. . .
And all he can say is that love is a terrible art
It's a hook in the heart that can drag you on broken glass
And as you protest the shards in your flesh
The hook tears out your chest
Until you're just a Broken Mess
~The Classic Crime, "Broken Mess"
. . .
She loved him. She knew that now.
And so he had to go.
If she was truthful – which she wasn't, not ever, lies were becoming her first language – she'd loved him since they first met, when she'd slammed shut her locker and he'd suddenly been there. He smirked at her, his arms folded across his chest and brown eyes sparking. "Hi."
She looked him up and down. "Bye."
"I'm Beck."
"I don't care."
On and on it went. He'd say something. She'd cut him down. Over and over again, until she was ready to bite his head off. Who did he think he was, with his gorgeous hair and his bell-like laugh and soul-deep eyes? He thought he could schmooze anyone. Well, not her. She saw right through those beautiful, sensitive, chocolaty eyes. Obviously.
She started counting for the hell of it. Seventy-eight. That's how many times he asked her out before she said yes just to get him off her back. Seventy-eight.
She could not believe him. Seriously. When she was in a bad mood, he wrapped an arm around her waist and bought her a frozen yogurt. When she threatened to leave him and never come back, he nodded slowly and just waited for her to come back. Which she inevitably did. He laughed when she threatened him, smiled when she snarled, and kissed her when she swore. Anyone else would have run screaming by now. Not him. Never him.
"Why do you put up with this?" she asked him in total frustration once. "Why don't you just go away?"
"I'm not going anywhere," he said, kissing her nose. "I love you."
She punched him in the arm and stalked away. Because that was when she knew: she loved him back. She'd built the most powerful weapon against her possible and laid it in his hands.
And so began the quest to get rid of him.
She could have just broken up with him, but she knew he would have just asked her for the seventy-ninth time. So she set out to make him break up with her, watching for any trait that could be turned against him, any flaw or weakness. He did his own thing? She turned extra-possessive overnight. He hung out with friend girls? She became a petty, jealous witch. Not that that was hard. She would rather drown than admit it, but that breathtaking, gut-wrenching, heart-pounding feeling that curled in her stomach whenever she saw him with a girl was starting to feel a lot like jealousy. Good thing she was an actress, born and bred.
Nothing. He would get irritated – she could see it in the flash of his eyes and the slump of his shoulders. But he always soothed her, cracked a joke, was the most freaking perfect boyfriend any girl could have. Why, why why?
She came across his kryptonite quite by chance, one improv class. She'd leaned in to kiss that Sinjin creep and ended up looking right into Beck's eyes.
Jealousy. Gone in the next instant, but there all the same. And that was all she could think about as she mashed her lips into Sinjin's and waited for it to be over.
She swore to herself he would never, ever know about the agony behind her choice. The sleepless nights that swirled around her, disguised by thick makeup under her eyes. The choices that circled her like buzzards, one by one taking a jab at her heart. Hurt him. Lose him. Keep him. Love him. And what, have him crush her like last time? And the time before that? He wouldn't. They always do. He loves me. Doesn't matter. It would get to the point where she'd have to get up, pace, scream into her pillow. Damn it, how many times would men have to prove they were all bastards before she stopped trusting them? Why couldn't she just make a clean break and move on?
Although she didn't look it, hurting people was not her second nature. That would be self-preservation.
After three of these hellish nights, she'd come to a decision: there was no other way. She'd always wanted to walk alone. This was her last option. This was the price of painlessness.
She could tell exactly the moment when he'd walked around the corner. Right in the middle of her mouth searching Robbie's, just as she'd planned. Robbie was the obvious target – his desperation and overall awkwardness, besides making him an easy target, would saw Beck's ego in half. So she closed her eyes and got on with it, trying to ignore the endless chant of slut, tramp, whore beating in her head. Trying to ignore the fact that Robbie was not exactly good at this. Trying to ignore the fact that pretending this was Beck would make this a whole lot easier and a whole lot more miserable at the same time.
For a girl who'd just gotten exactly what she wanted, Jade West felt a lot like a girl who'd just thrown her last chance away.
