
It wasn’t until I pulled into a parking space at the hospital, that I realized how much of a bad idea it was to come home.
The hospital.
So many bad memories.
So many hopes destroyed, so many battles lost here, by my family alone.
I got out of the car, my legs feeling like rubber, and stood looking at the brick building. It wasn’t a big hospital, then again my town wasn’t very big either. The more important cases were taken to Johns Hopkins over in Baltimore, my Mom had been there a couple times during her illness, but she had been here a lot too. Enough for me to know the entire layout of the building: from the ER, to the maternity ward, to the surgery wing.
“What is it?” Brendon asked, noticing my hesitation.
“My mom died here,” I said quietly.
He didn’t say anything, only grabbed my hand, entwining his fingers in mine, and stood silently beside me. I took a deep, shuddering, breath. “Okay,” I said, finally.
“Okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, and together we walked into the hospital. It looked the exact same, and it frightened me. Same place, different parent. I led him through a couple corridors (my memories of this place were as ingrained in my brain as the layout) leading him to a front desk. “Can I help you?” The nurse asked.
“I…” God this was hard. Brendon gave my hand a squeeze. “I’m here to see Jonah Abrams? I’m his daughter.”
She typed something into the computer. “He’s in room 312, they moved him out of ICU this morning.”
I breathed a sigh of relief, they wouldn’t move him out of ICU if he wasn’t doing better. “How is he doing?” I asked.
“You’ll have to speak to his doctor about that, ma’am.” She said, just like I knew she would. “Here’s a map, if you have any trouble…”
“No need.” I said, forcing the paper back to her. “I know how to get there.” She gave me a skeptical look, which I ignored, walking with Brendon to the elevator.
“That sounds better,” Brendon said, echoing my thoughts as the doors slid shut. “They wouldn’t have moved him if he wasn’t better.”
I nodded, and he kissed the side of my head. “I’m glad you’re with me,” I admitted. “I don’t think I would have even crossed the state line.”
“I can be useful sometimes,” he said sarcastically, making me laugh a little bit. He smiled. “Good, I made you laugh at least once today.”
I smiled again and stood on tiptoe, having to pull a little on his jacket collar so I could kiss him firmly on the lips.
|||
When my mother was sick, I got used to seeing her full of tubes and needles. I even got to the point where I barely even noticed them anymore, I just saw her, and it no longer hurt me.
But seeing my father looking so small and vulnerable on that hospital bed, sick and frail, full of the same tubes and needles, made my heart throb in pain. And I knew Max had been right in making me come. I should be here. Whatever he had done, he did not deserve to be sick alone. No one deserved to be sick and afraid alone.
I stood in the doorway with Brendon looking at the figure that was my father, a million thoughts a minute racing through my brain, when I realized suddenly that I still loved my father. No matter what. I may not have liked him very much, but my love for him was something innate, I was born to love him, and no matter what I said, part of me always would.
I dropped Brendon’s hand, tossed my purse in the chair next to the bed, and peeled off my coat, tossing it aside half-hazard, and strode to the edge of his bed. He looked older. How had he aged so much in the past 2 years? I picked up his hand, holding it in between my own. “Dad?” I said quietly “Dad, can you hear me?”
His eyes fluttered open and he stared at me for a moment, before they widened in shock. “Clark? CC, is that really you?”
I winced slightly at that old nickname that only my dad had called me. I would never let anyone else. “Yes, Dad, it’s me.” I said.
To my embarrassment, his eyes filled up with tears. “CC, look at you, you look so beautiful and grown-up. Oh honey, you didn’t have to come.”
I swallowed. “Of course I did Dad, you’re in the hospital. How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been better, honey, to tell the truth, but they say I’m going to be just fine.”
I felt my entire body relax at that, tension that I hadn’t known was there melting away when he said he was going to be alright. “I’m so glad to hear that, Dad. Max and I were so worried. He’s up in New York right now, we had a really important meeting this weekend and he couldn’t get out of it, but he’s coming on Monday.”
“He doesn’t have to do that,” Dad said, shifting slightly. “You kids don’t owe me a thing.”
That was another reason I couldn’t stand to be around Dad sometimes. His guilt after Mom’s death was nearly palpable, and he constantly told us we didn’t owe him anything, that he was an awful father, and so on and so on, and while Max was always telling him it wasn’t true, I never knew what to say. I didn’t want to lie to him.
Noticing the uncomfortable silence, Brendon took a small step forward, bringing himself attention from both me and my Dad. “And who’s this?”
