Authors Note: I own nothing. No ownership rights to Beverly Hills 90210. None to Plato's The Symposium. Nor Exile by Taylor Swift, Joe Alwyn, Justin Vernon and produced by Aaron Dessner and Alwyn.
Chapter one: EXILE
They had been recording for a couple of hours and Brenda couldn't figure out what was missing. Her perfectionist gene was a little stifling today, especially as the guys suspected it had nothing to do with the amazing song that had already been laid five times perfectly. She was spinning after last night, but was unwilling to vocalise it yet.
On finally getting passed Brandon, they had found her standing in the carpark. She wasn't saying a word, but the staring competition she was in with her ex, was ringing in all their ears as they approached. There was no blade in the world that could cut that tension, cut the chain that wrapped around them. Dark and twisty. Choking. Connecting them together. It was so secure that even when Chris had touched her shoulder to let her know they were there, and she had asked to be taken home, it could still be felt in the car- trying to pull her back to him. And even now as she sat in the sound-booth replaying the last recording of the already publishable song, listening for faults whilst furiously scribbling in her ever present notebook, you could still see it. Though it was a shadow now instead of the solid form it had taken last night, but there it remained. It was the first time since meeting her months ago that the guys had begun to realise what her and her ex had been like together.
Last night in that carpark, Brenda had looked whole, alive and yet aware that at any moment she could be destroyed. By just being in each other's presence you could visibly see their bodies had more definition- they had become more real, comfortable in the skin they wore. Her's had lost its rigidness and with that her shoulders had dropped. His chest had become more full, like he finally was breathing deeply. Though even with more structure her body was struggling to house all the emotions she was feeling, and at any moment they were going to erupt. She wasn't alone in that appearance. Her ex looked like he was barely holding it together himself. His look though had been the opposite of hers. While she looked ready to shatter into a million pieces, he looked like he was about to dissolve. As if he was holding all his emotions so tightly afraid that any moment they could be washed away. The fear, the desperation that radiated off him, ever since he saw her walk into the Peach Pit with them, laughing and smiling, had increased since they had moved to the carpark. Leading them to believe that if he lost his battle, and the dam broke, that it wouldn't be just his emotions that gushed, that so to would his will for being. They didn't know who they should worry about more.
Now nearly thirteen hours later she appeared like the chain, not quite solid. The sad thing was they were beginning to suspect that is how she had been since they met. Numb and not quite whole. And while they didn't care for her ex and the mess he had made, they had seen that she might not be the only ghost left over from this relationship death. That whatever these two had been to each other was more than just a high school romance. Even more than just first love.
The guys were kicking themselves for not realising it sooner. No senior high school student should be able to create such emotive music. She shouldn't be able to write lyrics that told a story of such betrayal. Their love had obviously been different, had been intense, had run so deep that they were still connected to each other. That maybe only together were they whole. To consider a lifetime of that loss would be unimaginable. Living a lifetime of knowing that connection had been betrayed, that all in took was her absence for six weeks and her best friend in a bathing suit to do it, that would be horrific. No definitely Bren needed their worry. Her ex could suffer for all they cared- he could wash away. It was his fault there was even a hole in the fucking dam to begin with.
As the guys were sitting back waiting to be called upon to try another chord progression or speed up the tempo of an already finished song, Ray walked in. "So how did last night go? Sorry I couldn't get away to join you but my set ran long."
Paul jumped in slapping his hand, a little to eager for a distraction from the tedium studio session they were all silently enduring this Sunday. "Ray you should have been there! Our girl danced up a storm and was having a great time."
Ray smiled and in his slow quiet tone proclaimed, "That's awesome. She needed it!" Though on looking over into the sound booth his smile dropped and he swung back to the band to glare at them. "Did you let her drink?"
Chris not lifting his head from the magazine he had been dog earring. As a discophile he was known for tagging the pages that named vinyls he would need to buy to ensure his much loved collection was kept up-to-date, responded. "No that's an ex hangover. We had a run in with him last night at that burger joint she is always craving."
Ray sighed and sat down on the piano bench. "Shit. I'd ask how bad it was but even from here I can tell." The guys nodded.
Paul added, "we don't know what he said to her as her dick of a brother and 'friends' blocked us from following after her when he asked to speak to her outside. Even when you could hear him yelling the guys refused to budge. Condescendingly, her brother told us you don't need to worry about Bren this is just more of the drama she craves, and she can handle McKay by herself. God knows she won't appreciate the interference- she never has from me before."
