—Henry David Thoreau

When Eric got to his feet in the cool, brightly lit hallway, I took a better look at the shallow cut just above his brow. His skin was broken there, but it wasn't bleeding much, and it didn't appear to be a serious wound.

"I'm so sorry," I said for seemingly the millionth time. If I hadn't set Julian off, Eric wouldn't have had to suffer the consequences.

Secretly, I wondered how bad it would've been if Julian were in his prime. Somehow, he looked sickly that night—a bit thinner than I'd ever seen him, with pale cheeks, and purple rings around his tired eyes. No matter where we stood, I had felt the undeniable pang of worry for Julian, and hoped that he felt okay.

"You're going to keep saying that all night, aren't you?" Eric tried to joke. "You did nothing wrong."

"Still. I'm sorry." I covered my face with my small hands, hoping to block the recurring mental images that way. I felt that I had caused all of it.

"I'm just going to find a restroom." Eric touched his cut and looked at the small amount of blood collected on his fingers. "Will you be okay right here?"

"Yes, go ahead." I nodded with my eyes closed, too ashamed to look at him again.

I heard Eric's footsteps trailing off down the hall to find a public restroom, while another pair of footsteps was coming toward me. Mason had been standing nearby, trying to assess the situation, ever since he pulled Julian off of defenseless Eric.

"Is he going to be alright?" Mason asked with discernible concern in his voice, when he pulled me aside.

"Yeah, I think he's going to be fine." I had hoped so, anyway.

"Look, Brooke, I don't know exactly what's happening between you and Jules." He rubbed his index finger and thumb along his forehead, as if the very thought gave him a migraine.

"That makes two of us." A sigh fell through my lips.

More than anything, I wanted to know where we stood. Instead of finding answers, I was more confused than ever. Julian hadn't worn his bracelet, but somehow felt strongly enough to want to hit Eric for stepping into our conversation. Poor Eric had no idea what was going on. He only knew that I was upset, and wanted to get me out of the hallway.

"Jules was right about one thing—you need to talk to him, privately." So Mason had seen and heard more of the altercation than I originally thought. Great.

I wondered where Mason had been all of this time, since he'd previously agreed to do the interview, but instead left me in that green room with Tommy, Devon, and Julian. I could've used Mason's cool demeanor when things got heated.

"He doesn't want to see me." I threw my hands up in a weakened state of defeat. "He stormed off."

"Maybe he can't handle seeing you right now, but I know for a fact that he wants to talk to you." Mason's fern green eyes peered into mine.

"How can you know that? He's had so many opportunities today alone, Mason. Let's not forget that he is the one who changed his phone number, to make sure I couldn't reach him." The gruffness in my voice was making me sound even weaker and more pathetic than I felt. It was less than flattering. "That doesn't exactly sound like someone who wants to speak with me."

Mason looked up and down both sides of the hallway before divulging.

"He calls out your name in his sleep," he said as quietly, and slowly, as he could.

A chill ran up my spine, and I had no rebuttal. I only wanted to find Julian to hold and kiss him.

"Ring him. He will talk to you," the curly haired, brunette boy said.

"I don't have his number," I reminded him, feeling a fresh ache each time I thought about it.

"I'm going to give it to you." Mason reached into his back pocket and pulled out his cell phone to read off Julian's new digits. It felt strange to be accepting the private information, and I almost didn't want to, but my need for resolution, or closure, outweighed my pride.

Several doors down the hall, someone stepped out from a private room.

"Hey. You." I recognized the tall, stocky man as the bodyguard. "Brooke, you need to go."

"She's fine, Nick." Mason stood up for me. "Brooke's not bothering anyone."

"I know that," Nick announced with a sigh. "It was Julian's request. I'm just the messenger. Let's not make this any more difficult than it needs to be."

"Hold on—" Mason started to say something, but I put my hand up to stop him.

"It's okay, Mason. I should go anyway." I gave him a kind, thoughtful look to thank him for everything. "Maybe I'll see you around. Good luck tonight."

"See you, Brooke," Mason said casually as I walked away.

