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At least, after two solid weeks of dodging him, he finally understood that we would never be friends. As I walked home, I realized that I’d likely just experienced my last ever encounter with Finn. I tried to remind myself that it was what I’d wanted, pushing the small voice screaming
You’re such an idiot, Brooklyn
as far from my consciousness as possible. I could deal with any amount of regret, if it meant I was safe in the end.

***

The anniversary of her death finally arrived. I was exhausted from the nonstop nightmares that had taken up residence in my head for the past two weeks, but I knew I needed to escape this day and be alone. I borrowed Lexi’s car and ditched my classes, hoping a long drive with no particular destination might do something to calm my mind. It was a futile hope, but I clung to it in desperation.

The annual sympathy card, no doubt selected and signed by one of my father’s secretaries, had been delivered with the morning mail. I’m not sure why he bothered to have one sent; we’d never done anything to commemorate her death in the past, even when I’d lived with him. When I was little, I’d spend the day crying each year, sometimes beggin
g him to talk about my mother – how they’d met, what she was like, anything to keep her picture unfaded in my memory. But he wouldn’t, or couldn't, speak of her and eventually I stopped asking him to.

I drove until Lexi’s car ran out of gas, pulling off to fill up in a nameless town full of faceless people. It was ironic that everything seemed to
blur together today, as if I were moving too fast to process any details, since each minute dragged by like an hour and each hour passed like a day.

My weeks of nightmares had assured that the memories boiled just below the surface of my consciousness, and today I didn’t bother to push them under, as I would’ve on any other day. Instead I reveled in them, letting them wash over and consume me as I relived each horrifying detail of her death and its aftermath. When my eyes blurred and I could no longer see the road before me, I pulled over and finally allowed myself, just this once, to be weak.

I was never more grateful for Lexi’s self-absorption – she hadn’t even questioned my need for her car or asked where I was going. I’d never discussed my past with her though we’d met only months after my mother’s murder, when I’d moved across the country from California to live with my father. I couldn’t talk about her death, and Lexi hadn’t ever pushed me to.

I’d always loved her for that.

By the time I was able to pull myself together, night had fallen. Wiping the wetness from my tearstained cheeks and puffy eyes, I drove home on autopilot. I felt hollow, like a shell of my normal self. Everything inside me had been wrung out and all that remained was the jumble of skin and bones that looked and sounded like Brooklyn – the emptied husk I allowed the world to see.

As I wound through
the hushed streets of my neighborhood, my headlights illuminating the growing darkness, my thoughts drifted to my mother’s killer. It was rare that I allowed myself to think about Ernest “Ernie” Skinner, inmate 91872-051 in San Quentin California State Prison, but tonight I was too emotionally drained to push the thoughts away. His face, the face that haunted my memories and filled my nightmares, had long been burned into my brain as a symbol of the life that had been ripped from me.

I still remembered his words from the day of the crash with startling clarity. How his bloodshot eyes, glazed over from the cocaine thrumming in his
veins, had stared into my face as if memorizing every small feature.

I wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for you, you little shit. I was home free, they weren’t
gonna catch me. You fucked it all up! You made me crash.

A shudder passed through me as I saw myself at age six, trembling on the witness stand as I gave t
he testimony that condemned him – sealing his fate with a twenty-five year prison sentence and overturning his appeals for a lesser sentence. The hate blazing in his eyes as they led him away in chains and an orange jumpsuit was directed solely at me, as if he could incinerate me with the force of his glare alone.

Thankfully, he had ten more years to rot in prison. I didn’t let myself think about what might happen on the day he was finally released back into society.

I pulled into the driveway next to the old Victorian and tried to collect myself before going inside. Even Lexi, in all her egocentrism, would see through my facade of normalcy if I walked in with tear-glazed eyes and smeared mascara. Flipping down the overhead car mirror, I touched up my makeup and schooled my face into what I hoped would pass as my trademark mask of cool indifference.