“Oh!” I exclaimed, standing up straight and grabbing Brendon’s hand again, bringing him forward. “I’m sorry, Dad, this is my boyfriend, Brendon, Brendon this is my dad.”
Brendon held out his hand, with a smile, but my dad looked skeptical. He was all too aware of my choice in boyfriends, as was Max. Without meaning to, I sent my dad a sharp look, and he immediately stuck out his hand to shake Brendon’s. “It’s nice to meet you, sir,” Brendon said quickly. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
I bit back a smile. Brendon was nervous! He was actually nervous to meet my dad. I felt a huge rush of affection for him, as my dad said something back that I didn’t quite catch.
“Oh,” Brendon said, grabbing up my hand again. “I’m a, uh, musician.”
My dad frowned again, and I knew he was thinking that this was code for “I don’t have a job” and that Brendon was a free-loader.
“He’s being modest,” I interjected, saving Brendon from being seen in this type of light. “He’s the lead singer of the band Panic at the Disco? They’re really pretty famous.”
Dad’s face changed from concern to wonderment. “You serious? I’ve heard about you all on MTV, and stuff.”
Brendon was turning red, but I looked at Dad oddly. “Since when do you watch MTV?”
“Since I retired,” he said with a laugh. “You all did that music video with the crazy circus people.”
Brendon coughed, “Um, yes, that would be us.”
“Wow,” Dad said, looking at both of us. “How did that happen?”
Brendon laughed. “Uh, I met her when we played on Late Night with Steven Riley, she was in charge of taking care of us, and I annoyed her until she agreed to go on a date with me.”
My dad started laughing. “That sounds like CC for you,” he said, smiling widely.
This was all too weird. Standing around a hospital room, Brendon and my father smiling and getting along, and I was still torn between hating my father and loving him. “I need a drink,” I said, interrupting my dad telling some random story about a kid that liked me back in 4th grade (Jeff Gorden, asked me out, I reduced him to tears-Dad loved telling that story). “I’ll be right back,” I said, looking at Brendon who looked somewhat concerned. “Do you all need anything?”
“No,” they both said in unison, and I slowly backed out of the room.
I found a soda machine down the hall, where it had always been, and bought a bottle of water, taking a couple sips as I looked out the window, trying to calm myself, slowly letting everything sink in: I was in Maryland, seeing my father, who was going to be okay, and meanwhile, I was in love with my wonderful and fantastic boyfriend, who sat with me in a car and cried, and told me he wanted to be the one for me.
It was just a lot to take in for one day.
I took a deep breath and walked back to the room, pausing outside the door when I heard my name.
“…wasn’t always like this. She used to be so different…so carefree, she used to smile more, used to laugh more. She’s always been blunt, to a fault, but it used to have more…I don’t know, humor behind it I guess.” Dad paused, and Brendon stayed silent. “She’s had a rough past, I don’t know how much she’s told you, but I can’t blame her for leaving and wanting to start over. I’m just thankful it was with Max and not some boyfriend of hers. I just…” he trailed off again. “Is she happy? Is she alright?” He laughed nervously. “I don’t even know my daughter anymore.”
“She’s wonderful,” Brendon said, so quietly, I had to lean closer to the door to hear. “I mean, she’s stubborn and crass, but that’s what I like about her, you know? She’s not afraid to speak her mind. And she’s hilarious, and so incredibly smart it’s scary sometimes. But she also has this really…soft side. She’s sweet and caring, even if she doesn’t want you to know. And I think she’s happy. I mean, those guys…you know, Max, and Taylor and Brian all care about her so much. They won’t let anything happen to her.”
“And she has you,” my Dad said.
“And she has me,” Brendon said.
|||
Brendon and I didn’t stay much longer. Visiting hours were over for the day, although I refused to leave until I had spoken to Dad’s doctor. He wasn’t much help; talking in words I didn’t understand, refusing to give clear cut answers, vague things like “needs more tests” and “lots of rest” and “keep an eye on him”.
I had been planning on Brendon and I getting a hotel, but Dad insisted we stay at the house. He guilted me into it by saying he just wanted to make sure the house was alright because he hadn’t been able to properly check things over before he went to the hospital and that he didn’t know when he was going to be let out.
We drove through McDonald's and got dinner, and I called Max to give him an update before we started back to the house. The house was an old farmhouse that my parents had renovated before Max and I were born. It was a little small, but it was homely, and because of it, I always liked old houses better than cookie cutter development houses. Old glass windows, creaky staircases, wood flooring, houses weren’t made like that anymore.