I ambled down the long hall, checking each door along the way. Finally, I found the male restroom and waited outside it for several minutes.

"Oh, there you are." Eric's eyes widened in surprise when he exited the bathroom and found me leaning against the wall. "I was just coming to find you."

The wound above Eric's left eye looked clean, which abated me for the time being.

"Ready to go home?" My eyes bolted around the walls, to the bright ceiling fixtures, to the hard, unforgiving floor. I felt so damn restless and confused.

"Home? We need to review the show." Eric's shirt was dirtied and somewhat wrinkled from rolling around on the ground. It was all my fault. Everything.

"No. No way." I shook my head vigorously. "Your well-being is far more important than a story."

"My well-being? Brooke, I'm fine." Eric tried to laugh it off, but I could tell he was somewhat embarrassed. That, in turn, only made me feel worse. "Besides, Tanya would have a fit if you skipped out on another piece. Especially one this big."

He was right. "Then I'll help you get home, and I'll come back for the concert. I can handle it on my own. That's the easy part."

"Maybe that's not such a terrible idea. My head is kind of pounding." Eric touched his temple. "Your boyfriend throws a hell of a punch. Does he box or something?"

"He's not my boyfriend." Julian didn't want to be, no matter how much I needed the verbal confirmation from him.

"Sorry, I just assumed." He waved his hand around as he spoke. "How do you know him, then?"

"Maybe we can talk about that another time." I could not have had that conversation with Eric. Not then. If ever.

"Perhaps over dinner next week?" Eric's blue eyes held a glimmer in them.

"Oh, I—" He probably sensed my approaching rejection, and scrambled for a guiltless, convincing appendage to his offer.

"Just as friends," Eric added, making it very difficult for me to say no. Especially after what had just happened. My eyes moved over the red patch of skin above his eye, and his ruined shirt.

"Okay," I reluctantly agreed. "A friendly dinner. Sounds nice."

...

The tickets that Tanya supplied me with were in the nosebleeds, but that was absolutely fine with me. The further from the stage, and therefore Julian, I was, the better.

For the most part, it ensured I had more control over myself and my emotions.

My notes mostly consisted of my surroundings and the vibes I was receiving from other concert goers. In words, I attempted to capture the pure excitement, which helped to occupy my busy mind as I crafted sentences for the piece. From where I was, the guys looked like five small dots on the stage. In a way, it almost felt like I wasn't really there, just simply watching a video of the concert from somewhere very far away. It helped to imagine that I was.

I wouldn't allow myself to visit the memory of what had happened in this very arena nine months earlier. Pretending to be somewhere else was working out pretty well for me, until the final song started to play, and familiar chords filled every particle of air in the arena.

It was my song.

Well, our song.

No, his song.

There was no us, we, or our anymore. The longer I could put off letting that reality sink in, the greater my chances of survival would have been.

Not even two lines into the first verse of "Endlessly," I noticed a shuffling on the stage, and someone walking out. The absence of sound from the lead guitar told me exactly who it was.

I couldn't bear to listen to the song any more than he could. So, I grabbed my purse and ran out of the seating section, straight down two flights of stairs, and out to my car. Some minutes into my drive, my fingers had a mind of their own as they found Julian's new number and hit the green call button.

"Hello?" he answered on the second ring. I had no idea what I was doing.

I tried to say something, but the silence between us stretched a few seconds longer as my tongue danced behind my teeth.

"Hello??" Julian repeated. "Who is this?"

"Julian," I breathed his name. "It's me."

"Brooke? How did you get this number?" Julian asked before drawing his own logical conclusion. "Mase."

"Yes." Something about his voice sounded off. His speech was slow and slurred. I chalked it up to his emotional stress. Still, I hated the change in my favorite voice in the world.

"What is it? Ringing to hurt me some more?" He had only just answered, and the volume of his voice was already starting to rise slightly. "You have done enough damage. Your work here is done. You've thoroughly ruined me, Brooke."

"Julian, I never, ever meant to hurt you." Flashbacks of the Regal Inn, and Eileen Miles, crossed behind my too-large brown eyes, and I cringed in regret.

