Broken Things

I think what bothered me the most was that his ghost still haunted me, even four years later. I would wake up in the middle of the night in a hot sweat, furious with myself for letting my mind drift there, even on a subconscious level.

This was why I arrived at LAX exhausted after falling asleep during the flight. I had been jostled awake by a large businessman, scooting over me to get into the aisle. On top of sleep deprivation, I awoke to a 270 pound man squishing my legs because he was too rude to mutter a simple “excuse me”. This, on top of the whole dreaming thing, had me in an awful mood as I scanned the crowd for Declan.

I’d definitely seen better days. In an oversized Foster the People tee-shirt and a pair of yoga pants, I stood out like a sore thumb in a sea of high-waisted shorts and crop tops. I hadn’t worn make-up to Heathrow, and my hair was in its natural state of disarray from the static of those god-awful plane seats.

The scent of fast food wafted over to me from another terminal and I sniffed at the air. Definitely America.

“Sawyer!”

At the sound of my name, I turned. Declan was weaving his way through a crowd of disembarking families, a backward snapback over his shaggy blonde hair. I smiled at how very California he was.

Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around me. I laughed, my hands reaching up to lock around his neck as he lifted me off the ground, duffle bag and all. When he sat me back down, I was fighting to catch my breath.

“There she is. Miss America at her finest.”

I blushed, looking down at my attire before glancing back up at him with a weary expression. His blue eyes were twinkling, his smile wide. He would be one to talk, his thick British accent mocking me in my home country.

“It’s weird to be back,” I admitted sheepishly, watching him as he moved to pick up my bag. His arm slung around my shoulder, guiding me in the direction from which he’d come.

“You’re going to love it here. Much different from Chicago.”

I laughed.

“Declan, you’ve never been to Chicago.”

“Sure, I have. Two hour layover. Gorgeous airport.”

I rolled my eyes, opting not to respond to that. He was still grinning, and despite my absolute exhaustion, his mood was contageous.

“I’ve got the room all ready for ya. I know you’re probably knackered from the flight, so I won’t force you to have fun quite yet, but mark your calendar for Tuesday because we’ve got some sight-seeing to do.”

He lifted his arm from around me as we neared an exit, the crowd getting more congested. We walked out into the California sunshine a moment later, my eyes squinting as they tried to adjust to the harsh light. My hands felt around in my satchel for my sunglasses. Locating them, I slipped them on before following Declan in the general direction of a parking garage.

“Thanks for letting me stay with you, by the way. I shouldn’t be long,” I promised.

He shrugged, looking down at me with a dimpled smile.

“Take as long as you want. I know things have been rough lately. I want to be here for you. And anyway, I missed you.”

“I wasn’t the one who chose a university 5,000 miles from home, Dec,” I reminded him. He chose to ignore my comment, instead leading me down a few levels of stairs to the basement of the garage. The air was colder down there, a sharp yet enjoyable contrast to the arid heat above. It seemed I’d have a lot more than just sunshine to be adjusting to after spending the better part of my adolescence in the UK.

“You’re okay though, yeah?” he asked, opting to change the subject from his education choices. I crossed my arms as we neared his car, watching as he hit the button on his keyring to pop the trunk. He slid my duffle in with ease, slamming it shut before turning to look at me. Under his gaze, I knew he wouldn’t let me get in the car until I gave him a straight answer.

So I did what I do best and put on a brave face.

“Yeah, I’m good. I’m dealing with it.”

He looked unconvinced, but my answer was enough for him to unlock the car doors and let me slide into the passenger seat. He crawled behind the wheel, starting the car and turning off the radio. I frowned as he began to back out of his spot, sure that this silence would be temporary. Declan was a man of many passions, music being one of his biggest, and an absence of it meant business. I shifted my weight uncomfortably as he made his way toward an exit ramp.

There was nothing but the hum of the air conditioner as he rounded a corner and made a turn for the highway. I was curiously watching the cars, slightly mesmorized by the sides of the road on which they drove, when Declan cleared his throat.

“I wanted to come back, you know. To support you in person. I couldn’t get out of exams, though. I know mum went, but it didn’t feel like enough.”

“I know, Dec. She told me. You don’t have to explain yourself,” I responded.

A deep weight filled my chest, like it always did when I talked about mum. I was unable to glance in his direction, sure that when I did, the emotional heaviness of the conversation would overtake me and my eyes would begin to water. Instead, I busied myself by picking at my fingernails.

“I guess I just didn’t want you to think I didn’t care. Your mum was always good to me and Colin. I was devastated when I heard the news.”

Colin, Declan’s younger brother by four years, had shown up on my doorstep the morning after, a blueberry muffin and hot mint tea in his hands. Without saying a word, he’d offered them to me, then turned to take a seat on my front porch steps. I sat beside him, picking at the muffin and staring at my shoes. It wasn’t until he’d put an arm around my shoulder that I realized I had started crying.

