“And what if I don’t want to, huh?” My tone is defiant and harsh.
“You don’t have a choice.”
“Says who?”
Quinn adjusts in the chair. He pulls out his phone, and by his movements, I’m guessing he’s thumbing through his apps. He clears his throat. “Mr. and Mrs. James, We’re writing to let you know our facility can accommodate Elle Powell-James when you see fit to admit her. Please note, this is an intense ninety-day treatment and visitors will not be allowed unless family counseling is needed. We will restrict all outside communications as well. We have a strict paparazzi rule, and our guards will ensure all photographers are kept off the property to protect Elle’s privacy. Once you have your legal affairs in order, please let us know.”
I swallow hard as I try to understand what Quinn is reading, and am unable to hold my tears at bay any longer. My parents aren’t messing around, but what they don’t understand is, I’m an adult, and I can make my own decisions. If I want to party, I can. If I want to drop out of school, I can. If I want…
“As you can see, Mom and Dad have had enough,” Quinn interrupts my thoughts. “And I think you know this, which is why you’ve been ignoring their calls, not going home to see them and dodging their visits.”
“I haven’t—”
“You have. Before Peyton’s accident, you and Mom spoke daily. When’s the last time you spoke with her? When’s the last time you’ve been home? If I had to guess, it was when Peyton was living there, but you haven’t been back since.”
“Texting is easier.”
“Only because you can avoid the elephant in the room. You need help, Elle.”
“I’m not going to some celebrity rehab center, Quinn.”
“Then stop!” His voice echoes off the walls. “Grow up and start acting like someone who has a future instead of the Hollywood cliché.”
“I’m not—”
“You are. That’s what gets me the most, Elle. This person you’ve become is the same person you’ve mocked since you moved here. All our lives, you’ve said you’d never become the socialite who uses her name to get into clubs or restaurants, and now look at you. You’ve become the epitome of someone you despise.”
“You don’t understand.”
Quinn nods. “I know, Elle. Peyton almost died. You’re twins, you felt it. I’ve heard every excuse you can come up with, blaming whatever it is you have going on, on Peyton and the accident.” He adjusts in the chair and leans forward with his arms resting on his legs. “Peyton’s healed. She’s moved on. She’s planning a wedding, finishing college and trying to make peace with her life. If she can do it, then so can you.” He taps my leg before getting up and leaving the room. I glance at the empty space Quinn’s left behind. The bright light blinds me, causing me to turn away. As soon as I hear Quinn’s door shut, I let the tears flow and the anger build. No one is going to tell me what to do with my life.
2
Ben
This is my usual spot. I’m sitting on the third to the last step of the concrete staircase, which leads to my apartment, waiting for Elle to come home. Night after night, I watch for the telltale sign of headlights and loud voices before I scurry up to my apartment, acting as if nothing is amiss. It’s when I’m in my apartment; I become this peeping tom character who I loathe. It’s not me, but the situation I’m in. Being in love with a woman who won’t give me the time of day weighs heavily on my self-worth. I’m not being fair, though, and shouldn’t assume Elle knows how I feel about her. It’s not like I’ve come clean and put my feelings out there. I’ve kept them shriveled up at the bottom of my heart, mostly out of fear she’ll reject me. I have no one to blame for my heartache other than myself.
After hours of sitting here, I’m numb. There are aches in parts of my body I didn’t know existed, yet I stay. Every person who uses the steps to reach the second and third floors stops and asks me if I’m okay. I am, truthfully, even if I want things to change. Elle worries me. Thoughts of her keep me up at night. I lose focus when I think about her, which is all the time, and yet this is the only way I can cope. I know I can go out with her, but being her standby, the guy who holds her coat at night and her hair when she’s puking in the bushes isn’t my idea of a good time. However, neither is this. Waiting here it’s only increasing the anxiety I feel brewing inside. I don’t want to see who she’s coming home with, yet I know I’ll look and let the pain of knowing some man is touching the woman I’m in love with flo
od through me.
At some point, you give up. Not emotionally, but physically, and you take your tired and sore legs up the stairs, one step at a time. And when you’re inside your apartment, alone and in the dark, you start to ask yourself why. Why are you waiting for someone who doesn’t wait for you? Why do you care? Why do you bother?
The answer is simple. I’m in love with her, and I have been since high school. For me, it was love at first sight. The love is unrequited, and for some reason, I’m okay with this because Elle is in my life, and having her there as a friend is better than the alternative.
I shut off all my lights and peek outside one more time before retreating to my room. I don’t bother to change my clothes, and flop down on my bed. Deep down, I know I have to stop worrying about Elle, stop watching her self-destruct and trust her family will intervene. I’m Elle’s best friend. I’ll be her rock, her confidante and the person she unleashes her fury on after her brother tells her she needs help.
When he came to me with the plan, I surprised myself by agreeing with him. Usually, I have Elle’s back, but in this case, he’s right. She needs help. I don’t know whether it’s rehab or therapy, but she hasn’t been right since Peyton’s accident. I’ve tried to talk to her, but she changes the subject almost instantly, or she brushes it off with some good ole fun.
I startle at the sound of my phone ringing. It’s her ringtone, a song designated just for her and one she chose for herself. I do not attempt to answer it, and instead, I stare at the dark ceiling, wondering what she has to tell me at three in the morning. My hand scrubs harshly over my face as the ringing starts again. I shouldn’t answer it, but I know I’m going to. I always do even though lately I’ve felt like I’ve been nothing more than a stepping stone for her, a place for her to dump her problems. The door of friendship stops there. When it’s my turn, she’s busy, indisposed or doing who knows what and with whom. Peyton tells me this is a phase; her sister will snap out of it when Elle realizes she has feelings for me.
Peyton says I should ask Elle directly if she has feelings for me, but I’m afraid. I’m fearful of what she might tell me. To hear the words she’s in love with someone who isn’t me will be earth-shattering, and yet I’ve done nothing to prepare myself for it. My brother says I’m weak, and he’s right, but love does that to a man.
However, she could tell me she’s in love with me and expects to live a life of wedded bliss. I can’t win with my heart and brain. It’s an endless battle, and I have no one to blame but myself. Over the years, I’ve had ample opportunity to tell her how I feel, but the words have never come easy for me. Sure, I can say them in the mirror, behind her back when she’s walking away, or after she’s hung up, but to utter the words that will inevitably change our relationship to her face? I know it’s something I will fail at.
The ringing stops, giving me a reprieve from the sound of the chime. I’m my own worst enemy when it comes to Elle, and yet I do nothing to change the situation. I suppose, in a way, I only have myself to blame for letting her get the best of me for so many years. I finally roll over and close my eyes, only to have her beautiful face appear and for her ringtone to fill my room once more.
“Let it go,” I say into the darkness. “Let it go. Let it go. Let her go.” The word her causes me to spring from my bed. I rub my hands over my face, pushing away the immediate sense of dread I feel before reaching for my phone. It starts ringing again and the picture of us that I took last week fills my screen. It’s as if she knew I was about to call her. Only I don’t accept her call right away. My mind is foggy and unsure. Why would I tell myself to let her go when I’m in love with her? I don’t believe saying “let her go” was a slip of the tongue.