Splitting Pearls

The trip should have been wonderful, but right from the beginning, things were on a downward slope. Oh, the others had a grand time, except maybe for Marcus. He knew me too well not to see the tiny, hairline cracks in my composure. Rhea, through only mild faults of her own, remained entirely oblivious. Sometimes happiness comes at a cost. If you’re the blinding, dizzying kind of happy that Rhea was, your ability to detect sorrow is diminished. Love is like beer goggles, distorting your perception so that everything looks warm and bright.

I knew, since I had been in love, once. I spent one full day of our trip tormenting myself with thoughts of what my life would be like if Marcus had never left me. I spent the next day avoiding him, since somehow my dreams during the night had almost convinced me that he was still mine. The day after that, I kept up an unbroken text conversation with Killian because honestly, I was trying to talk myself into loving him. Do you have any idea just how much simpler my life would have been, at that time, if I could have just been in love with Killian? I yearned for that.

And the day after that, I felt hollow. Every time my phone buzzed with Killian’s photo displayed on the screen, I had to hold back a wince. I threw myself into the festivities. Rhea and I did our best to keep the atmosphere in the RV fresh, since everyone was getting a little bit stir crazy. Eventually, I started ignoring Killian. I turned off my phone completely for a couple of days, figuring that I could tell him later that it had needed to be charged.

It didn’t.

I started to feel a little better after that, without the pressure to be in love with Killian hanging directly over my head like a guillotine blade. I would pay for it later, but at the time, any price seemed worth the freedom.

And so it went. The trip progressed. We made memories. Rhea and I got a couple of cheap digital cameras so that they could be passed around by the group for scrapbooking later. Of course the boys would have nothing to do with the scrapbooking itself, but they were all happy enough to snap photos of everything and nothing. Shows were played. Honestly, I didn’t pay much attention to them after the first one. It was Marcus’ fault. There was something about his stage presence that made me want to do very naughty things to him. He was just… he was just so sure of himself, and of his band. And that voice! I could never hear enough of that voice. But the wonder that I felt when watching him up there was severely dampened by the heartache. I couldn’t do it.

I started angling my merchandise table away so that I couldn’t see Marcus. If anyone noticed, no one commented. I was grateful.

Now, I’m sure that you have a lot of questions right now. Questions about why I was making myself and Marcus so miserable, for instance. Or questions about whether we saw any fireworks on the trip (we did, of course). The answer to the first isn’t so simple. Please understand something: I had spent the entirety of the past year trying to prove to everyone that I was in control of things and that I was happy. I mean, what kind of pathetic moron takes so long to pull her life back together after such a short relationship as the one I had with Marcus? But the length of the relationship says nothing about the depth of it… and let me just say, what we had ran deep. And to be honest, I always held on to the hope that I could have him back. But now he was and it was wrong, all wrong. My life was in shambles and he was sullen and quiet around me and every time I saw him, I felt ill, physically ill. And again, I didn’t want to be that girl. You know the one-- the one who not only spends a year ostensibly pining after her ex, and then digs herself deeper into the pit of the pathetic by tossing out what little she has left of the house of cards that has become her life just to get him back.

I wouldn’t- I couldn’t- be that girl. My self image couldn’t take that kind of pressure. I mentioned my cracks, the ones in the facade I wore that looked like happiness. If I accepted the kind of pressure that leaping back to Marcus would put on me… well, those cracks would become nasty, gaping faults.

I couldn’t do it. My very self revolted against the possibility.

So I let Marcus and myself be miserable. Was that really the better choice? Who’s to really say? It seemed like the only choice at the time.

I don’t want to talk about that trip anymore. If my friendship with Rhea has taught my absolutely anything over the years, it is avoidance. No one avoids upsetting recollections better than I do except for Rhea, herself.

When we got back to town, Marcus and I didn’t say goodbye. I took my things out of the RV and wearily made my way back to Rhea’s car, which she had left outside of Cal’s parents’ house. I dropped into the passenger seat and waited for Rhea, clutching at my bag and staring blankly in front of me. I was exhausted- emotionally, mentally, and physically. And it only got worse from there.

Killian was waiting outside of the apartment that Rhea and I shared. His arms were crossed over his chest and he was doing that stupid kind of standing that was unique to him. It was meant to be intimidating, I’m sure. He loomed over me, somehow keeping the tilt of his head just right for the shadows to darken and lengthen his features menacingly.

