—Victor Hugo

I only had two options after all of the heartache had set in.

My first was to be empty and emotionless, ensuring I never felt anything else, good or bad, for the rest of my cold existence. My second was to take all of the pain with the happiness, use my final burst of strength to try to keep my chin above the rising tidal waves, and hope for daylight to find me soon.

I was teetering between the two.

A week. Somehow a week had passed. Miraculously, I finished my piece on the concert and turned it in to Tanya, however she hadn't run it in the paper yet. Although my entertainment columns were heavily opinion based, I felt that I had a fair balance of hate and love for Ascend the Stars to even out my bias. I hated it because, with Julian in it, I never got to see him. That, in turn, created all of his senseless worrying that would eventually destroy us. I loved it because, without Julian in it, I would never have met him, and Julian would have continued to struggle to get by.

It was the one thing that brought us together. It was the one thing that tore us apart.

Work was keeping me swamped, which was a welcomed interruption. But eventually, at some point every day, I had to return home... and that was where I struggled. I was back to never sleeping more than three hours a night, and sometimes my fingers would trail the keys of my laptop to see where in the world he was playing that day. Though I tried not to, I incessantly imagined what he might've been doing. To keep my mind occupied in my downtime, I wrote poetry and letters to Julian in my notebook—the one he had given to me for Christmas. He'd never see them, but it provided some respite, and a decent distraction from other things, more harmful things, that I could've been doing instead.

Every single day, I wore my arrow necklace and Disney bracelet, only removing them for a few minutes in the morning while I showered. Even when I met Eric for our friendly dinner, I wore my gifts from Jules. The light from a low-hanging chandelier caught the diamonds in my necklace, making them glow. From across the bustling Indian restaurant, I spotted Eric.

"Hey." Eric grinned as he stood to greet me. He pulled my chair out, in a gentlemanly fashion. Although it was a nice gesture, it felt entirely wrong to even be there with him. "You look lovely."

"I hope you haven't been waiting long." I ignored his compliment, trying to keep the conversation more lighthearted and casual.

"Only fifteen minutes or so." I cringed at the reminder of my late arrival. "I hope you don't mind, I've ordered us some drinks and an appetizer."

I looked in front of me to see a cold glass of bubbling, golden chardonnay. My heart raced at the sight of it. When Julian was around, I never felt tempted, but suddenly, I wanted the drink. I wanted it badly.

"I, uh—" I continued staring at the glass. "I don't drink."

"Oh, of course." Eric pretended to smack himself in the head. "I totally forgot, sorry. Hold on, I'll have them take it back."

He turned around in his chair, with his hand in the air, searching the room for an employee. At once, I felt embarrassed.

"Well, hold on," I stopped him before he could call the waitress over. "One glass should be fine."

"You're sure?" Eric asked, nearly drowned out by the combined murmurs of other patrons in the busy dining room.

"Yeah, thank you." I lifted the glass in my trembling hand and inhaled the bitter apple aroma, then set it back down and concentrated on the appetizer in front of us.

"It's bonda," Eric explained when my confused face betrayed me. "It's essentially balls of mashed potato dipped into a spicy batter, then fried. It's really good."

I reached for a piece to try and Eric did the same. He was right, it did taste really good, albeit garlicky.

"Are we ready to order?" A waitress appeared at the table from seemingly out of nowhere. Her authentic Indian accent sounded nice to my ears.

"You can order for me." I offered Eric a weak smile. None of the options would have looked familiar to me anyway, and he seemed to know this cuisine much better than I did.

"Alright, well, in that case..." Eric closed and collected our menus to hand back to the waitress. "We'll both have the tandoori chicken."

"Great choice. It is the chef's specialty." Our waitress disappeared with a nod, and I instantly regretted ever stopping Eric from sending the wine back. The scent of it was calling to me.

"So, this is nice." Eric motioned around the room. I followed his hand, to take note of the decorations. Shades of red, brown, and yellow created an earthy, calming ambiance. It still didn't calm me enough. "I've never been to this particular place before, but all the reviews said it was great."