Chris jumped in then, trying to prevent Paul going into another diatribe of angry rants on how their night was ruined by her so called gang. "Honestly, the guy is either emotionally stunted or choosing to ignore what happened. By the time we decided he knew nothing of her life; hell she hadn't even told him who we were. He asked if we knew Bren from her work on the pigskin prom. Anyway at that point we pushed past and moved to find her in the carpark."
"We got her home pretty quickly but she has been like that", AJ nodding his head in the direction of the sound-booth, "ever since."
As the guys sat for a moment in silence, their debrief over and now all were lost a bit in their own thoughts, Brenda moved to join them. "Hey Ray. How are you?"
"I'm good darlin. Heard you were quite the tiny dancer last night."
She smiled though it didn't reach her eyes, nor did she react to the subtle dig at her height, that usually got one of them in trouble each studio session. Secretly, that was the reason they all brought it up so often. She was so entertaining when she was frustrated with them. But today the comment did nothing. "Yeah we had some fun." Moving to open her notebook she looked at Ray, "You have time to work on something with me?"
Surprised he stumbled over his words, rapidly trying to agree before she could take it back, "Sure. I… that would be great. I'd love to." He had never been asked to join in with the band before, but after hanging at the studio trying to find gaps between the recording times of others in order to get his demo together- as cheaply as possible, he knew this was a big deal. Brenda was phenomenal. Her two songs in the top ten, and another speeding up the charts were proof of that. Though her commercial success was nothing compared to the musician respect she had earned in this studio over the last couple of months. The fact she sang and published under a pseudo name, and never appeared on camera added to that respect. She wasn't chasing fame as no one knew who she was, and she had the NDA's to prove it. She was the real deal. An artist.
"It's rough but I'm seeing it as a duet. Two people telling their own story about how they have been left. Abandoned. Neither taking responsibility for the outcome."
The guys all subtly looked at each other, knowing what had led to these lyrics. Knowing that this was how they would find out what happened while they were stuck trying to get past her ignorant brother.
They hoped like all the other times that this would be a cathartic experience for Bren. She had always seemed a bit more alive after one of these songs. They gave her the opportunity to process and share her story. And after meeting the others, even briefly last night, they knew that the people who should be open to listening, should be open to letting her cry and rant, weren't. How would she have ever healed, if that was even possible, without those opportunities? If she had been required to keep that in, bury it deep just to get through the days, what kinda of person would she have become? How isolated would she have felt?
Ray looked at her and nodded, "Sounds good to me. You got a title on her yet?"
"I'm thinking, Exile."
Fuck. Guess it's time to wake up.
I don't know which one is worse. The one where I am too late to save her, and Bran and I hear the shot from next to the garbage cans. Thank god. The furthest that one has gone is me pushing the swinging door open and seeing blood. My subconscious saves me each time, forcing me to wake up- though I know what I would find if I was stuck even a moment longer in that hell. I've lived with that one the longest and I'm still impressed it packs such a punch.
The one that started at the end of school, before summer, is not to be underestimated. Mix the anger and rejection from the wedding, then add the abandonment and impotence I felt when the Walshes were moving back to Minnesota in sophomore year, and you have a recipe for misery. This time however, there are no Romeo and Juliet talks on the beach, no one last time of heaven in my bed, no parties where I get to say goodbye. No joy at all. No in the version my twisted brain thinks up, I run from Brenda in that pink dress, jump in the car and speed off. Only seconds later do I pull back up the front of Casa Walsh to see a quiet house. I move to the door and knock- ready to apologise to Bren. It's never her I want to leave. It just all gets too much at times. I have to leave. Their door opens but I am faced with a stranger, and when I ask for Bren, then Bran, for Cindy, hell I even ask for Jim- I'm told each time they don't know who they are. This has been their house for over a decade and I must have the wrong address. This one does my head in, cause once that door slams I'm back in the suite at the Bel Age with a bottle in my hand. No friends. No brother. No Love. I'm back alone. Unwanted by my mother. Ignored by my father. I am back at the start of sophomore year, but this time it's worse. This time, I know what it feels like to have her. Even if it was just in my imagination I know I'm missing a part of me.
