Love Me Broken (2 page)

The road straightens out, and Conner screams wildly into the night. There’s reckless joy in his yelp, like he’s parasailing or surfing rather than sticking half his body out of a moving vehicle in the rain. “This is
incredible!
” he yells to me, and then I see him bend down in the corner of my vision. “The
air
,” he says. “It’s so clean. It’s just, just—”

I look up at him, and see his wet face in a wide grin, his eyes still hazy from whatever he drank at the party. But he looks happy. And in this moment, seeing his spirit glowing with energy and life, I’m filled with an overwhelming love for my irresponsible, uninhibited brother. I’d come get Conner in the middle of the night. I’d drive to the ends of the earth for him. He looks so content with life.

Then his mouth snaps open. “Watch out!”

I look back through the windshield and there is a deer—a buck—in the middle of the road. Its front hooves are over the double-yellow line, glowing white in my headlights. There’s a surreal instant in which it almost looks like the deer is hurtling through the night toward us, rather than the car coming forward to meet it.

I panic and swerve to the right. The tires skid, screeching and making a horrible sound as they fail to grip the pavement. I try to do something, gripping the wheel, but it’s too fast. The road disappears and the next instant there’s a horrible bang as we hit something. Was it the deer? Did I not miss it?

I’m thrown forward and the seatbelt digs into my torso, burning into me. I feel the sudden stop in my bones, it’s so abrupt. Then just as quickly as I’m thrown forward I’m thrown back again, the airbag filling in around me and sending white dust into the air like smoke.

I cough, struggling to breathe. The air has been knocked out of my lungs, and for a horrible moment it feels like I’m drowning.

This has all happened in perhaps two seconds, and it feels both impossibly quick and impossibly slow at the same time. My body is unable to keep up, but my mind has an instant flash:
Conner
.

I turn to my right, where my brother’s legs were a moment ago.

He’s no longer there. His seat is empty.

“Conner?” I gasp, tasting blood in my mouth. I look up, trying to see over the airbag through the windshield. I’m shaking. Tears are forming in my eyes, and when I turn to my left, my entire body aches with the effort.

I look out my window, but I can’t see anything but blackness. Where is he? I can’t see him. The rain drums down next to me through the open sunroof, and the air smells like soil and burnt rubber.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

Please no. Please please please no. “Conner?” I scream.
“Conner!”

There’s an eerie emptiness to the night. If my brother is out there, he is not screaming for help. He is not saying a word.

I try to move, but my body is stiffening. My vision is darkening, and I realize with horror that I’m not able to stay awake. My body is shutting down, even though my mind is in a panic.

“No,” I whisper. I imagine us being found. People will know this is my fault. They’ll know what I’ve done. I’m a terrible sister.

I start to cry, and I look out the window again.

“Please let him—”

I’m silent at the sight of movement. Conner? I force my body to swivel enough to face the rear view mirror. I see the road, glowing red in our taillights. I force my eyes to focus on the shape behind me.

But it’s not Conner. It’s the deer, his antlers moving in the shadows. From a million miles away, I hear his hooves clack against the wet pavement. He’s walking back into the trees.

I look forward. My airbag has deflated enough for me to see out the windshield. The glass is cracked, and the front of our car is smashed into the base of a tree. I don’t see Conner. I don’t see anyone. And my breathing increases with panic.

I know we need help. Conner is hurt.
I’m
hurt. I try to scream but make no sound.

Then everything goes black.

 
 
 
 

I look over at Nicole. We’re sitting in my bedroom in the daylight, but my mind is somewhere else. Somewhere dark and rainy. I try to play it off and fake a smile. “Sorry.”

But I can tell by her eyes that she knows where my mind has been. “You have to focus. This is important.”

Nicole is my best friend. She describes herself as a sort of trailer-trash Marylyn Monroe, but she’s much more than that. Her eyes are big and brown with flecks of gold in them. She’s wearing long eyelashes and watermelon-pink lipstick that complements her platinum blond hair.

She motions down to the bed, where five letters are spread out. Each is an acceptance offer from a different university. Good ones. With full scholarships.

“I don’t know,” I say. I move to put them away, but Nicole stops me.

“Not good enough.” She takes my hand and looks into my eyes. “Look at the dates on these. If you don’t decide now, they’ll give your place to someone else.”

Anxiety makes my stomach clench. A year ago I would have given anything to be in this position. Now none of this seems to matter. It feels so petty to think about college when... Conner...

“I can’t think right now. They’re all the same.” I start to look away, and she squeezes my hand.

“Then pick one at random!” she says, and her insistence manages to bring me back to this room, this moment. I look at her and let her continue. She gives a small smile, then her expression grows firm. “I’ve had to help you study for too many AP exams and gone to too many mock trials and bake sales to have you throw it all away now.”

I nod. She’s right. Nicole has never been much of a student—she likes to claim that life is her classroom—but she’s tagged along to every extracurricular activity that I’ve thrown myself into this past year. She’s been by my side even when I pushed her away. She’s been a good friend. I can do this for her.