"Well done on that." Julian's sarcasm was ruthless, heartless even, but I mostly felt that I deserved it for forcing that pain upon him.

"I'm sorry." Those two words were all that I could manage to say in the moment. To say any more would have ensured a barrage of tears.

"Sorry won't fix this mess, now will it?" His voice cracked and my heart sunk even lower into my ribcage at the same time.

"Julian, let me come talk to you. Please." I pulled over to the side of the road. "I'm driving but I will come right back to the arena. You and I can go somewhere."

"I wanted to earlier. I don't want to now." Julian's tone was cold. "It won't change anything."

"How do you know that, Jules?" I almost burst into hysterics. "Why are you giving up on me?"

"Giving up on you?" he snickered the question. "You threw me to the wolves the second you decided to bring him into my dressing room."

"What are you talking about?" He didn't actually think...

"Quit acting like you don't know! The earrings. All the time you spend with him, even when you didn't want me to know about it. What is it, Brooke? Was I not smart enough for you?"

"Julian—"

He cut me off before I could interject any further.

"He's just your type, isn't he? Bet you're fucking thrilled you've found him. Professional, established, suit and tie, prim and proper, nice little university educated boy. He's great for you. Tou-fucking-ché on your catch. Would I have been enough for you, with a degree to signify my worth as well?"

"Julian, you have all of this so backwards. Eric is—" I couldn't catch up with him to comprehend or explain his worries away. He was moving too quickly. How long had he held in this distorted misinformation, allowing it to put a wedge between us?

"Please, don't even say his fucking name to me. It makes me sick." He heaved into the line. "What was I to you, Brooke? Was I your weekend escape? Was I bragging rights? Did he know about me? Tell me, was he giving you the fucking green light to run off with me for two weeks, or was there trouble in paradise when your legs were around my waist on your dream holiday?"

"How dare you, Julian? You know damn well—" My thoughts jumbled and my anger rose at his allegations, and instigating verbal assault.

"Know damn well? I'll tell you what I don't know damn well, and that's where the hell you've been since January." His voice was strained with an emotion I couldn't decipher.

"Yeah? Join the club!" Sensitivity and irritation overwhelmed me, as I matched his tone. "You know what? I'm sick of it, too! I'm sick of having to use Google to find out where my boyfriend is!"

I recognized my misuse of the word, as soon as it slipped through my lips.

"Boyfriend?" He laughed. "Surely, you mean someone else because that wasn't me. Perhaps Caleb. By the way, how's that restraining order coming along? Seems to be working well, seeing as he's been texting you since we were together in Orlando, hasn't he?"

The opened text on my phone. Julian had read it. But he had it all wrong. So wrong.

"For your information, I did go to file the report and press charges, Julian. It's all being taken care of as we speak."

"Sure thing." He didn't believe me at all. "It's amazing that you'd protect him whilst being ashamed of me."

"Ashamed of you?" Was he insane?

"Yes, Brooke, ashamed," he repeated it. "I'm just a drop-out by sixteen, but you... you're a master of words, so surely you know it. Maybe humiliated is more fitting."

"What are you even talking about?" I couldn't conjure up a single time in my memory where I would have ever given him the impression that I was anything less than thrilled to be on his arm, and I hated that Julian thought he was somehow inferior. He was the smartest and most talented person I'd ever known.

"You were embarrassed to introduce me to your parents, for a start," he spat. "You were ashamed of me then and you're ashamed of me now! I know you are!"

I had heard enough, and wasn't going to be interrupted anymore. Not for this nonsense. It perplexed me that he could even think what he was insinuating. Still, my mouth wouldn't work as quickly as my mind was moving.

"You want to talk about embarrassment? Let's talk embarrassment!" I nearly screamed it. "Let's talk about our entire relationship, Julian, or whatever the hell you want to call this, since you sure as hell don't want any official ties to me. I'm hidden in the shadows. Everything is undercover. I'm a secret, we're a secret, that nobody can know about."

"To protect you, Brooke!" He snapped, and I didn't recognize the voice on the other end of the line. "Only to protect you! I'll take the headlines, the pictures, the questions, the cameras! I was only trying to shield you!"