It was exactly like I remembered it. I don’t know what I was expecting, maybe the furniture moved, or something, but every detail of the house was just like I had remembered. I stood in the foyer looking around, feeling overwhelmed and slightly depressed; being back here…it was difficult and suffocating. “Hey,” Brendon said, walking in behind me with our bags. “Let’s just go to bed, alright?”
I nodded with difficulty, and grabbed his hand. “My room is up here,” I said, leading him up the stairs. My parents and I shared the second floor, while Max had gotten the attic (something I was incredibly jealous of, but he was the older sibling). And again, as I opened the door, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Dad could have very easily packed up what I had left behind, changed the room to something he could have actually used, but there it was, looking completely untouched. The same black and white toile wallpaper, the same ice blue colored quilt on the bed, the same white washed furniture. It was like stepping into a time capsule of the 16 year old self. Brendon smiled, “This looks just like the room I would have thought you’d have,” he said.
I laughed lightly and headed over to my desk, where a ton of pictures were on the wall. Most were of Taylor, Brian, Max and I: us at homecoming, us graduating, the strip of photo’s Taylor and I had taken at the carnival one year. There was another one, one of my mother and I, and I had forgotten it ever existed. I was probably 15 or so, my Mom was sick and didn’t have hair, but her head was wrapped in a beautiful scarf, we were sitting together out on the back porch, our arms around each other, beaming and smiling. “That’s my mom,” I said, with some difficulty, unpinning it from the wall, and handing it to Brendon.
Brendon studied it for a moment. “She’s beautiful,” he said and I nodded in agreement. “You look just like her,” he added.
“You think?”
“Yeah,” he agreed and he started to pin it back, but I stopped him.
“I think I’m going to take this home with me,” I said quietly.
Without asking, or me even verbalizing what I needed, Brendon simply took my hand and led me to the bed and lay down with me, wrapping himself around me tightly, holding on, a silent promise that he understood now. We didn’t bother changing, we were too exhausted, mentally and physically. We just held on to each other and fell asleep.
I rolled my eyes, picking up his plate from the coffee table. “You only think that because you’ve been living off fast food for the past couple of months,” I reminded him. “Besides, that was a sandwich, it was hardly ‘cooking’.”
“Hey,” Brendon said, grabbing me around the waist and pulling me into his lap. “It may have been a sandwich, but it was made with love, so that makes all the difference in the world.”
I smiled and kissed him quickly on the lips. “You’re a dork,” I informed him, ruffling his hair. I tried to stand up and take the plate to the kitchen, but Brendon tightened his hold on me.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He growled playfully. I let out a small shriek as he tickled my sides and then hushed me by kissing me on the mouth.
Just as a very nice make out session was underway, my cell phone rang and I quickly reached over to the side table and grabbed it. “Hello?” I said, pushing Brendon away slightly. Every phone call recently had been putting me on tilt. After a meeting with Cate and Colin Creevie last week, to discuss joining their label, Starting Point Records, our entire band had fallen in love with them. Max had been right, it was everything we wanted and more, and Cate had instantly put me at ease, being strictly professional and obviously knowing her way around the music industry. We had decided to take the next couple days to think things over on both sides, and were having a meeting tomorrow afternoon to make some final decisions. The final decisions on our end were looking like a definite yes, and the more I realized I wanted us to be signed, the more anxious I got that they would decide to back out.
“Clark,” it was Max, and I was instantly worried, because he sounded sort of odd, like he did when he was upset. “I’ve got some bad news.”
I glanced at Brendon who made a little silly face at me, and I smiled slightly. “One minute,” I mouthed and got up, walking to the kitchen. “What’s wrong?” I asked Max with trepidation.
“It’s Dad,” he said, and I felt my stomach drop.
“What’s wrong?” I repeated.
“He’s had a heart attack, I just got a call from the hospital, he had our apartment line as his emergency contact.”
I swallowed, my throat instantly dry. “Is he going to be alright?”
“The hospital said that it was still iffy. I don’t think he’s in good shape,” Max said.
I breathed out a gust of air I hadn’t realized I was holding in and clutched the counter top for support. “Oh.”
“Clark, we’ve got to go down there.” Max said hesitantly.
“No.” I said instantly. “No we don’t. We have the meeting this weekend with the label, he’s going to be fine, I don’t think…”
“He’s our father!” Max said loudly, making me wince. “Look, I don’t like what he did to us, but I’ve forgiven him. He’s in the hospital, Clark, and no one is there to be with him.”
“Then you go!” I snapped. “I don’t give a shit!” I heard Brendon come into the room, but I didn’t look at him.
