—Tablo

My purse fell off my shoulder and my phone went sliding across the carpet. I crawled forward when Laina asked me to, just so she could shut the door behind us—leaving me trapped inside a nightmare from which there was no one to kiss me awake.

Nearly everything I owned was destroyed in piles around me. Tiny shards of glass from broken dinner plates and coffee mugs tore through the fabric of my jeans, slicing my knees and palms as I heaved for air. My bookshelf was toppled over and hammered in, with torn out pages from my favorite books scattered around the living room.

I found the source of a rancid odor when my fingers accidentally dipped into rotting egg yolks that had been seeping into the carpet. White, fluffy, foam material poured out from knifed slices in my couch, and the screen of my only, small television was cracked, with soda poured into the glass.

Across a mirror, the word "" was spray painted in large, black, block text. Right away, I recognized the style of handwriting. Familiar slivers of colored fabric told me that some of my clothing had been scissored, too. All of this, however, was just a secondary reason for my tears.

In the center of the room, my binder of poems lay empty. All around it were minuscule shreds of notebook paper, too tiny to recognize any words scribbled on them. When my fingers tried to place them together—a puzzle with all end pieces—I found that the paper was doused in some type of fluid, which had made the ink smear into unrecognizable shapes.

I wept to the point of near blindness. As my body convulsed, I almost didn't feel Laina's arms wrap around my shoulders. Untold amounts of time passed like this, with the two of us sitting on the floor, surrounded by my life in literal pieces around me.

"You keep getting calls from Arrows. Who is that? Should I answer it?" Laina finally asked delicately.

My mind was screaming no but my throat would not cooperate to produce the vocalization. Rather, my whimpering returned to sobbing and labored breathing. She stood to retrieve my phone from the ground several feet away, and answered as she walked up my staircase.

"Hello? ... This is Laina, who is this? ... Oh, Julian, hi ... Uh, yeah, she's here. I mean, we are at her apartment ... No, I don't think she can talk right now ... That? That's her crying ... She's okay, I think, but I'm going to stay here with her to make sure ... You have to calm down for her ... Well, something happened while she was with you in Florida ..."

Any other time, Laina would have been ecstatic to be talking to one of her favorite musicians. In this sour case, my misery muted any chance of excitement.

The bedroom door quietly shut as my best friend explained to Julian what had happened. He would find out the details even before I would, although I already knew, without asking, who had done this. "It's Caleb," Laina had told me. Of course it was.

Who else would have harbored such venomous hatred, such wicked malice, such spiteful resentment, such sadistic entitlement?

Only Caleb Pennyson.

All I needed to know was why, or better yet, how.

As Laina conversed with Julian, her voice was one long murmur with words that I mostly couldn't decipher. Every once in a while, when my body shifted its weight, my knees would sting with shallow lacerations and, for the briefest moment, the twinge of pain from my wounds would distract me.

Behind me, I left small blood stains on the carpet, and the bright crimson color commanded my attention for precious seconds. They were precious, for in those finite flashes of time, I couldn't focus on the emotional torment—those internal scars were much more deep-rooted. My mind could only concentrate on the superficial lesions on the surface of my skin, that would heal rapidly and effortlessly.

Inflicting pain upon myself would solve nothing. It never had before.

I had to think it several times before reason slowly sunk in again.

I was aware that I was playing with fire, but my promise to Julian would never be broken.

In the turbulence of my life, I only trusted Julian to steer me back to sanity and safety. He was the only one. He always was, even before I knew him, and he always would be. Even as this whirlwind enclosed me in a disarray of flying debris, Julian held steadfast in the center of my world, calling me back to his sanctuary. I would get back to him, even if I had to slither, writhe, and drag myself inch by inch. Even if all I had to offer him once I got there were tattered fragments.

Fragments that, I hoped, only he could put back together.