“Really, Declan. You don’t have to worry about it. I know you care, and I appreciate everything you’re doing for me now. It’s very kind of you to let me stay while I look for a place of my own.”

I looked over to him then, forcing down the lump that was rising in my throat. Whatever he found in my eyes must have been at least somewhat convincing, because he let out a sigh.

“I’m not going to throw you out on the streets, Sawyer,” he mumbled with a roll of his eyes. We were slowly making our way down the highway, caught in a flow of traffic that seemed unending. A moment later, he reached forward and turned on the radio.

”... keep her warm and time is frozen...”

“Shit,” Declan muttered, reaching forward to change the station. His eyes glanced to me hesitantly, gauging my reaction as he landed on an alternative rock song.

I kept my eyes fixed ahead, digging into my finger a bit harsher than I’d meant to. I’m not sure what my face must have looked like, but it couldn’t have been very good.

“I just keep fucking this up, don’t I?” he asked.

I half-smiled, looking over to him. He had one hand on the wheel, the other sheepishly rubbing against the back of his neck.

“I’m here to move on, and that’s what I intend to do starting now.” I paused. “So lets agree that we won’t talk about the past. I’m building a new future here, I can’t focus on any of that anymore.”

He raised his brows at my words, but nodded in agreement as he plastered on a smile. Shooting me his award winning grin, he spoke.

“Deal.”

The words had no longer fell from his mouth that he returned his eyes to the road and promptly slammed on the break. I let out a huff as I hit the safety belt. Declan had thrown his arm out in front of me defensively, like a soccer mom. He began to apologize profusely, but I ignored him in favor of sarcasm.

“I wanted a fresh start, not a complete re-incarnation. Can you try not to kill us, please? I don’t even have an American license and I’m confident I can do a better job than you’re doing right now.”

“Hey! Everything’s backward here. I’m still getting my sea legs. And on top of that, cars aren’t meant to be stationary on a motorway.”

I pulled at the tight belt that clenched aginst my chest. It had locked in place and refused to loosen its grip. Giving up, I ran a hand through my hair before hitting the release button on the belt and re-adjusting it.

“You’ve been here for a year, Declan. I would have hoped you’d be better at driving by now.”

He made no response but to throw on his turn signal to merge. A few cars passed us before one was kind enough to let us over. I let my eyes fall shut, partly from fear, but also due to my lack of sleep the night before. I was more than ready to fall into a bed, but I knew it would probably be another half hour or longer before we were anywhere near Declan’s apartment.

“Are you hungry?” he asked after a few minutes of silence. I stifled a yawn around my negative response.

“When was the last time you ate?” he challenged. I frowned, forcing one eye open to meet his worried glance.

So maybe I had skipped breakfast before hopping on the nine hour flight to Los Angeles, but I’d eaten a packet of peanuts since. I opened my mouth to tell him so, but he was already grumbling about depression and lack of nutrition as he felt around in the center console to locate a granola bar.

“I really don’t need this,” I protested, but he was already ripping open the packaging with his teeth. It was with a defeated sigh that I accepted it, deeming it unworthy of an argument.

I turned my eyes from him as I bit into it defiantly, chewing furiously to calm my nerves. I wasn’t sure what to expect in LA, this alien city in a country I’d left seven years previous. Traffic seemed the most obvious answer as we crawled down the 405 at a laborious pace, but I trained my gaze to the distance.

I had never seen land like this before. In Chicago, where I grew up before mum moved us to Cheshire, I was used to the pavement. If we drove into the suburbs, corn and bean fields could be found between the city and its counterparts. In Holmes Chapel, there were expanses of lush greenery, fed by the ever-present moisture that hung in the air like cobwebs, sticking to your clothes and hair as you moved through it. But LA was different. There were strange plants poking out from red earth. The grass was different, stiffer than in England. Other lots were simply filled with rock or gravel.

It was strange to feel like a tourist in my own country, but that’s what I was. After years of being gone, I was returning to the United States to clear my mind and make myself new. Thousands of miles away from Illinois and even further from Holmes Chapel, Los Angeles sounded like as good of a place as any to restart. Apart from that, I’d have Declan to help me get on my feet. Lord knew I had no one else.

With the air conditioner turned all the way up and a soft song playing on the radio, it didn’t take much for me to fall back into a state of semi-unconsciousness. I was there, but not. My mind drifted back to the UK, where I was sure and always would be sure it was drizzling or in some state of wet disarray. In California, Declan had informed me, he hadn’t seen a good downpour in six months. Signs we had passed on the highway warned of drought and pleaded with residents to conserve water. I couldn’t imagine how people lived this way, and yet I was about to start doing just that.