“I can’t! You know that!” Max said, on the verge of yelling at me.
And that’s when I understood what Max was telling me. “Oh.” I said stupidly. “Fuck you, Max!”
“Clark, you have to go! I’ll be there on Monday, I promise, but you know I can’t miss the meeting! And you know I want you to be there too, but we can’t just leave him…I’m so sorry. You know I wouldn’t ask you if I could avoid it…”
“But…Bren is here this weekend, and…” I trailed off, almost ashamed for trying to use this as an excuse.
“Our father might be dying, okay Clark?! We have to be there! And I’ll be there as soon as I can! Just do this for me, if you can’t do this for him!” Max begged.
“Fine.” I snapped. “Fine! I’ll see you Monday.” And I hung up.
I was shaking. I may not like my father very much, but Max saying that he may be dying struck a chord deep down inside me.
I couldn’t lose another parent.
I spun around quickly in a daze.
“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Brendon asked, sounding worried.
“I’ve got to go…” I said vaguely, rushing from the kitchen to my bedroom. I yanked out the old suitcase I had under my bed and began throwing clothes haphazardly onto my bed.
Brendon followed me. “Clark!” He said, taking hold of my arm to prevent me from throwing another fistful of clothes. “Clark, what just happened? What are you doing?”
“I have to go to Maryland. My dad had a heart attack.”
“Oh my God,” he said. “I’m so sorry, is he going to be okay?” He pulled me into a hug, but I didn’t respond to it. I was thinking a million thoughts a minute, Brendon was not high on the priority list at the moment.
“I don’t know.” I said in that same flat voice. “Max needs me to go be with him, so he won’t be alone.”
“But…what about the meeting?” He asked hesitantly. “Couldn’t like…your mom, or someone-“
“My mom is dead.” I snapped, without even thinking. “There is no one else.”
Brendon’s arms fell off from around my waist, and I realized the impact of what I’d said. It was enough to briefly snap me back to reality. I had never once, not in the nearly 6 months we’d been dating, told him about my Mom.
Brendon did not look happy. “When did your Mom die?” He asked slowly.
I started chewing on my lip. “When I was seventeen.”
Brendon turned around and for a second I thought he was going to leave, he went to the closet and pulled out his duffel bag and began piling all his clothes that he had just taken out back inside.
“What are you doing? Are you…leaving?” I whispered.
“No.” he said shortly, not looking at me. “I’m coming with you. It seems that you have some talking to do.”
|||
We didn’t speak for a long time, we finished packing in silence, picked up the car from the lot in silence and drove out of the city in silence. The guilt and panic was pressing down on me, and so, I was the first one to break. “Brendon,” I said quietly, throwing him a quick glance. He was staring out the window, his elbow resting on the edge of the windowsill, his chin in his hand. “Brendon, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you about my mom. I should have. It’s just hard to talk about, it’s still really, really difficult for me. Please don’t be mad, please.”
Brendon just shrugged, and the gesture felt cold. “You should have told me. I mean, are you not comfortable enough to tell me about something big like that? What else haven’t you told me?” He said flatly.
I swallowed, keeping my eyes on the highway in front of me. “I’m just not good at opening up to people…”
“Then maybe you should practice,” he said coolly, the edge in his voice was harsh. “How the fuck am I supposed to trust you? I’ve told you everything! I've told you everything about me and I don’t know you at all, do I? I don’t know what the fuck goes in that head of yours.”
“Don’t say that,” I said quietly.
“Why not? It’s true! I’m starting to think you like being mysterious and dark and jaded. I mean Jesus Christ, Clark, what more do I have to do to prove that I won’t judge you and leave you?”
I bit my lip, trying to bat away tears, when I saw an exit for a rest station on the side of the highway, so I made a sharp turn and pulled into a parking space. “Alright,” I said, throwing the car into park and yanking the keys out of the ignition. “Maybe I do need practice.” I took a deep breath, I didn’t know where to begin, so I just started talking. “So here is the truth. The last friend I made was Taylor back in 7th grade. That was before my Mom died. I didn’t have secrets back then, I wasn’t messed up then, so it was easy. I’m no good at opening up to people because I’ve never had to before. Taylor, Max, even Brian, they know all my secrets, and everyone else is at a distance. I’m sorry if I hurt you, it’s not something I’m doing intentionally, I’ve just been, like you said, out of practice.”
Brendon said nothing as I sat there trying to figure out how to talk about something I had never talked about before.