I didn't hear Laina return to the living room, so when she did, her touch startled me. She handed the phone back to me, and tucked a piece of loose hair behind my ear. I noticed a wet rag in her hand, and a small container of isopropyl alcohol. I allowed her to swipe the rag across my knees and palms, welcoming the sting as the disinfectant cleansed me from the inside out.

"What happened?" I kept my eyes on the floor.

"Are you sure you want to talk about it right now? You have a big day tomorrow, and you just got off a long flight. Do you want to sleep first?" Laina moved to the kitchen to wring out the rag in the sink with steaming hot water.

"Please, tell me, Laina." I did not have the energy to argue or demand of her, so instead I begged. "Please."

"Okay." She sighed before beginning. "Your mom apparently called Caleb because she saw you at the airport, and she thought you were arriving there with him. Later on, your mom was trying to call you, but your phone was dead, so she called Caleb looking for you, and he had no idea what she was talking about."

I bit my bottom lip hard, ensuring a small bruise for the morning.

"Caleb called me and demanded that I tell him what was going on. He said he was on the way here to the apartment to find you, and if I knew you were somewhere else, I had better tell him where, if I knew what was good for you. I didn't want to tell him, Brooke. I really thought he wouldn't do anything, that he was just bluffing."

The first tears brimmed and fell from Laina's hazel eyes, trailing her cheeks in crooked lines.

"He figured out where you were on his own. I guess he looked up their concert schedule and just put two and two together. When he got here, the door was unlocked."

Had I really forgotten to lock my door, in my haste to make the interview and flight on Friday? I supposed it was possible, but so unlike me. Then again, if there were ever a day for my mind to have been scrambled senseless, it was then.

"Caleb hung up on me and I thought he must have cooled down, because hours passed and I didn't hear from him or you. But just to be sure all was okay, I drove by here to check on your place. When I turned the knob, the door really was unlocked, and I found all of this." Laina moved her hands in a circle around us, to emphasize the disaster we sat within.

"I called the cops to file a report. They tried to call you, too. I told them I was just coming by to house-sit while you were on vacation, and that I suspected it was Caleb. But I didn't tell them about his phone call. I wanted you to make that choice. Only you can press charges, anyway."

"Charges? Like send him to jail?" I asked.

"Yes. And get a restraining order," she answered.

"What if I just want the restraining order?" My voice was thick with anguish and exhaustion.

"I don't know. You just have to get in contact with them, Brooke. Or wait until they get in contact with you, since I'm sure they will." Laina wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve. "But why wouldn't you want to put him away for this? Look at what he's done to you."

Maybe Caleb had been right all along. Maybe I deserved this. Pain, and nothing but pain. For what I had done as a child, this agony was owed to me.

"I don't know if I could rest soundly at night knowing I ruined his life, even if he keeps trying to ruin mine."

"Brooke—" Laina started.

"I really need to think about this, and I can't do it right now," I interrupted. "What time is it?"

Laina checked her phone. "2:58 a.m."

"I have to be up in a little over five hours." I hid my face in my scraped hands. "How is it upstairs? Did he..."

"He was up there. Your closet looks pretty ruffled, but your bed looks fine." Laina gazed around the room with puffy eyes.

"Come on." I stood to my feet for the first time in, what felt like, hours. My wobbly legs steadied themselves and I made my way up the stairs to my bedroom. Laina followed closely behind me. We plopped down onto my mattress, to attempt to rest for a few short hours. I set my alarm through hazy, wet eyes and kept my phone close to my chest.

Every few minutes, my phone would silently illuminate with an incoming call from Arrows, but my mind couldn't unravel the mess long enough to conjure some composure for Julian's sake right then. I would need to talk to him later, when I was more calm. At least he spoke to Laina and knew what was going on, and that I was okay. Was I okay? I couldn't tell anymore.

...

When I woke, Laina was gone from my bed. I hurried to shower, attempting to scrub away the night before. Desperately, I longed to stay in the shower all day... to hide from all responsibility and interaction. Maybe if I didn't go downstairs, I could just pretend that everything was alright. There would be no visual reminder of chaos to reflect my own body's sense of being in complete shambles.