It might be subtle in its delivery, but each time I wake up from that hotel room, I'm reminded how far I have let them get under my skin. Too far, but I know when it came to her I couldn't resist. That Plato was right, that when you meet your "actual half… the pair are lost".
Last night's was expected. Even before I closed my eyes, I knew after the Peach Pit what would await me. My subconscious was going to force me to endure a nightmare of my own creation. Bren walking in on me and Kelly. Her eyes meeting mine with a look of hurt, disgust, and finally the one that kills me, they shift to indifference. Though I had never seen that look in real life, it sent chills to my bones, for it meant there was no saving us. If it came to that, I'd have nothing left.
That one had left me in a cold sweat this morning, and I know I'll be stuck with those eyes, the ones that tell me she no longer cares, that my other half has rejected me. They'll play in a loop in my head all day.
Fuck.
I haven't slept well since the hold up.
It started off that week just a few nights, but after she lost it in the hall at school, and the guy had been caught, I realised how close I came to losing her. That seventeen year old with nothing to lose could have easily been startled that night, he could have taken her away from me for the remainder of this life. I'd have been without my other side. Powerless, weak without her love. Zeus would have been pleased. That's when they had started to come every night. That's when I had started to cling on to her more. If she was next to me she couldn't get hurt. She couldn't leave me. She'd be safe. I'd be safe. I wouldn't be left alone. Abandoned again by the only home I'd ever known. The only home I ever wanted.
I knew that the thoughts weren't healthy. Especially, when Ben asked after a meeting what was with the dark circles. I played it off as teenage fun. But when the lie left my mouth I knew. I should have called Ben the next day and told him what I was feeling. Thinking. Instead I went to school and invited Bren to Baja.
I'd been keeping her at my house longer. Ignoring her curfew in favour of having her near me. When she was there I could sleep. She kept the nightmare at bay. And her magic lasted that whole night in Baja. I slept holding her. Her body next to mine. Nothing between us, and for the first time, in what felt like months, I slept peacefully, I was whole.
In hindsight though, Baja hadn't been the best idea. Jim had already begun to notice my increased intensity for Bren, and if the depth of my love for her had freaked him out the summer before. My want. My need. My addiction for her- now scared the hell out of him.
Like an experienced addict, I was able to hide it well. Push it off as if it was his problem. His issue with me. And man did he help feed that narrative, but in reality I knew. My fear of losing the one person I couldn't be without had started me on a dark path. Had blown my other addictions out of the water, and had left me living my nightmares.
Last night, I had asked to see her outside. It had been the first time in weeks she had agreed to such a request. Even if her agreement had been a head nod, and was motivated by what I assumed was her desire to avoid a scene- though at this stage I'd take it. Hell, I was desperate- I had even started to pray for a storm. Maybe another trip to emergency with a few cracked ribs would return my angel to me. God's intervention had worked before, led us on the path to each other, maybe it would again.
I had started off well. I told her she looked good. That it was nice to see her smile, hear her laugh. When I had moved closer and asked who the guys were, and she responded by stepping back, I lost a little control. I'd asked who the blonde was, the one who had casually swung his arm around her shoulders as I approached. When her only answer had been to narrow her eyes and shake her head in exasperation, as if my question was out of line. Like I didn't have a right to know who was in her life, touching her. I stupidly reacted. "What is he, your revenge? A blonde for a blonde."
On hearing that, she turned to move back inside. I panicked then, I had to do something to make her not leave me. So like our first date I wrapped her in a bear hug from behind, and spoke into her neck. I apologised again. I begged her to forgive me. That she had to forgive me. It was enough already. I'd stuffed up. I knew this, but so had she. We had forgiven each other before, why couldn't she on this? That our love for each other was unconditional.
She began to shift, to move to be released, and I let her. I never wanted her to feel scared with me, I had promised that to her long ago, and that was one promise I was not willing to break. Though her physical rejection stirred up my fear, and as she moved further away I yelled out to her. "You are meant to be mine. My home. How can you keep leaving me? How could you have left me so quickly? So easily? I trusted you. You were supposed to be different than the others. You are destroying me, destroying us, over a stupid mistake."
At that, she swiftly turned around and stared. Her eyes shone with the fire I had stirred up, ready to lash out at me. Good. She hadn't spoken to me in weeks, and at this point I'd take her anger at me, just to have any of her attention. But then the door opened and we were no longer alone.