“My Mom was my best friend.” I said eventually. “I idolized her, I wanted to be just like her. She was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was fifteen, and for two years, I went through hell with her. I skipped school to go be with her during her chemo treatments. We had so much hope at first, all of us. But they kept finding more, and she wasn’t responding to treatment, and it became such a nightmare, this spiral downward where no one could do anything to stop it. It was horrible, seeing the person I loved the most sick, and…dying. I knew she was dying. I kept trying to hope and hold on to something that would make her okay, and…and…eventually they told us that there was nothing they could do,” I was crying slightly, keeping a firm grip on the steering wheel, and I could feel Brendon’s eyes boring a hole into my face, but I ignored him. “And I still kept trying to hope, like that they were wrong, that they made a mistake. I still tried to hope even when she died, and it was so pointless…and I was so…so angry. I’m still angry because she shouldn’t have died, she should have never had to suffer like that.”
“And I hate my dad. I really, really hate him, and I know that probably makes me awful, but I don’t care. When Mom was really sick, he started having an affair with one of his co-workers, and it was this huge scandal for my town. Everyone knew our business, and Dad just didn’t care. He didn’t give a shit about me, or Max or my Mom. He went to work early, he came back home past midnight, or not at all. And Mom was just so sweet about the whole thing…and Max and I both just wanted to kill him for it. Do you know what that’s like?
“And after the funeral, Max and I moved out, and I just felt like…I was so angry, I just wanted to escape from it, I just wanted to kill this guilt and anger in me. I…I did stuff I’m really not proud of, like drugs, and sleeping with random guys, and fuck, I don’t even remember all the stuff and I hate myself for it, I honestly do. And I don’t know how to say it and I don’t want to say it because if I do…if I do it makes it real and honestly I don’t think I want it to be real. No one knows. No one has ever cared enough to know, and I guess the truth is is that I am ashamed. And I have such…anger in me, and sometimes I wake up and I’m scared. Okay? I am scared, and I hate myself and I hate my father, and I hate my family, and sometimes I don’t think I’ll ever be able to feel anything other than hate. And you…you sitting there, judging me, thinking that I kept this from you for some fucking selfish reason, that I enjoy being some mystery to you when the truth is I’d rather be anyone else in the world. Is that enough for you?” I was yelling now and I didn’t know why. I was angry at him for being angry at me over this. I was angry I never told him and now I had to do it like this, caught rather than confessing. “Do you want me to confess more? Do you want me to just cut myself open so you can see everything inside? Do you want to see every dark corner of my mind so that you can finally say you know me? ”
I couldn’t even look at him. He said nothing.
“Fuck you,” I whispered. I wiped up my tears quickly and put the keys back in the ignition, bringing the engine to life again.
Brendon silently reached over and grabbed my hand, making me look at him. He looked so sad, his eyes were actually filled with tears, and I realized, with a jolt, that I had never seen Brendon cry before. “I am so sorry,” he whispered, and the sincerity in his words made me start to cry again too. He quickly unbuckled his seat belt, and then undid mine, and pulled me into his lap with some difficulty, hugging me tightly to him. “I am so, so, sorry.”
And that’s when I said the part that was weighing most on my mind: “I can’t lose my Dad too,” I whispered, clinging onto him like he was the only thing keeping me together. “I can’t. What would I do, Brendon? I can’t lose him.”
“I know,” he said back quietly, his own tears wetting the shoulder of my shirt. We stayed like that for a long time, just hugging one another, and crying; Brendon kept apologizing and so did I. My anger had melted though. It had melted the second I had looked over at him.
I leaned back finally so I could see his face, which had tear stains and his eyes were puffy. “Why are you crying?” I asked softly, kissing the tear stains on his cheeks. “Please don’t cry, I’m sorry, I’m scared Brendon. I didn’t mean to be cruel.”
“Cruel?” He said, his voice breaking. “No, I shouldn’t have said what I said. I shouldn’t have assumed…”
“Anyone would have in your position,” I said quietly. And then suddenly, I was crying again, hard, wracking sobs through my body.
“No, no, Clark, sweetheart, don’t…” he soothed.
“I can’t lose you either, Bren,” I said between sobs. “I’m such an awful person and you are so good, and now you know exactly what I am…”
Brendon shook his head, and placed his hands on my neck. “An awful person? You are not an awful person, Clark. You are an amazing, strong, smart girl who has been put through horrible circumstances. You are trying to cope, there is no fault in that.”
“I’ve made so many mistakes,” I cried.
