We Go Down (Bremmy 2)

Chapterish 7

I follow Brooks down the deck and almost bump into him when he stops abruptly outside his bedroom door. My blood boils and heart quickens thinking about the last time I was in his room. Focus. Brooks leans against the column supporting the roof. I recognize his pensive gaze and I can tell we're sharing the same thoughts again.

"It doesn't bother me, you know." I reach my hand to his shoulder and rest it on his sleeve. "The looks I get when it comes up. How everyone gets all quiet."

"It should," Brooks says, hoarse.

"It should?" I repeat his words.

I mean, it should: Him cheating on me during his second chance. But I think back to NYC. I think about Brooks promising we write together moving forward. Same story.

I can't waste any more energy fighting with him. He looks at me, shaking his head and looking down at his hands.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry, Em. I get sorrier every time I think about it or every time you say –I mean." He drags his fingers over his face and through his outgrown hair.

"When I joke about it?" I say it for him. "I don't mean for it to remind you or seem like I'm still mad."

"But you should be. You should be mad!" Brooks's voice is turning raspy. I stare into his eyes, as somber as the sea. "You never even yelled at me!"

Never yelled at him? Is he forgetting our entire shouting match the morning after he found me at Alex's?

"Yell at me. Go on," Brooks says, squaring up our shoulders, bracing himself. His tone is taking a turn down a road I don't want to go. I can hear his frustration and his self-loathing. Kinda sounds like mine.

"I'm not yelling at you!" I almost laugh at him. "We aren't doing this, remember, Jay? We move forward," I say, leaning into him again. My palm touches his cheek and I move his face to mirror mine.

"Fuck!" Brooks growls. "Maybe we need to do this. Clear the air."

"There's nothing to clear!" I insist. Lies. There's so much to clear that no disinfectant stands a chance.

"I just hate myself whenever I think about it. Any of it. Miami. The fact that I let you come? That's fucking sick. Of telling you there. Of me bringing her HERE! FUCK, what's wrong with me?" His voice cracks as it catches in his throat. Brooks grip tights on the railing and I'm 99% sure I hear it crunching under his hands. "And you just accept it AGAIN?"

He sounds incredulous. He sounds like he's trying to talk me out of being with him. Self-sabotage? Brooks? Never.

"I didn't accept it." I stress the word. How can he even think that?

"You did. And you just forgave me. You just fucking did like six months was enough to forget. Like you didn't even care at–"

"I slept with Alex!" I shout, clasping my hands over my mouth. This isn't new information, but it's the first time I've said it out loud to him. Confirmation.

"I –Oh," Brooks stutters, taken aback by my blatant confession. "I remember."

"Your best friend. Fucked him twice that night. Just so I wouldn't be alone. It didn't matter because I couldn't feel anything anyway! Not after seeing you with her!" My voice cracks; it's starting to betray me. I blink back tears. "I was numb. And you know what you said to me the next day? You asked if I did it to hurt you."

I think back to that morning after, when I opened the door of Alex's apartment and found Brooks waiting for me. He had tried to apologize then, but I wouldn't hear it. Is he right? Was six months enough to make me forget again? To not even care anymore –not hold him accountable?