Chelsea Fine - Best Kind of Broken

Where she’ll get on a plane and leave me forever.

“Yeah,” I say. I pull the damaged shutter down and set it against the wall before picking up its replacement. “I know.”

A gust of wind sweeps past, carrying the scent of rain and the promise of another storm. I don’t know why I feel so hollow inside today. I haven’t lost Pixie. We’re still friends.

Positioning the new shutter, I grasp my hammer and begin to nail it into place.

We’re friends.

Ellen eyes me. “Are you going to say good-bye?”

I grab another nail and hammer it in. “Probably not.”

She slowly nods and studies the discarded shutter for a moment. “You know, one of these days I’m going to run out of things that need to be fixed around here and you’re going to be out of a job.”

I stop hammering and look at her. “Is that a threat?”

“No,” she says, something unrecognizable in her eyes. “Just the honest truth.”

With a brief smile, she turns and walks away.

I’m packing. I’m crying. I’m hoping Levi will knock on my door and say something, anything. I’m packing.

I know he won’t do it, just like I know I won’t do it.

And I don’t even really know why I’m crying, other than I feel like I’m never going to see Levi again. Which is ridiculous. I’ll see him again.

I press a hand to my chest, where a sharp ache throbs with each of my heartbeats. Loving someone and not being with them hurts.

Thunder grumbles in the distance.

I look at the wall that separates my bedroom from Levi’s. Did I make the right decision?

The throbbing in my chest continues and I have to take a deep breath to keep more tears from falling.

I blink. I swallow. I’m fine.

I look around my room. Boxes everywhere. Paint stains on my headboard. Canvases of Charity in the window. More boxes.

Something green peeks out from beneath one of the dusty boxes and I bend to retrieve it. It’s the flag from our capture the flag game last summer. I run the old faded material through my hands and bite my lip.

Time.

It just goes.

And now I have to go with it.

This is the beginning of my future. Another tear rolls down my face and I swipe at it angrily as I shove the flag into my suitcase.

It’s better this way. It really is. It’s safer.

I yank off the painting shirt I have on and start to change into a clean tank top, but when I catch my reflection in my bedroom mirror, I pause.

I run a finger along my scar, tracing its jagged pattern with my eyes as the damaged-yet-healed skin meets my fingertips.

It’s a best friend and a place to call home. It’s a lesson learned and a reminder that life is fragile. It’s my first taste of death and a second chance at life.

It’s everything I never want to forget. And it’s beautiful.

I’m glad I shared it with Levi.

I’ve made my decision and sure, my heart is broken, but it’s the good kind of broken. The kind that leaves you branded, so you never forget, and heals over time, so you can see just how far you’ve come.

It’s the best kind of broken.

I touch my scar again.

Like me.

I stare at my computer screen as the sky outside darkens with the encroaching storm.

Pixie left twenty minutes ago. I know this only because I heard the wheels of her suitcase squeaking past my door. I didn’t say good-bye.

A friend would have said good-bye.

She’s off to New York, where she’ll have a new life and new opportunities, and I’m sitting here in front of a blank computer screen with nothing to say.

This isn’t how I thought things would go. This isn’t how I wanted things to go. Even though I haven’t technically lost anything, I feel incredibly defeated.

But the game isn’t over yet.

I straighten my shoulders and crack my knuckles. One essay on winning. I can do this. I start to type.

As a football player, I know all about the principles of winning and the strategies—

I delete and start over.

The great football coach, Vince Lombardi, once said, “We didn’t lose the game; we just ran out of time.” I’ve always appreciated this attitude because—

Delete.

I bite the inside of my cheek for a moment, staring at the wall as I think through what I want to write.

The new drywall over the hole I patched up hasn’t been painted yet, so it remains a dark gray splotch against the otherwise beige wall. The hole seems like forever ago.

I look back at the screen and start to type. Slowly at first, then gaining momentum as I carry on. Forty minutes later, I stop typing, scan the document, and start rereading what I’ve put down so far.

HOW TO WIN

Winning is an effect of trying. You have to want it badly enough to go through pain, discipline, and failure to find it. To confront it. To claim it. But most of all, you have to fight for it. Everything else—anything else—is absolute surrender.

My eyes snap to the dark patch on my wall again as my heart grows loud and heavy in my ears. Without another thought, I click Send on my half-assed essay, grab my keys, and race out the door.

The sky grows darker as I head south, the storm clouds closing in on the day and blanketing the earth below in a muted gray. After leaving Copper Springs, I decided to take Canary Road down toward Phoenix instead of the freeway. I haven’t been on this road since the night of the accident. It looks the same.

It feels different.

I hear a sharp crack of thunder and see a flash of hot white lightning cut down through the purple clouds, touching the horizon not far from the road. Less than a minute passes before thick drops of rain begin to splash against the windshield.

Storms are supposed to be terrifying things, reckless and unpredictable, violent and wild, but they energize me. Remind me of life and love and the brink of happiness. The urgency of breathing in, the wonderment of jumping out with your eyes closed.

I think back to the stormy day in the little fort with Levi. The rain. The kiss. The love…

I quickly push the memory away.

The old back road winds through the forestland, barely visible now through the downpour and darkening day. The monsoon clouds split open and a sliver of sunlight shines through the torrent onto the road in front of me, an oddly bright ray of hope against the violent rain and thunder. The patch of light illuminates a large object blocking the road. It’s coming up fast. Too close, too large, to ignore—and it’s right beside the ridge burn, the exact same spot where Charity died.

I slow down as I near. My heart flies into my throat when I realize it’s Levi’s truck, blocking the storm-ridden road.

And in front of the truck, under the gray deluge, is Leaves.

Blue eyes, waiting for me.

Somehow I knew I’d find Pixie here. Not on the freeway. Not on the commonly used back roads. But on Canary Road.

She pulls over to the side, and I’m at her door before she comes to a full stop. I yank it open and stare down into wide green eyes.

“No,” I say, loud enough to be heard over the roaring wind and rain.

She blinks. “No?”

“No, we can’t be just friends.” Rain drips down my face as my heart hammers against my rib cage. “Because we’re more than just friends, and we always have been. And I’m not talking about sex, Pix. I’m talking about trust and comfort. I’m talking about home.” Lightning strikes nearby and the wind picks up. I raise my voice. “You are not my friend, Pixie. You are a piece of my heart and a part of who I want to be.”

She gets out of the car and stands in the rain. “But, Leaves—”

“I love you,” I yell, thunder echoing my words, rain drenching my clothes. “I love you when you’re Pixie and when you’re Sarah and when you’re messy and when you drive me crazy and when you scare the hell out of me. I love you, Pixie. And I know you’re scared.” I step closer so I no longer have to shout, and cup her wet face. I look into her eyes. “But you have nothing to be afraid of. I will never leave you again. Never.”

Hot tears run from her eyes, mixing with the cool rain as I run my thumb over her cheek. “So you can move to New York or fly across the world, but I want to be there too. Wherever you are. By your side. Always,” I say. “Because I’m yours. Even when you don’t want me, I’m yours.”

She puts her hands on my cheeks and halts my speech, looking into my eyes as rain beats down on us. Then she crushes her lips to mine.

I kiss her deeply, still cupping her wet face as I pull her close to me, not wanting to let go, not wanting another minute in this life of mine to pass without her here, with me.