She had left me. And like the addict I was, this morning I awoke coming off a bender. I had got a reaction. A connection with her. After compulsively replaying the scene over and over again. Thinking when I could see her again. Maybe if I approach her at her locker tomorrow she will let me speak to her. Or maybe in the carpark. She didn't get her burger last night so maybe I could sit at the Peach Pit today, wait for her to show up. When I started considering going to Casa Walsh for an 'emergency' meeting with Jim on my Trust. I sobered up. I realised my addiction had just led me straight to where I was fighting to avoid. I lost her, but not from a shot from a high teenager.
No I'd been the one to destroy my home. I was the one that had destroyed her. I was the one who when she was sent to Paris looked for a fix of Bren anywhere I could get her. Even if it was hooking up with someone who I had rejected many times freshman and sophomore year. Someone who gave me any connection even subconsciously to Bren.
I had sought a fix from a substitute. When the loss of being rejected by my adopted family was still raw; with the guilt and pressure laying on my shoulders to lie to save a man from prison, the same man who kicked me out at fourteen; and, the many months of dreams of her leaving me, being forced to leave me, had started to come true. I couldn't be alone again. I had lost the ability. I had known by then I was out of recovery, and while a drink may have been the better choice, I knew if Jim found out he'd have kept her from me permanently. I couldn't risk that. So I found another type of fix to tie me over- got high on the ease of it, on the delusion it offered.
Thought like Bren, who had always been able to keep me warm, strong and focused; that is, when I wasn't going through a relapse. Maybe in Bren's absence, her best friends friendship could offer me even a shadow of that. But any positive emotion she stirred was only ever there when she was next to me, and when the weeks passed and my addiction to Bren had not been fed, and I had begun to spiral, I grabbed on to her even tighter.
Even then I needed to continually escalate the physical connection. Further than I had ever intended, just to get even a second of relief from my craving. So I spent more time with her, took it further than friendship- chasing any high. I appreciated that she was so compliant to make me happy. Watch movies she never cared for. Surf when she hadn't before.
She was a chameleon. A skill she had, I assume, learnt from her mother. Always becoming what the guy she was chasing wanted- well to begin with anyway. Eventually, she'd tire and drop the illusion, like her mother and so many other Hollywood ex wives were known to do. Like so many of Jack's girlfriends had. That knowledge had been the reason why she never appealed to me, why I was willing to flirt throughout freshman and sophomore year, but never wanted more. LA had enough pretend, I didn't need to court it further.
Now though, it allowed me to self medicate. To avoid the loneliness. To provide a distraction not to get clean which I realised was a futile exercise. She could become my very own designer drug, and while the high she offered was artificial. It did help take a little of the edge off in the absence of my true addiction.
When I had told Bren to go, get on that plane, I knew I needed to get healthy. To overcome my need for her. I thought going cold turkey would help me deal with it. She knew that we had crossed a line. Hell, she had cried in my arms a few nights before getting in that van. Telling me that she had been thinking that coming to Beverly Hills was a mistake. I knew then she was starting to suspect something wasn't right. Something wasn't right with us.
She had noticed my behaviour, and since staying with me had begun to call me out on it. I'd known I couldn't hide it from her forever. I'd hoped that while she was safely tucked away in my house that I'd be able to leave her side more. To work through the fear. Though the distance just made it worse, and on getting home seeing her there I had started to blame her for it. When she put physical distance between us, not even letting me hold her, I'd lost my last refuge from the nightmares. My frustration escalated. She was the reason I was no longer in recovery. I became the typical addict. Blaming the drug for being too tempting, blaming her for the control she had over me. I thought the distance would give me an opportunity to get healthy. She would return and my love for her would once again be pure, free from the corruption that had festered and grown since the shooting. But a few days into her Paris vacation my addiction had raged from withdrawal. Maybe the summer would have been different, maybe today would be different, if I had told someone of my struggles. Told her.
Over the summer the dreams never stopped, not even when I slept on the beach under the stars with someone else. No my addiction had continued. Even after my attempt at self-medicating with a substitute. On her return I was able to indulge again, she had magically smoothed things over with Jim, and it had been good. I worked on being a functioning addict. Though I had to keep a little distance so Bren wouldn't suspect, but then she found out. Not about my relapse but about my summer. And now, months later, I'm forced to face another day without her. Sitting around thinking up ways to catch even a glimpse of her. Thinking up ways to get myself once again back into her arms, back into the only home I had ever known.