“And who hasn’t, Clark?” He said. “I don’t care, I’ve never cared. The first time I saw you…God, do you even know what you are? I took one look at you and fell for you. You have saved me, Clark, you have shown me that being with someone doesn’t have to be torture, that someone actually likes me for who I am. You focus so much on what you hate about yourself you don’t even realize how wonderful you are. I…I just want to be here for you. I’m not lying when I say I want to know everything about you. I want to be here for you, I want to be the person you come to when you wake up scared. ”
I knew, at that exact moment, there was no turning back. I loved him. I was in love with him. I loved him more than I had ever loved someone in my life.
I swallowed, looking at him in awe. “Do you remember that night, the night we were on the bench and you were telling me to give you a chance?”
He nodded.
“That was the smartest risk I ever took in my life.” I whispered.
Brendon looked like he was going to cry again, but before I could fully process this, he wiped the tears off my face with his thumbs and kissed me. It was gentle and loving and it felt safe.
And seeing as I was going ahead and admitting all my secrets, I decided to drop another: “You’re one of the most important people in my life, Brendon. I care about you more than myself sometimes.”
And this time, he couldn’t hold back his blinding smile as he said, “I feel the same way.”
|||
As soon as we passed the state line into Maryland, I was finding it harder to breathe. Coming home was not an easy thing. I hadn’t been home for maybe a year and a half, almost two years. I had managed to convince Max to come down both years on Mom’s death anniversary without me, saying I was busy at work, or other thinly veiled excuses.
The truth was, I didn’t want to come back. I left, and that was hard enough. Why come back to the damn state when I was trying desperately to sever all ties?
It was funny though, despite the time that had passed, and my determination to forget Maryland, that I knew exactly how to navigate to my town without once glancing at Google Maps.
It was weird. Weird to drive past all these places that I had grown up in. Because I was nervous, I acted as a tour guide to Brendon, a steady stream of commentary: that’s the high school I went to, that’s Jake Wesley’s house where Max and I used to party, that’s the grocery store Taylor and I once got kicked out of for attempting to bowl with a watermelon and a couple liters of soda, that’s the park my dad took us to.
It wasn’t until I pulled into a parking space at the hospital, that I realized how much of a bad idea it was to come home.
The hospital.
So many bad memories.
So many hopes destroyed, so many battles lost here, by my family alone.
I got out of the car, my legs feeling like rubber, and stood looking at the brick building. It wasn’t a big hospital, then again my town wasn’t very big either. The more important cases were taken to Johns Hopkins over in Baltimore, my Mom had been there a couple times during her illness, but she had been here a lot too. Enough for me to know the entire layout of the building: from the ER, to the maternity ward, to the surgery wing.
“What is it?” Brendon asked, noticing my hesitation.
“My mom died here,” I said quietly.
He didn’t say anything, only grabbed my hand, entwining his fingers in mine, and stood silently beside me. I took a deep, shuddering, breath. “Okay,” I said, finally.
“Okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, and together we walked into the hospital. It looked the exact same, and it frightened me. Same place, different parent. I led him through a couple corridors (my memories of this place were as ingrained in my brain as the layout) leading him to a front desk. “Can I help you?” The nurse asked.
“I…” God this was hard. Brendon gave my hand a squeeze. “I’m here to see Jonah Abrams? I’m his daughter.”
She typed something into the computer. “He’s in room 312, they moved him out of ICU this morning.”
I breathed a sigh of relief, they wouldn’t move him out of ICU if he wasn’t doing better. “How is he doing?” I asked.
“You’ll have to speak to his doctor about that, ma’am.” She said, just like I knew she would. “Here’s a map, if you have any trouble…”
“No need.” I said, forcing the paper back to her. “I know how to get there.” She gave me a skeptical look, which I ignored, walking with Brendon to the elevator.
“That sounds better,” Brendon said, echoing my thoughts as the doors slid shut. “They wouldn’t have moved him if he wasn’t better.”
I nodded, and he kissed the side of my head. “I’m glad you’re with me,” I admitted. “I don’t think I would have even crossed the state line.”
“I can be useful sometimes,” he said sarcastically, making me laugh a little bit. He smiled. “Good, I made you laugh at least once today.”
I smiled again and stood on tiptoe, having to pull a little on his jacket collar so I could kiss him firmly on the lips.
|||
When my mother was sick, I got used to seeing her full of tubes and needles. I even got to the point where I barely even noticed them anymore, I just saw her, and it no longer hurt me.
But seeing my father looking so small and vulnerable on that hospital bed, sick and frail, full of the same tubes and needles, made my heart throb in pain. And I knew Max had been right in making me come. I should be here. Whatever he had done, he did not deserve to be sick alone. No one deserved to be sick and afraid alone.