It would have to do, for now.

Almost-Moments

At some point during my shower, I’d decided that tequila was the best way to forget the crushing sadness and grief I’d been suffocating beneath all day. Hair wet and face scrubbed clean of all traces of my earlier tears, I hopped up on the kitchen counter and poured myself a shot. As it burned warmly down my throat, a nagging voice in the back of my mind suggested that alcohol wasn’t really the best way for me to deal with my multitude of issues. I quickly silenced that voice, throwing back two more shots in rapid succession.

When Lexi walked in several minutes later, I was feeling the best I had in weeks. I couldn't forget that today marked the
fourteenth anniversary of my mother’s death – it was indelibly imprinted in my soul, ingrained in my DNA – but the tequila helped to dull the pain lancing through my chest and blur the edges of memories I didn’t want to see anymore.

“Ooh, we’re drinking!” Lexi exclaimed, swiping the tequila from my grasp and taking a swig straight from the bottle.

“Give it back, Lex,” I said, reaching out a hand. “I need it more than you do,” I added, muttering under my breath as I reclaimed the bottle and poured a fourth serving for myself. Lexi cheered in support as I threw back the shot.

“What’s this, by the way?” I asked
, the tequila burning in my throat as I picked up the sheet of paper lying on the countertop next to me. It was an invoice for E.S. Electric, an electrician based in Charlottesville, according to the document. I wasn’t aware that we’d needed any rewiring done, and I sure as hell hadn’t requested it.

“Oh, this guy came by today,” Lexi said, snatching the bottle back from me and taking another gulp. “Our landlord sent him. He
said he had to fix our wiring or something. Don’t even ask me what he did – I don’t speak engineer.”

“Electrician,” I corrected.

“Whatever!” Lexi rolled her eyes.

“
Wait, our landlord sent him? The same landlord we had to practically take to court when our toilet broke, because he was so unwilling to fix it? The very guy who didn’t seem to care that the locks on our doors and windows didn’t lock when we first moved in?” I stared at her in shock. “Are you trying to tell me that he voluntarily fixed something and we didn’t even have to complain about it for six months first? And he
paid
for it, too?”

“That’s what I’m telling you,” Lexi grinned at me.

“Well, if that doesn’t call for celebratory shots, I’m not sure what does,” I giggled, reaching out again for the tequila.

Within the hour, Lexi and I had finished off half the bottle and were unabashedly twirling around the kitchen, slurring our words as we serenaded each other along with the radio
’s latest hits.

“Lets go out!” Lexi squealed, hauling me towards her bedroom and pushing me down on her bed while she
beelined for her overflowing closet. Too tipsy to argue, I clutched the tequila bottle to my chest like a lifeline and watched her shimmy out of jeans and into a slinky pink halter dress. 

“Put this on!” She tossed a bright red scrap of material at my face, followed by a pair of spiky black peep-toe stilettos that nearly took an eye out as they careened past my face and
landed on the bedspread.

Maybe if today hadn’t been what it was, and if I hadn’t already had too much tequila coursing through my veins, I might’ve resisted Lexi’s demands. Then again, it was hard to deter her even in my most sober, mentally-stable mindset.

My head swam as I stood up and removed my jeans, swaying into the wall as I tried to tug off my sweater. Lexi laughed at me when she caught sight of my struggles in the mirror of her vanity, where she was applying makeup with the speed and ease of a professional. By the time I’d managed to pull on the strapless red dress, which was so short on me it must’ve been a shirt on Lexi’s tall frame, she’d finished applying her makeup and began attacking my face with a multitude of brushes and powders.

Fifteen minutes later, we were in a taxi on our way to the bar. In my less-than-sober state, I didn’t think to ask Lexi where we were headed. I knew I shouldn't have been surprised when we pulled to a stop outside Styx, given Lexi’s newfound love interest, yet I was still shocked that she’d bring me back here. By the time I’d managed to formulate any kind of objection, Lexi had tossed a twenty to the driver and yanked me from the backseat, leaving me standing openmouthed as I watched the cab’s taillights disappear around a corner.  