I was very much not in the mood to deal with that.

“Killian,” I said quietly.

He frowned. “Don’t act so happy to see me,” he said. Now, this wasn’t entirely shocking; Killian had a penchant for being passive aggressive. This, though, was more than I was prepared to deal with just then.

I looked at him blankly, raising my brows. Really? He was going to snark at me? Couldn’t he see that I was a little bit miserable?

Caleb came up to us then, having lagged because he was carrying almost every piece of luggage that the three of us had brought on the road trip. He saw Killian looming over me and his expression darkened. He didn’t say anything, though. Probably he figured it wasn’t his place.

“Killian, please, can we have this conversation later?”

“I’ve been waiting for you long enough,” he said. “Waiting for you to make up your mind about me. Waiting for you to call me back. Waiting for explanations. And Florence, I don’t want to anymore. You’re attractive, Flo, but you aren’t worth it. You’re a real mess.” I gaped at him, frozen. Then Rhea wrapped an arm around me and pulled me against her side so that I was hidden from Killian. His footsteps were audible booms as he stomped away down the hallway and, ostensibly, out of my life. I didn’t even see him walk away from me.

Rhea fumbled with her keys a bit, and I took them from her even though I was hardly steadier. I let us into the apartment, dropped the duffle bag I had been carrying, and dazedly took a seat on the sofa. Caleb followed, threw his load to the ground, and headed down the hall. Before he went, I saw him exchange a glance with Rhea.

Great, I thought. Now I was going to be coddled. Caleb was probably trying to give us some privacy. How embarrassing. I mean, it wasn’t like I was falling apart here.

Wait.

I wasn’t falling apart. What, was I in shock? Almost certainly. But then, I didn’t really feel like my emotional state would have been worse if I had seen this coming.

I should have seen it coming, by the way. Killian, he had always been annoyingly insecure. Of course my ignoring him had driven him away. Probably he had taken it personally.

Maybe it was personal.

I stared blankly around, trying to wrap my head around my thoughts as they pulled me in a hundred directions. No matter which direction I followed, I couldn’t find my way toward feeling regret over this breakup. Mostly I felt vaguely inconvenienced. Rhea squeezed my hand, which was when I noticed that she had been holding it.

"He called me Florence," I said. I sounded shell-shocked.

“Sorry, Flo,” she said quietly.

"He called me Florence!" I repeated, and cracked up. Emphasis on "crack." That facade I had so carefully fueled? It shattered into pieces.

Ironic that it should happen when I was laughing. Rhea pulled me in tighter. "That guy never did learn to follow directions."

I shrugged. “Ice cream?” It was more habit than necessity. No need to upset Rhea by making her think that I wasn’t taking the break-up the way I should. Besides, did anyone ever need a reason to eat ice cream?

“Of course! I think I have some in the freezer.” She bolted out of the room, her long ponytail swishing after her. I flopped back against the couch and listened as Rhea attacked our kitchen. She traded grace and delicacy for speed. The drawers squealed their alarm as she threw them open. Then there was the sound of clanging silverware and clashing dishes. Next was a thud that I believed was the freezer door being thrown into the wall.

“Grab three spoons!” I called. The only response was the sound of a door opening down the hallway. I shut my eyes and enjoyed the sounds of not being alone.

Caleb came into the room quietly. I opened a single eye so that I could see whether he was tiptoeing. He was, and gave me a sheepish grin when I caught him. “I didn’t want to disturb you,” he said. I knew that he meant more than just this instant. Caleb had never been around when Rhea and I had dealt with heartbreak, but he had been around for all other manner of woes- poor test grades, family accidents, embarrassing incidents. He knew how we usually handled them- just the two of us.

“You won’t disturb me,” I said before the silence could stretch out too long.

Rhea came bounding back into the room. “Aw, who invited the testosterone?” she groaned. Her complaints were belied by the third spoon she had brought, as per my request.

“Thanks, Rhea.” We all settled in a small ring on the floor, shoving ice cream into our mouths. In fact, it was rather pleasant. We even developed a rhythm to it so that there was no spoon interference to deal with. I was so engrossed in the pattern of it that I forgot I was supposed to be upset.