Declan didn’t say much during the trip. He didn’t need to as his lips moved in time to the music, his fingers drumming on the wheel. Occasionally, I would hear explicatives fall from his mouth, but they were quiet in an attempt to let me sleep it off. Eventually, he reached the exit he was looking for and maneuvered his way into that lane. The movement was what brought me back to consciousness, my eyes squinting against the bright sunlight that filtered through the windows.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he told me as he pulled to a stop at a light, his left turn signal on. His blue eyes landed on me and he half-smiled in apology.

“S’okay,” I slurred, rubbing my face before stretching as much as I could in the front seat of his Nissan Altima. “I wasn’t really asleep.”

“You were snoring,” he countered.

“I could hear every word you sang along with the radio,” I promised, my eyes rolling as I sat up and peered out the window. Plazas of sketchy-looking businesses were on either side of the street, going on as far as the eye could see.

“This is The Valley,” Declan explained as the light turned green and he began to drive. “It’s more residential here, but we can do touristy stuff whenever you want. I took off work for a couple days to help you settle in.”

I nodded vaguely, positive his eyes were focused on the road instead of my response. Traffic was becoming thick again, and in the distance ahead I spotted construction. I bit my lip as I looked on, frowning at the line of cars.

“I don’t think there’s ever going to be a point in time when construction isn’t happening in LA. It’s everywhere. You learn to live with it,” he shrugged.

I chose not to answer. Getting a license seemed unlikely for me at that point. As long as Declan could drive, I could find a bike or walk anywhere else I needed. I had mastered the public transportation system in England, so LA couldn’t be much more difficult than that.

As we neared the construction and Declan took to honking at whatever vehicles attempted to cut him off to get into our lane, I realized just how stressed he seemed. His usual laid-back attitude turned frigid the moment he got behind the wheel. I was used to his string of curses, but they were usually at least coherently used in a sentence with casual infliction. Here, amongst the cars and smog, they fell one after another from his lips as if they carried weight. I decided not to say anything since it looked as if it was helping him calm down at least a little bit.

A breath I hadn’t realized I was holding escaped me as we rounded the corner onto Magnolia. We passed a few apartment buildings before he turned into a small parking lot, squeezed down a narrow alley between two complexes. I watched as he turned the key to shut the engine off after pulling into a designated spot. As he popped the trunk, he slid easily out of the driver’s seat and rounded the car to heave my luggage out from within.

Warmth radiated from the black pavement, burning my feet through my thin flip flops as I stepped out and slammed the passenger door shut behind me. Declan already had my duffle slung over his shoulder, waiting for me to join him. With a honk, his car locked and he led me in through a back entrance, punching in numbers on a key pad to be let in through the gate.

“I wrote you a master list of everything you need to know,” he told me as we walked by a small pool, centered in the courtyard of the complex. “It has the wifi password, the code to get through the gates, our address, emergency stuff...”

“Thank you.”

He said nothing in reply as he turned abruptly and started up a stairwell. At the top, there were doors on either side, painted a deep maroon in contrast to the olive colored stucco walls. He turned to the one on the left, number 18, and slid a key in.

“Voila,” he he said, stepping aside to let me pass through.

It opened into a large common room, nothing but a TV, gaming system, couch, and table within. There were no adornments, the telltale sign to a male’s bachelor pad.

“The kitchen’s right through there,” he informed me, pointing to a small doorway to the right of where I stood. He didn’t pause to let me look at it, but instead led me through the living room to a hallway behind it.

“My room is right here,” he indicated to the room to our immediate left. “But yours is right there.”

I started in the direction he was pointing, past a few storage cabinets to an open doorframe on the far wall. The room was modest, but large enough to fit a queen sized bed and a dresser with room enough to move. Declan dropped my bag to the floor and shoved his hands in his cargo shorts almost self-consciously.

“You’re right next to the bathroom, that other doorway at the end of the hall. It’s expensive to live in LA, so it’s kind of small, but not bad.”

“It’s fine, Dec. I just appreciate you letting me stay with you.”

He seemed unconvinced, but nodded anyway, stepping backward out into the hall.

“I’m sure you’re exhausted, so I’ll let you sleep.”

“Thank you,” I repeated earnestly. He smiled.

“Of course.”

He disappeared around the corner then, and I immediately fell backward onto the mattress. My body bounced against the springs temporarily before coming to a rest. The bed spread was plain white, a last minute purchase at one of the corner stores, I was sure. I was too grateful for a room to call my own to be bothered by the lack of decoration. It was simple, but it would do.

I wasn’t sure if it was the uniformity of the room around me in all its white washed glory, or if it was my extreme exhaustion, but within moments, I was fully engulfed in unconsciousness.