"Shield me?" I had to laugh. "None of that could've ever come even remotely close to hurting me as much as you have. Looks like the only one I needed to be shielded from was you, Julian."

"You know what, Brooke?" His silky voice was hoarse with agitation. "I never signed up for this shit. I figured you'd come around and move to England soon enough, but still, I tried for you."

"Like I didn't try?" He was acting as though the pain was all his to carry, while I lived my days by a cell phone that never rang. Then, when I finally gave in and called him, he was with Devon and some giggly women. I wanted to know what he was doing with them, but the bigger part of me was glad I wouldn't ever know. I couldn't handle it.

That would have sent me over the edge, and I was already teetering.

"You had me, all of me!" Julian's voice was almost a shout. "I took the loneliness of having someone, without really having anyone. And for what? Where has it gotten me?"

"You still have all of me," I countered. "You always have. But I've grown tired of waiting for you to come around. I'm tired of giving my everything, to be your anything. Where are your girls tonight, Jules? Are they back there with you yet? How many have you had since I've known you?"

"What are you even talking about?" Julian played it off, as if he didn't know.

"The women, Julian. Your women. The ones I know you're having while I waited patiently for you. While I saved myself entirely for you." A tear rolled down my cheek, but I quickly blotted it away with the back of my hand.

"What? You know what, nevermind. You're not going to use or fool me anymore, Brooke." Something in his tone shifted, sending a shiver through my body. "Devon was right all along."

"Right about what?" I hissed back. "What the hell has Devon been putting into your head?"

"That I can't trust you. That you took advantage of my kindness. I should've known better than to fall for a girl who slept with me on the first night I met her." His words were a sucker punch to my stomach, knocking the air out of me while delivering a throbbing pain throughout every pore of my body. "You would've slept with any of the other four lads, if one of them would have asked you first."

"Who are you?" This wasn't the man that I loved. "You know that's not true. You don't really believe that, Julian."

"Yes, I do." I couldn't tell from his tone whether or not he was fibbing.

"Why would you get a tattoo for me then?" I felt crazed. "Why would you bother marking your body permanently for me, if you really thought that?"

"I was stupid. It's a recurring theme," he said flatly. "It's not a symbol for you anymore, anyway. It's personal."

"So, what was I to you then? What was all of this good for?" I fumed. "Sex?"

"Yeah," he said.

"You're a terrible liar," I told him.

"Is there anything else? Because I have better things to do than stay on my mobile, arguing with you all night." Julian was emotionless, and all the feelings he left out of his words, were amplified in my own.

"Remember who you are, Julian." I wasn't anymore, but if I had ever been his anchor, like he used to tell me I was, he needed me to hold steady for him... not let him drift away.

"I know who I am. It's you that I thought I knew, Brooke, but I don't anymore. The entirety of our relationship needed to revolve around trust, if it was going to work. And if I can't trust you, there's nothing left," Julian explained somberly.

"You don't trust me?" Out of everything he had said to break me that night, this was the worst of all. The final kick to my stomach. The final squeeze of my lungs. The final stomp on my heart.

"Why should I?" Julian asked, devoid of emotion. "There's no foundation on which we can stand. It's over."

"Julian. Please. Just wait and let me explain everything to you. You have this all wrong. So wrong," I said between sobs.

"Don't ring me again, Brooke," he ordered tonelessly. "Not that you ever will again, but if you see me around, don't talk to me. We don't know each other. Don't speak of me to anyone."

"Fine." My head spun in ragged, dragging circles. He would get over this by the morning. This was all just a terrible, gut-wrenching nightmare. "Goodnight, Julian."

"Goodbye, Brooke." His words turned the blood in my veins to ice.

"You mean goodnight." Just like we always said, Jules, I thought. It's always goodnight, it's never goodbye.

"Goodbye." The line went dead.

There I stayed, pulled over on the side of the busy road, waiting for the waves of tears to roll through me, and the lines of traffic to weave past me. There was no way I would have been able to drive through the hazy fog of my ceaseless weeping.