.
Beck was sitting on the stairwell, fists clenched in his lap. He had been watching his girlfriend make out with another guy for a while now, although he hadn't bothered to check the exact time. Robbie. Why did it have to be Robbie? He didn't blame him, though. It wasn't his fault that he was weak. Judging from the stunned look on his face, he'd been seized, shoved up against the wall, and manipulated as shamelessly as Beck himself had been.
Jade.
What had he done to deserve this? Falling in love with this mess of a girl who kissed him so she could get close enough to knife him in the heart. He'd loved her since he first saw her, walking down the hallway. Proud, strong, so incredibly beautiful. Pale as an ice queen, with eyes of fire and curves of a goddess. And when she'd turned her back to stop at her locker, he hadn't been able to resist a quick peek down south.
That was when he swore she would be his no matter what it took. Which turned out to be endless badgering, all his charm, and a little extortion.
Seventy-eight. That's how many times he asked before she finally just exploded and he got everything he wanted. Seventy-eight. When she finally said yes, he'd felt like doing a touchdown dance all the way across the parking lot. Finally triumphant. Yes, yes, yes.
Apparently that wasn't what she was thinking at all.
She could be impossible. She could raise hell. He knew that as well as anyone. But something stopped him from walking away when she swore at him for looking at another girl or pitched a fit when he did the least little thing wrong. It was the thin edge to every one of her words, whether asking for a soda or screaming at him for absolutely nothing.
Pain. The unflappable Jade West was slowly falling apart. It would have been touching if she hadn't been hell-bent on taking him with her.
He wondered if she realized how much he really cared. He'd told her he loved her – only a few times, so that she would know when he said it, he really meant it. He'd gotten mixed results; a punch in the arm, a snort, a sneeze followed by a declaration she was allergic to BS. But there were little things, microscopic and sometimes downright mean by anyone else's standards. Dragging him away from a pretty girl by the scruff of the neck. Bringing him the most disgusting diet soda possible if he'd asked for a root beer. Giving him a can of lemonade on his birthday. Still, she'd cared that he was talking to a girl. She'd brought him a soda when he asked. She'd remembered his birthday and even the fact that he liked lemonade. For a stupid, crazy second, he'd actually thought they had a fraction of a chance.
Until this.
Was it bothering her at all? Did she care that he was standing behind her? Because he knew she knew. He came by here every day at about this time. She had to have some clue. And Robbie? Really? What did Robbie have that he didn't? She couldn't find ventriloquism sexy. She'd always made it clear she found it nearly intolerable.
Suddenly Beck couldn't stand this.
He stood up, brushed his sleeves back and walked over to their shady little corner. He couldn't see Jade's face, but Robbie didn't even see him until he had a hand on both their shoulders and was prying them apart. "B-Beck!" he gasped, turning a sickly shade of white, still with Jade's lip gloss slashed across his mouth. "W-What are you doing here?" He shakily wiped off most of the gloss with his hand, but a bit clung to his lower lip. He actually had the nerve to lick it off.
At that moment, Beck Oliver wanted Robbie Shapiro to die. By his hand. Slowly and painfully.
He shook the bloodlust out of his head. Momentarily. "Get out of here, Robbie."
"Beck, I –"
"GET OUT!" he roared, slamming a fist into a locker so hard it dented. Robbie jumped and ran, still nodding his head furiously. Beck didn't even watch him go, punching the locker again. And again. He beat it until it actually ripped off its hinges, folding inward with a screech. Damn. He'd worry about that later.
Chest heaving, knuckles bloodied and shoulders tensed, he turned to face Jade.
"Why?"
She managed a shaky snort. "Isn't it obvious?"
"Don't screw with me, Jade, why?" She didn't answer, and he lashed out at the locker again, his knuckles screaming in protest. The pain helped a bit, and he pressed his face into the cool metal frame, trying to calm himself. "I've done everything for you," he hissed. "Everything!"
"Is that what you think?"
"Well, what haven't I done?" he demanded, seeing red all over again. "What more could you possibly want from me? Tell me, Jade, so we can just get this over with. What do you want?"