-

I woke up in a sweat, despite the fact that the ceiling fan above me was swinging at full speed. My covers were twisted around my body in a crumpled mess tangled around my legs. I threw them off hastily, running my hand over my face in an attempt to calm myself.

I was infuriated with myself for going back to that day, even on a subconscious level. Four years later, and I was still imagining the way he sat beside me near the creek bed, his sixteen-year-old face shrouded in sunlight as I looked up at him while he spoke. His voice was deep, but would grow deeper in the next few years, a development I wish I hadn’t kept track of.

But when your ex-boyfriend becomes the face of the most popular boy band on the planet, it’s hard not to notice small things like that.

It must have been the radio incident that sparked it this time; those few moments before Declan had hurried to change the station when I’d heard the familiar rumble of his voice through the static of an AM radio. It was annoying how often I went back to that day in my sleep, because I was so over it all when I was awake. He wasn’t anything I thought about on a regular basis, at least until I saw his face on a billboard or heard it from the mouth of a radio DJ.

But when I fell asleep? It was heartache and creek beds all over again.

Down the hall, I could hear the TV. I rolled over sleepily, pulling my phone from my pocket to check the time. It was 9:45 PM and I groaned, knowing I was going to get my days and nights reversed.

I grumbled to myself as I pushed myself up from the bed, brushing my fingers through my hair as I did so. My feet hit the cool hard wood of the floor, creaking beneath my weight when I walked.

“Dec?” I asked, poking my head into the hallway. A faint glow was coming from the doorframe that led to the living room, so I started in that direction. When I rounded the corner, he was lounging on the couch, his phone in one hand and a beer in the other while a late night talk show host prattled on about his next celebrity guest.

“Hmm?” Declan hummed in response, completely immersed in whatever he was doing on his mobile.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” I whined, sinking down on the side of the couch opposite him. He lifted his feet to allow me access, settling them across my lap after I was seated.

“It’s better to let you sleep it off,” he replied, rapidly moving his thumbs across the touch screen of his iPhone.

“My days and nights are out of order.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

I rolled my eyes as he grinned over at me, sitting his phone down on his stomach after locking it. He looked relaxed, back to the laid-back Declan I was used to. I made a mental note to avoid riding in a car with him when at all possible, but knew it would probably be difficult. As if on que, he asked how I was feeling and I sensed his ulterior motive.

“We’re not going anywhere, Dec,” I told him sternly, reaching over him for his beer. He let me have it without protest, but I knew he was only working himself up to fight me on my no clubbing policy.

“Now is the perfect time! You’re well rested and I want to show you the town.”

“By town, you mean back corner of some sketchy Hollywood club and I know it. We’re too young to do any drinking anyway, Dec. It’s 21 here, remember?”

“I know the owner of this one. I’m a regular. If you’re with me, you’re golden.”

“No.”

“But the last time we went out together it was Gwendolyn’s seventeenth birthday and her parents kicked us out of her basement at 1 AM. We need a happy night out. Let’s go have fun,” he implored.

I frowned at him, making a move to grab the remote. His phone lit up on his stomach just as I reached for it, my eyes reluctantly falling on the lit screen.

Harry Styles
Text Message

My body tensed. In one fluid motion, Declan picked up his phone and locked it, turning off the notification. His eyes flew to me in a panic, but I sat back down, sans remote, and bit down on my lip.

“Sawyer...”

“You’re right. I could use a night out.”

“Don’t do it because of that.”

“No really. You’re right. It’s my first night here. You should break me in.”

He was skeptical, his brow furrowing as he internally debated whether or not it was a good idea to let me get shitfaced in a club in downtown Hollywood. It was what he wanted, but he didn’t want to win this way. Despite my objections that the text had nothing to do with it, we both knew it was the catalyst. After the dream I’d just endured, I felt the immediate need to distract my mind.

“We don’t have to,” he finally said, eyes leveling with mine.

“I want to.”

“You didn’t want to a second ago.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Not that quickly.”

“I’m a woman.”

I got him with that one. He paused for a moment, letting out a soft chuckle.

“Fine,” he conceded. I grinned triumphantly, but he still seemed somewhat troubled as his eyes followed me across the room.

I dug through my luggage for the one dress I had. It was less slutty than Hollywood probably called for, but it would do. I slid it on easily before walking into the bathroom with my make-up bag, shutting the door behind me. Eyeliner pencil poised to my eye, I paused.

You are better than this, I told myself, squinting at my reflection. You are better than the ideals of any boy, and you’re smart enough to know that.

Still, as I drew a thick black line just along the curve of my eyelashes, I felt a ball of nausea jerk in my stomach. He was still talking to Declan, but I hadn’t heard from him in four years. I felt the stinging in my eyes, but refused to let the tears make an appearance. Stone-faced, I reached for my mascara and got to work.