Too soon, the hot water went cold, and my feet met the chilly, tile floor of the bathroom, to begin what would become my new morning ritual. Apathetically, I swiped a hand across the foggy mirror to reveal an unrecognizable face.

My puffy, reddened, glossy eyes might have incorrectly indicated to unknowing strangers that I had spent the previous evening partying, or indulging in certain other activities.

How wrong they would have been.

When Caleb grabbed a small selection of clothing to cut up and destroy, he unfortunately chose some of my better, more conservative pieces. I silently thanked myself for packing a red dress in my carry-on suitcase, still fresh from not having worn it during the weekend with Julian. So, I put that on, along with an embellished, black cardigan.

The red fabric hit just below the knee, effectively covering my scrapes. Just to be sure, though, I wore a suntan-tinted pair of pantyhose and styled my hair into long, loose curls, to give the appearance of being put together. In reality, my insides were scattered—just strewn remnants of a better, happier, more confident woman. The woman I was only starting to become acquainted with during my short visit with Julian.

Julian, I thought. I would have to text him soon.

The bitter, lovely aroma of coffee was the only thing that convinced me to return downstairs. When I did, Laina was picking up bits of glass and paper from the carpet. Almost everything was clean. I audibly sighed in relief, and Laina looked up to wish me a good morning.

"Morning," I replied flatly. It certainly was not a good one.

"You look so pretty." She gave a half smile. "Check the kitchen counter."

Along with a latte, there were two toasted waffles placed on napkin paper in the kitchen, just waiting for me. I noticed syrup was drizzled onto my breakfast in the shape of a smiley face.

"You didn't have much food here, so I made you Eggos," Laina called over to me. "And I walked to that cafe around the corner to buy you a coffee. I thought you could use it, especially today. It has a double shot of espresso in it."

Something reminiscent of a laugh escaped me, and I took small bites into the sweet, doughy concoction, enjoying the scraping feeling as it descended my throat. The latte was foamy, hot, and sweet. It quelled something in me, and filled that space instead with gratitude for this chestnut-haired girl cleaning my living room.

"Well, I have to get going, Brooke. I need to go home and get changed before my shift. Will you let me know how it goes today?" Laina wiped her brow and I wondered how long she had been awake, cleaning and preparing for me, just to make my morning more bearable. In doing so, she had made her own day that much longer.

I walked up to Laina and hugged her tighter than was necessary. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Laina pretended to squeak out the words, and I loosened my grip on her.

"Really, Laina. Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you." I held her tightly for another long minute before letting her go.

Laina smiled knowingly and wished me good luck before heading out the door.

...

"Ms. Fray!" Grace, the receptionist, called over to me almost as soon as I entered the Tucson Telegram building's doors, twenty minutes early for my first shift. The middle-aged woman stood up from her chair and motioned me towards her with a beaming smile.

"Mr. Simon told me that you were starting today. He instructed me to set you up with your work identification. If you'll just come over here, please?"

I walked behind the desk, and Grace asked me to stand against the back wall.

Oh God.

Not now.

Not today.

Not after last night.

"Okay, I just need to take a photo for your press pass and building entrance card." Grace pulled an intimidating looking camera from her desk and snapped a photo of me.

I noticeably cringed at the thought of wearing, with any longevity, pictorial proof of the pain that Caleb had brought to my life.

"All set!" Grace's too bright, red lips turned up, and her eyes, heavily covered in mascara, lit up in my direction. I wondered how beautiful she must've been underneath the heavy paint and blush. "They should be ready for you to pick up tomorrow morning. Just stop by to see me again."

"Thank you." I nodded and made my way to the elevators.

Burt was not in his office when I got to the tenth floor newsroom, so I waited outside the door and uncomfortably crossed my arms, while looking up both sides of the hallway.

