The next thing I know, I'm being shaken awake. Really hard, might I add.
"Beck." Another shake. "Beck. Wake up, man. We're gonna be landing soon."
I try to hang onto the edge of sleep- I haven't gotten very much over the past couple of days- but it's no use. I reluctantly open my eyes and stretch my arms out in front of me, my muscles a little sore from sitting for so long. "How long was I out?" I ask.
"Few hours," Andre replies, ripping open a little foil packet of peanuts.
"Sorry," I mutter. I feel bad; after all, he'd asked to sit with me so we wouldn't be bored, and then he'd just had to sit there and watch me sleep.
"It's all good," Andre assures me, popping a few peanuts into his mouth. "I figured you could use some rest. The dark circles aren't really working for you, dude. You look like you got punched in the face."
I roll my eyes. "Thanks."
Andre ignores me and eats another peanut. "So, what are you gonna do when we get there? What's your game plan?"
I groan and press my fists against my eyes and rub them, hoping that'll make me feel more awake. Even though I'd gotten a pretty lengthy nap, I hadn't slept very well at all, and I'm still a little groggy. "Plan?" I yawn. "I don't know, man. Thought I'd get a hotel, get settled in. Try and find out where Jade lives, check the scene, then maybe go by the theatre and see what I can find there." I shake my head. "I didn't really come here with an exact roadmap of things to do, you know- it just kinda happened."
Andre nods and holds the packet out to me. "Peanut?"
"No, thanks."
"You said you were gonna go by her apartment," he says, crunching thoughtfully. "Not sayin' that's a bad idea, but do you have any clue where that is?"
I shrug. "Figured I'd check in the phonebook or something."
"You really think a bigshot, up-and-coming Broadway girl like Jade's gonna have herself in the phonebook?" Andre laughs. "Hell no. She'd have stalkers on her doorstep on the daily- people take their theatre pretty serious out here. Nah, she took her listing out of that thing about a month after she moved here."
"How was I supposed to know that?" I snap back defensively. I sigh, roughly raking a hand through my hair. "Damn it to hell. So that's out. Now what am I gonna do?"
Andre looks at me, clearly amused. "Beck, you're my friend, and you know I love ya, but damn, you just really aren't the brightest bulb in the tanning bed."
"What in the hell is that supposed to mean?"
He just snickers, crinkling the empty peanut packet in his fist. "Girl stayed with me for about a month, and even now I still see her all the damn time," he cackles, as if that's some kind of explanation.
I'm still puzzled for a moment before I finally understand what he's getting at. "Wait... you don't... you don't know where she lives, do you?" I ask excitedly.
"'Know?' Come on. I helped her pick it out. I even know where she hides her damned spare key."
Andre can't come with me right now; he has to get back for a meeting or something at school, but before we get off the plane, he hands me a cocktail napkin on which he's scribbled Jade's address, his address, and his phone number in case I need anything. I thank him repeatedly as we grab our stuff and stumble on stiff legs into the arrival area, but he's having none of it.
"It's nothing, Beck," he insists, suddenly lunging forward and swinging his suitcase off the luggage carousel. "Just helping a friend out. I'm sure you'd do it for me, you know, if things were different. Just... do me a favor, alright?" His tone shifts from conversational into something much more serious as he asks this, and I can tell he clearly means business.
"Yeah, man, anything," I sputter, feeling a little nervous under his steely gaze.
"Find her." He commands, staring me down ominously.
I swallow hard, my resolve becoming stronger than ever. "I will."
After I go through security and make my way out of the terminal, I catch a cab outside and heave my bag into the backseat before I slide in beside it. Traffic is at an absolute standstill, so I take advantage of the few free moments I have and turn my phone back on. When it boots up, I see that I have a text from my mom, telling me that she's cashed in all the points she's got on her AmEx card to book me a room in a reasonably nice hotel near Midtown. I breathe a sigh of relief as I text her back, thanking her profusely- working at the coffee shop blows enough as it is, and the pay is even worse. Even with all my savings, I'm broke as shit, and I'd been expecting to stay in some cheap, rat-infested motel while I was here. Now, I don't have to do that, and it's a pretty big weight off my shoulders- now, I have one less thing to worry about, and I can focus on the real reason why I'm in New York.
It takes an eternity, but the cab finally starts moving, weaving its way through the crowded streets, and deposits me at my hotel. I pay my fare, making sure to leave a decent tip; working as a cabbie has to suck at least as badly as working at the coffee shop, if not worse- and head into the lobby.
A bell tinkles when I walk through the door, announcing my arrival.
"Good afternoon, sir, and welcome to Grisham Inn and Suites," a smiling girl greets me from behind the desk. Hmm. Weird. I don't think I've ever been called 'sir' before. "Do you have reservations?"
"Uh, yeah, I think so," I stammer, fiddling with the worn strap on my duffel bag. "I should, anyway. My mom was supposed to make them for me."
"Last name?"
"Oliver."