“Okay.” I fan out the letters like a deck of cards and pull one from the middle. “This one.”

She takes it eagerly and looks at it. She squeals. “Columbia! I was hoping it would be Columbia. I’d have much more fun visiting you in Manhattan.”

We live in Astoria, Oregon. We’ve been here our whole lives. It’s a pretty place to live, but for many teenagers the most exciting thing to do in Astoria is to leave Astoria.

“Plus there are so many hot guys there,” she continues. “I bet there’d even be someone there that you’d like.”

I stiffen. “I’m not going there for that.”

“Oh
come on
, Erica. You can’t stay single forever. New York was made for dating.” She grins. “I know that’s what I’d do.”

“You only want to pretend to be Samantha,” I tease, referencing her love for
Sex and the City
.

Her eyes widen. “Oh my god!” She jumps up and down. “We have to have a marathon! Like, we
have
to. It’s not a choice.”

“You know that’s not really what it’s like. It’s a TV show. A fantasy.”

“You’re such a Miranda, and not just because you have red hair.” She takes my hand again and closes her eyes as if in pain. “Let’s watch it. Please please please
please!”

I let out a long sigh, pretending to be annoyed, but really I love her enthusiasm and we both know it. “Okay. But I’m not watching the movies. They ruin it for me.”

There’s a momentary disappointment in her expression, and then it’s gone. “No movies. I can live with that.” Then she looks down at the letter in her hand, her joy fading. “So... do you need to talk to your parents? About the deposit?”

I shake my head. “My dad’s already written me a blank check.”

Nicole blinks. “Wow. My parents would never do that. But then, my parents don’t have any money in their account, so it wouldn’t matter if they did.”

I’m quiet. My dad didn’t write a check to be supportive. He wants me gone. My parents both do. I only remind them of the way things used to be.

I take the letter from her and go over to my desk. It’s white and immaculate, with small pink roses on the corners. I’ve had it since I was nine. I pull open a drawer and take out the blank check, then carefully fill in the deposit amount and name of the college. Nicole is watching, trying her best to be quiet so I don’t make any mistakes, but I can feel her nervous impatience.

She’s been pushing me to do this for months. I know she thinks it will be good for me to leave Astoria, to try to move on. I don’t want to tell her she’s wrong. That I will be just as unhappy in New York as I am in Astoria. There are dark rainy nights there, too.

When I’m done, we both just stare down at the sealed envelope on my desk.

It seems so small, so innocuous. But that envelope means a completely different life. And I’m surprised to find that a small part of myself is eager for the escape.

“Okay,” I say. “I guess we should mail it.”

Nicole gathers her things and I grab my purse from the doorknob.

“Do you need to tell your dad?” she asks.

I look at the wall, looking through it to envision him in his room. I can see his face, his empty eyes, and I know that his door is closed. “No,” I say. “He won’t care. Let’s just mail the thing.”

We don’t say anything as we work our way down the stairs. We stop for a moment by the front door to slip on our shoes, and Nicole looks outside. Our house, like most in Astoria, is a restored Victorian. There is a bay window overlooking the porch, and Nicole looks out through the gauze curtains.

My mother is outside, with her back to us, staring out to the street. She hasn’t cut her hair since the accident. It’s almost down to her waist now, the loose strands twisting in the wind. She’s bent over in a wicker chair with her head in her hands.

“How’s your mom?” Nicole whispers.

I shrug. “The same, I guess.”

We walk out the front door and Nicole stops to wave to her. “See you later, Mrs. Harper.”

My mom doesn’t look away from the street. Her face is as expressionless as a wax figure’s. That is, until she reaches down for a wine glass, and brings it to her lips.

I don’t bother to say good-bye. I shut the front door and clomp down the steps to the sidewalk. Nicole walks next to me, and we work our way down the street.

When I say we work our way down, I mean it literally. Astoria is a small town built along the side of a steep hill facing the Columbia River. As we walk down, we face a panoramic view of the water. Huge shipping vessels are anchored in the distance, and across the massive river, over a mile away to the north, is the state of Washington. From here the other side is merely a stretch of green forest, with a massive steel bridge connecting the two states.

My family’s house is toward the top of the hill, and it’s about a five-minute walk down to Commercial Street, a sort of main street of shops and restaurants that runs parallel to the waterfront.

It’s June. The air is crisp and clean. Nicole and I are wearing tank tops and jeans. The day is beautiful, a perfect day really, but it’s hard for me to be grateful for it. The days shouldn’t be so perfect without Conner. It makes me feel guilty, to think of what he’s missing.

When we reach Commercial Street, there are cars everywhere. At the sight of them, their sounds and smells—it triggers a knee-jerk revulsion in me that I can’t control. I reach for Nicole’s hand and grasp it tightly. “I’m sorry,” I say, dragging her to a stop. “I’m sorry.”