“Lexi, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, spinning around to face her and nearly falling flat on my face as my heels caught the pavement.
Note to self: pivoting in five-inch stilettos while intoxicated is highly inadvisable.

Lexi laughed at me and shrugged, clearly unapologetic. “The band is great, the drinks are cheap, and it’s not like you even have to talk to
Finn. Jesus, Brookie, you make it seem like the boy is some kind of obsessed stalker who steals your used tissues and photographs your every movement,” she rolled her eyes at the thought. “Seriously, he’s probably forgotten you by now. I mean, have you
seen
the boy? He’s not exactly hurting for attention.”             

Ouch.

As bitchy as Lexi had sounded, I had to agree that when she laid it all out there like that, my actions over the last two weeks
did
seem a little ridiculous. It was probably presumptuous, arrogant even, to assume I’d so much as crossed his radar – let alone that he wanted to be friends with me. I’d likely been avoiding him for no reason at all. Suddenly, I felt as brainless as one of his drooling groupies.

“Damn, I hate it when you’re right,” I complained, linking my arm through Lexi’s as we bypassed the crowd waiting to get in and approached the bouncer.

“Billy!” Lexi squealed in greeting, placing a swift peck on the cheek of the obscenely muscular man guarding the door. I had no idea how Lexi knew him, but he immediately pulled aside the velvet rope to allow us inside. Lexi blew him a kiss as we cut the line and disappeared through the doors. I waved playfully at the line of club-goers still awaiting admittance, and their answering groans of complaint were quickly drowned out by an amplified voice that sent chills racing down my spine.

My eyes immediately found
Finn onstage. Damn, he looked good. A tight black t-shirt put his well-built chest on display. Low-slung dark jeans graced his hips, and his dark hair fell messily over eyes I knew to be the darkest shade of midnight blue. I couldn't deny that he was attractive, wishing for the hundredth time that I could simply sleep with him without any emotional complications. I tried to remind myself that he was dangerous, that I couldn't get involved, that sex wouldn’t be enough for him – he’d want to
know
me.

Then again, he
’d slept with all kinds of sorority fangirls without forming any sort of attachment – wasn’t I being conceited in assuming he’d treat me any differently?

Lexi shook me from my drunken mental ramblings, leading me to the densely packed bar. We wheedled our way to the front of the line, heedless of the pushing bodies and close-quarters. It was no great surprise to see Tim bartending again, and he recognized me as soon as I approached.

“Brooklyn,” he said, smiling.
At least he remembered my name.
“What are you lovely ladies drinking tonight?”

“Two Long-Islands, please,” I said, smiling flirtatiously. Maybe I’d get a free round out
of him. I knew it was shameless and under normal circumstances I’d probably feel bad for encouraging him, but this guy was an ass and I was too drunk to care anymore. Unsurprisingly, he passed me the drinks and refused my money. I grinned in thanks, turning back to Lexi and passing her one of the glasses.

“Cheers, bitch,” she said, clinking her glass to mine and heading to a small alcove off to the side of the dance floor where several private tables had been set up. Most of them were occupied, but we managed to find an empty one near the back of the section, relatively far from the stage. Lexi, of course, was disappointed by our location, but I took comfort in knowing that I wouldn’t have to deal with
Finn tonight, since he likely wouldn’t spot me back here. It wasn’t a huge club – we were only about 50 feet from the stage – but he rarely broke eye contact with the swarm of scantily clad girls writhing at the front of the crowd.

I sipped my cocktail and let myself appreciate the timbre of
Finn’s voice as it flowed over me. It was seductive, deep and slightly rasping as he sang into the microphone. I remembered the first time I’d heard his voice, semi-conscious after my spill on the sidewalk. Even then, when I hadn’t known him, his words had resonated sultrily in my mind.

