We Go Down (Bremmy 2)

Chapterish 25

[Quote Aesthetic of the Chapterish]

"Let's go somewhere." Brooks moves his head up to the pillow next to mine. His lips turn up into a smile. "Want to go somewhere with me?"

"Yea? Another walkabout?" I tease.

"Yes. Maybe. I feel like we should get away," Brooks says, his fervor intensifying.

"You always want to get away, Brooks." I roll my eyes. "You can't stay put."

"Fine. Forget it," Brooks says, his voice spoiling. "We'll be boring."

"I'd hardly say we're boring," I say, defensively. We are traipsing around the country carrying on this torturous long-distance thing.

"Sure," Brooks says, like he's not even listening. Or at the very least like he doesn't believe me.

"What's wrong?" I ask, peering across the space between our pillows.

"Nothing's wrong. It's just –I just want to do everything with you. We could go. Leave tomorrow and not worry about whose turn it is to visit who." Brooks's thumb traces over my bottom lip. "Not worry about anything."

"Tempting." I nudge him with my elbow. "What are you worried about?"

The real world. Breaking up. Sharks.

"I'm not worried." Brooks shakes his head into his pillow. "I could just use a break."

"A break from what?" I keep my voice quiet, but it sounds so loud. So judgy. I wonder what Brooks could possibly need a break from. Surfing? Running his own company? Making his own hours? Flying wherever he wants?

"Just –everything. Maybe." Brooks plays with my hair, tucking it behind my ear. "Everything but you."

His hand pulls my head to his and without warning I am losing myself in our kiss. It's an eighth-grade make-out sesh and I'm not mad about the PG-13. It's oddly comforting. Like I'm with Old B when he was too afraid to take off my bra or when he didn't know how.

I break apart from him long enough to catch my breath. Looking into his face, it's impossible to deny him. I roll my eyes and give in.

"Where would we go?" I indulge him. "Some exotic island? Remote cabin?"

"I'm thinking more Europe," Brooks says, matter-of-factly.

"That's broad."

"It's abroad," he smirks.

"Trans-Atlantic walkabout." I pretend to be thinking out loud. "There're so many options. It's too hard to choose where."

"So we'll go without knowing where. Destination is the death of adventure."

"Deep." I tease. "How about London?" I suggest. "Easy when they speak English."

"Well, that's no fun."