"NOTHING!" she exploded, suddenly screaming. "I never said I wanted anything! I didn't want anything, least of all from you! I just want to be left ALONE!"
"Ah, yes, alone," he spat, making it sound like a curse. "It's easier that way, isn't it? You don't have to pretend you don't feel anything when you're alone. You don't have to pretend you're made of stone. Of course, you don't have to with me, either, but you're too damn stubborn to figure that out! It's easier just to hate everybody, right?"
"Yes!" she shouted, and then suddenly slumped in defeat. "No. I don't know."
Beck was not in the mood for appeasement. "Good answer." Horrible silence spiraled for a moment, the kind of silence that's so loud you almost can't hear the hearts breaking.
"So go," Jade said flatly.
"What?"
"If you're going to leave, do it now." Before I change my mind, she thought, but didn't say, because she'd never seen him look so angry before.
He let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Oh no. You're not getting off that easy."
When she met his eyes, there was honest shock in hers. "You mean you're not breaking up with me?" He looked at her. She raked her hands through her hair so forcefully she ripped out a few extensions. "Why not? Why the hell not? Are you some kind of masochist or something? Do you like pain?"
"Oh, so that's why you pulled this stunt?" She didn't answer, the sullen silence speaking for itself. "No, I don't like pain, I love you, and God knows why." He met her eyes. "I'm seriously starting to think I'm crazy for it, but I love you."
"Stop saying that!" she snarled, actually putting her hands over her ears. "Stop saying you love me! You don't love me! You can't!"
For the first time, the terror in her voice penetrated the fog of anger swirling around Beck, and he took a deep breath. "Why not?"
"Because people like you and people like me don't work! People like you don't love people like me. People like you hurt people like me."
"I'm not gonna –"
"Of course you won't mean to, but that's just how it works." Her tone held nothing but utter defeat now; what did it matter? He might as well know. "I'm sure my father didn't mean to hurt Mom either. But he was a 'good man', according to everybody else, anyway." The corner of her mouth twitched humorlessly. "Including his wife. But to Mom, he's just another guy who broke her."
He'd picked up on one word. "You mean he's –?"
"Married," she confirmed wryly. "I'm the worst mistake he ever made. You wanna know why I walk alone? Because it's better to be a bitch by choice than a bastard by birth. And when it comes to love, people like you will hurt people like me. That's just how it works."
Thinking back, she probably should have just told him that from the beginning. It would have driven him off like nothing else. But she didn't speak of it. Ever.
When Beck spoke again, however, there was an odd catch to his voice. "'When it comes to love'? Does that . . . does that mean you love me?"
She wanted to . . . she couldn't. She just – couldn't. Not yet. "It – it doesn't mean I don't," she admitted in a voice that was utterly broken, staring at the floor. "But I will not end up shattered on the floor because someone like you couldn't live with me."
"No," he said, and his voice was almost gentle now, "you'll end up shattered on the floor because you couldn't live with yourself."
Jadelyn West actually sniffled.
"Jade." He was coaxing her out now, soothing her like a spooked horse. "Let it go. If you do that, I will too. All of it. Just let it go, and maybe we can start over. Maybe it'll be like you said. Maybe we'll be the world's next Romeo and Juliet, or maybe we'll live happily ever after like Wesley and Buttercup."
She managed a snort that sounded more like a sob. "Wesley and Buttercup? Really?"
"I'm running out of analogies," he admitted ruefully. Then he was serious again. "So what do you say? Are you willing to take that chance?"
She knew what her choice had to be. She couldn't fight it anymore. She slipped into his arms wordlessly, and for the first time in five years Jade cried. Something was unfurling in her chest, like the most delicate of flowers after the first spring rain.
It would be some time before she recognized that something as hope.
. . .
But love is a beautiful thing
She can make your heart sing when you're walking on broken glass
She will open your eyes
Make your heart feel alive
Point you toward the sunrise
Help you leave all this Broken Mess behind . . .
Will you leave your Broken Mess Behind?