A tall, familiar blond in a black blazer waltzed up to me, as he finished the last bite of a blueberry muffin.

"You again!" he joked. "Brooke, right?"

"Yes." I nodded, thoroughly embarrassed that I had forgotten his name.

"Eric. Eric Harpen," he reminded me, with no judgment lining his features. The smallest hint of crow's feet were just beginning to decorate his gunmetal blue eyes, leading me to believe that he couldn't have been much older than me. "Burt hasn't come in yet, but I could give you something to do while you wait for him?"

"Sure. That'd be great." It was an incredible relief to meet someone friendly and willing to help make my first day easier. I followed Eric around the boisterous newsroom to his desk. Right next to his station, was an empty one.

"Your new desk." Eric presented it playfully. My nerves slightly eased to be seated next to someone I was already acquainted with, or at the very least, could say hello to without too much awkwardness.

The station was clean and equipped with a telephone, computer, printer, brand new pack of blue ink pens, paperclips, small notepads, yellow sticky notes, and a voice recorder.

"Looks like someone completely set me up," I noted of all of the supplies.

"You're welcome." Eric grinned.

"Wow, thank you. This is perfect. I would have been completely unprepared otherwise," I said, mostly to myself, while twirling my bracelet around my bony wrist.

"Long night?" Eric took note of my tired eyes.

"Sort of." I nodded, not wanting to explain any further.

"Ahh, there she is!" Burt called in a rushed voice, with his hands gripping a full briefcase.

I stood to shake his hand.

"Please, please, have a seat. I'm glad Mr. Harpen could help you settle in. I apologize, I'm late today." He adjusted his thick glasses and tugged at his too tight, plaid-purple tie.

"Ms. Fray, I'd like to welcome you as our newest entertainment columnist. Your beat is music. We are, however, understaffed at the moment. So, from time to time, we may ask you to cover theater or film as well." Burt pulled at his tie again, trying to loosen it. "For your first byline, there is a local band that has just released an album and they will be traveling to play festivals in Europe later this summer."

Burt reached into his briefcase and handed me a physical copy of the band's CD, a pair of headphones, and a notecard with numbers and names scribbled down.

"Put the CD in your computer, listen to the album, critique it thoroughly, and compile your list of questions for the musicians. When you've got an angle for your story, come run it by me and I'll give you the okay to continue. Then start making your calls." Burt pointed toward the phone numbers he had written down for me.

"While you're getting started on that, I will print up the contracts and we can meet over lunch to further discuss your starting salary. Though, if your work here is anything like that at Channel 4, I can see you quickly rising the ranks." Burt's smile was frazzled but genuine.

"That sounds perfect," I was finally able to say. This job was right up my alley. At last, something was going my way.

Burt quickly trotted away to his office, and Eric peeked over at me.

"What'd he give you?" He reached for the CD. I'd never heard of the local band before.

"Rock? Ugh." Eric rolled his eyes in disgust.

"What's your beat?" I asked.

"Art and museums." He smirked. "See? Totally cultured."

I laughed and started up my computer. Luckily, it didn't require a password to log in.

The old PC was taking longer than should have been necessary to read the music disc, so I thought to use this opportunity to text Julian. I wanted to let him know that everything was going alright. I searched my purse only to find I had forgotten my phone at home.

Immediately, an ache of regret coursed through me. I should have replied to him earlier.

Minutes ticked by slower than the hours when I gathered the unpleasant truth that I would have to make it through the whole day without him. To be unable to contact Julian for that long filled me with an unusual sense of distress and panic.

The end of my first shift, no matter how smoothly it was going, could not have come soon enough.

1. "Dark Rainbow" (Somewhere Over the Rainbow cover)

2. "Heavy in Your Arms" by Florence and the Machine

3. "Give Me Something" by Seafret

4. "Infinity" (cover) by Matt DeFreitas

5. "Infinity" (piano cover) by Nuetful