Lexi and I chatted idly and observed the frenzied crowd as we finished our first round, only breaking off when Lexi felt the need to comment on a particularly outrageous outfit or to cheer for the band between songs. We’d laughed ourselves through two rounds and nearly into tears when the band announced they were taking a half hour break. Despite Lexi’s earlier assurances that I had nothing to fear from
Finn, when she went to find Tyler I excused myself and made my way to the bathroom in the back corner of the club. It was far from the bar and the stage – a perfect place to wait out the intermission and avoid awkward encounters.

To my surprise, the bathroom was nearly empty; like Lexi, the other female club-goers must’ve been enticed by thoughts of seeing the musicians on their break and opted to hold their bladders. I’d never seen a bar restroom so deserted, and I appreciated the quiet as I attempted to touch up my smudged makeup in the mirror.

I was drunk. I knew I shouldn't have let myself get to this level – I usually stayed in control – but tonight was an exception. I was far too sad to be responsible; too hurt to dwell in the memories. I’d needed an escape, and tequila had given me one.

An added benefit: the effects of the alcohol had fully numbed the pain I was sure would otherwise be crippling my feet from the skyscraper high heels Lexi had forced me into.

I giggled at the thought as I stumbled into a stall, hiking my micro-dress up over my hips and emptying my bladder. I hovered over the toilet as I peed, precariously balanced on my stilettos, and heard the door swing open as someone entered the bathroom. Flushing quickly, I readjusted my dress and walked to the line of sinks.

I’d just finished washing the soapy bubbles from my hands when I felt the tingling weight of someone’s gaze on my neck. Looking up abruptly in the mirror, I saw the reflection of a man standing a few feet behind me. I immediately screamed, spinning around too fast on my heels and grasping the edge of the sink to catch myself from falling.

“Jesus, could you have screamed any louder?” a voice drawled calmly.

I slowly righted myself and forced my gaze up to meet
Finn’s eyes. They were twinkling with mirth, undoubtedly amused by my fright.

I was going to kill him.

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, FINN,” I yelled, striding forward and shoving his chest with all the strength in my arms. He didn’t even shift off balance, which only served to incite my anger further. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN HERE?” I demanded. He opened his mouth to reply, but I cut him off. “This is the LADIES room, Finn. Are you a lady?”

He was struggling to hold in his laughter now, shaking his head in answer to my question as a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
The dimple in his right cheek was out in full force and, despite how adorable it was, at the moment I had an urge to smack it right off his face.

“Then what the hell are you doing in here?” I demanded, narrowing my eyes at him and planting my hands on my hips.
Finn took several steps toward me, following as I backed away from him into the bank of sinks. When I had nowhere else to go, he propped his arms on the wall around either side of my body, effectively caging me in. The laughter was fading from his eyes, his irises darkening as they filled with unnamed emotions.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he stated, holding my gaze. “I want to know why.”

It was a statement, not a question – one that demanded an answer. I didn't have one to offer him, though, so he was shit-out-of-luck if he thought he could intimidate me into explaining.

“I’m not avoiding you,
Finn. I just don’t like you,” I glared up at him, raising my chin haughtily and refusing to back down despite his proximity. “And gee, cornering a girl in an abandoned bathroom is
definitely
the way to get her to want to be around you.” I practically sneered at him. He just smiled.

“Brooklyn, we both know you’re lying,” he whispered, his mouth grazing my earlobe. “And neither of us is leaving until you tell me why you’ve been pretending I don’t exist.”

“I’m not lying!”
I might have been lying
. “And could your ego
be
any bigger? Seriously, how do you even live with yourself?” I was slurring a little bit. Damn. Of all the possible times that this conversation could’ve occurred, of course it had to happen while I was wasted.

“You’re deflecting,” he said, “Just tell me, ‘cause I’m missing my break for this.”