I stood in the doorway with Brendon looking at the figure that was my father, a million thoughts a minute racing through my brain, when I realized suddenly that I still loved my father. No matter what. I may not have liked him very much, but my love for him was something innate, I was born to love him, and no matter what I said, part of me always would.
I dropped Brendon’s hand, tossed my purse in the chair next to the bed, and peeled off my coat, tossing it aside half-hazard, and strode to the edge of his bed. He looked older. How had he aged so much in the past 2 years? I picked up his hand, holding it in between my own. “Dad?” I said quietly “Dad, can you hear me?”
His eyes fluttered open and he stared at me for a moment, before they widened in shock. “Clark? CC, is that really you?”
I winced slightly at that old nickname that only my dad had called me. I would never let anyone else. “Yes, Dad, it’s me.” I said.
To my embarrassment, his eyes filled up with tears. “CC, look at you, you look so beautiful and grown-up. Oh honey, you didn’t have to come.”
I swallowed. “Of course I did Dad, you’re in the hospital. How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been better, honey, to tell the truth, but they say I’m going to be just fine.”
I felt my entire body relax at that, tension that I hadn’t known was there melting away when he said he was going to be alright. “I’m so glad to hear that, Dad. Max and I were so worried. He’s up in New York right now, we had a really important meeting this weekend and he couldn’t get out of it, but he’s coming on Monday.”
“He doesn’t have to do that,” Dad said, shifting slightly. “You kids don’t owe me a thing.”
That was another reason I couldn’t stand to be around Dad sometimes. His guilt after Mom’s death was nearly palpable, and he constantly told us we didn’t owe him anything, that he was an awful father, and so on and so on, and while Max was always telling him it wasn’t true, I never knew what to say. I didn’t want to lie to him.
Noticing the uncomfortable silence, Brendon took a small step forward, bringing himself attention from both me and my Dad. “And who’s this?”
“Oh!” I exclaimed, standing up straight and grabbing Brendon’s hand again, bringing him forward. “I’m sorry, Dad, this is my boyfriend, Brendon, Brendon this is my dad.”
Brendon held out his hand, with a smile, but my dad looked skeptical. He was all too aware of my choice in boyfriends, as was Max. Without meaning to, I sent my dad a sharp look, and he immediately stuck out his hand to shake Brendon’s. “It’s nice to meet you, sir,” Brendon said quickly. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
I bit back a smile. Brendon was nervous! He was actually nervous to meet my dad. I felt a huge rush of affection for him, as my dad said something back that I didn’t quite catch.
“Oh,” Brendon said, grabbing up my hand again. “I’m a, uh, musician.”
My dad frowned again, and I knew he was thinking that this was code for “I don’t have a job” and that Brendon was a free-loader.
“He’s being modest,” I interjected, saving Brendon from being seen in this type of light. “He’s the lead singer of the band Panic at the Disco? They’re really pretty famous.”
Dad’s face changed from concern to wonderment. “You serious? I’ve heard about you all on MTV, and stuff.”
Brendon was turning red, but I looked at Dad oddly. “Since when do you watch MTV?”
“Since I retired,” he said with a laugh. “You all did that music video with the crazy circus people.”
Brendon coughed, “Um, yes, that would be us.”
“Wow,” Dad said, looking at both of us. “How did that happen?”
Brendon laughed. “Uh, I met her when we played on Late Night with Steven Riley, she was in charge of taking care of us, and I annoyed her until she agreed to go on a date with me.”
My dad started laughing. “That sounds like CC for you,” he said, smiling widely.
This was all too weird. Standing around a hospital room, Brendon and my father smiling and getting along, and I was still torn between hating my father and loving him. “I need a drink,” I said, interrupting my dad telling some random story about a kid that liked me back in 4th grade (Jeff Gorden, asked me out, I reduced him to tears-Dad loved telling that story). “I’ll be right back,” I said, looking at Brendon who looked somewhat concerned. “Do you all need anything?”
“No,” they both said in unison, and I slowly backed out of the room.
I found a soda machine down the hall, where it had always been, and bought a bottle of water, taking a couple sips as I looked out the window, trying to calm myself, slowly letting everything sink in: I was in Maryland, seeing my father, who was going to be okay, and meanwhile, I was in love with my wonderful and fantastic boyfriend, who sat with me in a car and cried, and told me he wanted to be the one for me.
It was just a lot to take in for one day.
I took a deep breath and walked back to the room, pausing outside the door when I heard my name.