"All right, let me check that for you," she replies, beaming up at me. I push the corners of my mouth upward into an expression that I hope is at least vaguely cheerful, wanting her to know that her kindness isn't completely wasted on me. I drum my fingertips on the polished countertop while she clacks away at her keyboard. Looking around the lobby, I notice a large display against one wall, right across from the luggage carts. It's entirely devoted to brochures about various Broadway shows, its focal point a large, green-and-black leaflet. With a slight pang, I realize it's an advertisement for Wicked. Shit. I turn back to the desk, swallowing the rising lump in my throat, and find the girl looking up at me expectantly.
"Oliver, you said?"
"Y-yeah."
"Beckett?"
"That's right," I say, not bothering to correct her with my nickname.
"Do you have ID on you, by any chance?"
"Yeah, of course," I reply. I fumble for my old leather wallet- which of course was a present from Jade for my seventeenth birthday- and slide my driver's license out from under the protective plastic window to hand it to her. She takes it and examines it carefully.
"California," she muses, keying in some more information. "Well, you've certainly come a long way, haven't you?"
I nod. "Sure have."
She smiles at me yet again before handing my license back to me, along with a little cardboard folder containing my room key. "Well, everything seems to be in order, Mr. Oliver. You'll find your room on the fourth floor. It's number 403. My name is Julia. Please let me know if you need anything, okay?" I nod yet again- I'm starting to feel like a bobblehead. "Great. Thank you for choosing Grisham Inn and Suites, and enjoy your stay."
I readjust my grip on my bag and head toward the elevator to go up to my room. When I open the door, I see that it's pretty small, which I know is typical of most hotel rooms in New York, but it's spotlessly clean. There's a comfortable looking bed, some standard furniture, a minifridge, a safe, and- oh, praise Jesus, there's a coffeemaker. I drop my bag in front of the dresser and set about pouring water and grinds into their respective places before pressing the 'on' button. As the coffee brews, it it fills the little room with its heady, familiar aroma, the scent serving to help relieve some of the tightly wound tension in my chest. When it's finally ready, I pour some of the steaming black liquid into a flimsy Styrofoam cup and drink it straight down, not pausing to add cream or sugar or even waiting for it to cool. It's hot, nearly scalding, and I can feel my mouth and throat screaming in protest, but I force it down anyway, making myself swallow it in spite of my discomfort.
It hurts. It does, but I deserve it, and not only that, I want to feel something, anything, even if it's just my tastebuds frying away into oblivion. I want to feel something, goddammit; I want to know that I'm alive.
I gulp down a few more boiling cups until the pot is empty and I'm completely full of coffee, to the point where I can feel it sloshing around uncomfortably in my stomach. When I'm done, I crumple my cup into the trashcan and head into the microscopic bathroom, where I strip off my clothes and stand under the shower until the water runs cold. When my skin is wrinkly and sore from the pounding streams of water, I finally step out, wrapping a towel around my waist. I step over to gaze into the mirror, which is shrouded by a veil of steam. I wipe it away with the side of my arm and lean closer, so close that I'm almost touching noses with my reflection. Andre was right- I do have massive dark circles under my eyes. Despite the fact that I'm now clean, I still look like complete hell, and not only that, but there's something else wrong, a sort of discomfort I can't exactly put my finger on.
I stand there for what feels like hours until I finally realize what the problem is: I don't see myself looking back at me. All I see is a worthless piece of shit.
For the first time, the enormity of everything I've done, of everything I've fucked up so miserably comes to me all at once, hatred and disappointment settling over me like a dark cloud, and it's almost more than I can take.
"Who are you?" I whisper at my reflection. "What the hell have you become?"
It doesn't respond.
"Who the fuck are you?" I demand angrily, tears burning my eyes. "You did this, you know that? You did this to her! You ruined absolutely fucking everything and it's entirely your fault!"
There's still no reply.
"She could be fucking dead and it'd be all on you, all because you couldn't keep your goddamn mouth shut! You rotten sonovabitch! What the actual fuck is wrong with you?!"
Before I know what I'm doing, my fist slams into the mirror, the glass fracturing into spiderweb patterns as it shatters. I can feel tiny shards of it working their way underneath my skin, but it doesn't matter. Nothing fucking matters to me anymore. The only thing that ever did was Jade, and she's nowhere to be found.
I'm lost without her. I acted like I wasn't for as long as I could, but I am. I need her, and she's gone, wiped away as easily as the steam that had coated the mirror.
I'm broken, just like the mirror, only into about a million more pieces, but unlike it, I can't be fixed or replaced. All I can do is feel it.
I did this. I did this to both of us.
I don't know what to do.
"It's all your fault," I spit at my cracked reflection, sobs rising in my throat for about the millionth time. I feel my entire body start to shake, so I sink down onto the cold tiled floor before I fall over. I go to hide my face in my palms, and my tears burn the battered, bleeding flesh of my hand. It hurts. Everything hurts.
I did this.
It's all my fault.
Author's Note
So I know this update took a little longer than usual, and I do apologize for that. I had midterms and they were pretty killer, but now I'm on spring break, and I hope to update every day this week, if everything goes according to plan.
After this chapter, I've decided to change the rating to M. This is mainly just for language reasons, but I thought I'd let you guys know anyway!
I hope you liked it! Please consider leaving a quick review with your thoughts- reviews are what keeps stories alive!