“…wasn’t always like this. She used to be so different…so carefree, she used to smile more, used to laugh more. She’s always been blunt, to a fault, but it used to have more…I don’t know, humor behind it I guess.” Dad paused, and Brendon stayed silent. “She’s had a rough past, I don’t know how much she’s told you, but I can’t blame her for leaving and wanting to start over. I’m just thankful it was with Max and not some boyfriend of hers. I just…” he trailed off again. “Is she happy? Is she alright?” He laughed nervously. “I don’t even know my daughter anymore.”
“She’s wonderful,” Brendon said, so quietly, I had to lean closer to the door to hear. “I mean, she’s stubborn and crass, but that’s what I like about her, you know? She’s not afraid to speak her mind. And she’s hilarious, and so incredibly smart it’s scary sometimes. But she also has this really…soft side. She’s sweet and caring, even if she doesn’t want you to know. And I think she’s happy. I mean, those guys…you know, Max, and Taylor and Brian all care about her so much. They won’t let anything happen to her.”
“And she has you,” my Dad said.
“And she has me,” Brendon said.
|||
Brendon and I didn’t stay much longer. Visiting hours were over for the day, although I refused to leave until I had spoken to Dad’s doctor. He wasn’t much help; talking in words I didn’t understand, refusing to give clear cut answers, vague things like “needs more tests” and “lots of rest” and “keep an eye on him”.
I had been planning on Brendon and I getting a hotel, but Dad insisted we stay at the house. He guilted me into it by saying he just wanted to make sure the house was alright because he hadn’t been able to properly check things over before he went to the hospital and that he didn’t know when he was going to be let out.
We drove through McDonald's and got dinner, and I called Max to give him an update before we started back to the house. The house was an old farmhouse that my parents had renovated before Max and I were born. It was a little small, but it was homely, and because of it, I always liked old houses better than cookie cutter development houses. Old glass windows, creaky staircases, wood flooring, houses weren’t made like that anymore.
It was exactly like I remembered it. I don’t know what I was expecting, maybe the furniture moved, or something, but every detail of the house was just like I had remembered. I stood in the foyer looking around, feeling overwhelmed and slightly depressed; being back here…it was difficult and suffocating. “Hey,” Brendon said, walking in behind me with our bags. “Let’s just go to bed, alright?”
I nodded with difficulty, and grabbed his hand. “My room is up here,” I said, leading him up the stairs. My parents and I shared the second floor, while Max had gotten the attic (something I was incredibly jealous of, but he was the older sibling). And again, as I opened the door, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Dad could have very easily packed up what I had left behind, changed the room to something he could have actually used, but there it was, looking completely untouched. The same black and white toile wallpaper, the same ice blue colored quilt on the bed, the same white washed furniture. It was like stepping into a time capsule of the 16 year old self. Brendon smiled, “This looks just like the room I would have thought you’d have,” he said.
I laughed lightly and headed over to my desk, where a ton of pictures were on the wall. Most were of Taylor, Brian, Max and I: us at homecoming, us graduating, the strip of photo’s Taylor and I had taken at the carnival one year. There was another one, one of my mother and I, and I had forgotten it ever existed. I was probably 15 or so, my Mom was sick and didn’t have hair, but her head was wrapped in a beautiful scarf, we were sitting together out on the back porch, our arms around each other, beaming and smiling. “That’s my mom,” I said, with some difficulty, unpinning it from the wall, and handing it to Brendon.
Brendon studied it for a moment. “She’s beautiful,” he said and I nodded in agreement. “You look just like her,” he added.
“You think?”
“Yeah,” he agreed and he started to pin it back, but I stopped him.
“I think I’m going to take this home with me,” I said quietly.
Without asking, or me even verbalizing what I needed, Brendon simply took my hand and led me to the bed and lay down with me, wrapping himself around me tightly, holding on, a silent promise that he understood now. We didn’t bother changing, we were too exhausted, mentally and physically. We just held on to each other and fell asleep.
♠ ♠ ♠
I'm really proud of this chapter. It was honestly one of the first I wrote for this story and I've loved it ever since I thought up the idea. This is a huge point for Brendon and Clark, and also its important because Clark finally admits some of her issues, the main one being that she has so much self hate for herself that she doesn't understand why anyone else would like her, outside of the people that knew her before she changed.Anyway, thank you all for the lovely comments on the last two chapters. I think this story got two marriage proposals and several people saying that this story was the reason they check in on Mibba. You have no idea how much that means to me. If I could hug you all I totally would. You all are fabulous and I love you all, even the silent readers.