He had been researching places to bring me. Oh God. I knew this was a terrible idea. Just then, I realized Eric's blue eyes were unobstructed and bare.

"Haven't gotten your glasses repaired yet?" I stared at him ruefully. Should I have offered to pay for the repairs?

"Nope." Eric shook his head with a smile. "Back to contacts for me, I think. How did that story go, by the way? Did you finish it?"

My muscles froze. "Yeah, I did."

"So, how did you know those guys, anyway? They're huge." Eric took a bite of the potato bonda.

"I kind of knew them before they blew up, to where they are now." I shoved a piece of the appetizer in my mouth and chewed slowly.

"That Julian guy was a psycho." Eric chuckled and I inadvertently swallowed a big piece, almost choking on it. "He would not stop staring at you. What was all of that about?"

I could feel my face warming substantially, with beads of sweat threatening to run down my temples. My fingers traced circles into the black table cloth at the base of the wine glass.

"I'm not sure," I lied terribly. Every part of me wanted to bolt out of that restaurant. If Eric hadn't been my coworker, and taken a couple hard hits from Julian because of me, I probably would have.

"Ah." Although Eric must have taken note of my deceptiveness, he kindly let it slide. "So, nothing there, then."

"No." Maybe not for Julian, anyway.

Julian was in the fast lane, passing me so hastily that I didn't even get a chance to see his face as he sped off into the distance. He grew smaller and smaller, while the road and distance between us widened. He was too far gone to remember that I was back here, behind him, trying miserably to catch up to his pace. Maybe I never belonged in his world. He was too good for me, always was, and he only proved it by doing what I always knew, deep down, he would do—he left me.

At least I wasn't holding him back anymore.

"You deserve better," Eric said quietly.

"Excuse me?" I was sure that I had misheard him.

"You're just an incredible person, Brooke, and I think you deserve a lot better—" Eric was thankfully interrupted as the waitress returned to set down our entrées, effectively halting whatever words he was about to say to anger me.

Why did it anger me, though? Didn't I deserve better than to be ignored, scorned, and brushed to the side?

Eric was a near opposite of Julian—calm, dependable, most likely ready to settle down. So why did it feel so inherently wrong with Eric? Of course, I already knew why. No matter his flaws, no matter his tumultuous past, no matter the ways in which he had hurt me, there was no one better than Julian. I never stopped believing that he was my soulmate, and I loved him with every fiber of my being.

I always would.

If I was a work in progress, an incomplete jigsaw puzzle, Julian was the one, final piece that fit me perfectly. Effortlessly, he would slip into the void. He would fill the corners with a certain precision and security, strengthening all the other pieces of me, while simultaneously completing me. Anyone else could have tried to fit decently within that space reserved for Julian, but there would always be gaps, spaces, mismatched edges—making for a weakened bond. Julian would always be the only one to naturally conform to me, seamlessly. My one hundred percent.

While the tandoori smelled appetizing, I couldn't eat more than a few bites of it. My stomach was churning and nausea was sending cold chills all over my body.

"Don't like it?" Eric asked when he finished half of his plate. "I can order you something else."

"No, thank you." I put my cloth napkin on top of the table. "I'm just not very hungry for some reason. I'll take it home to reheat later."

"Sure," Eric agreed amicably. "It's nice to see you outside of work like this... you know, without a pen and notepad in your hand."

"A rare sight, for sure." I tried to laugh but it came out sounding awkward and forced.

We talked for a while longer before Eric finished and they boxed up my leftovers. Every moment staring at the glass of wine was a dangerous threat to my self control, but somehow, I managed to make it through without a sip. If Julian had been here, he would've—. I stopped myself. Julian wasn't here. He wasn't here, and he would never come back. I had to force the idea into my head, no matter the shivers that followed at its comprehension.

Eric walked me to my car and we stopped to say our goodbyes.

"Thank you for this. I'm sure I'll love the food later, when my stomach is a bit stronger." I strained a smile.

From out of nowhere, he leaned in and tried to kiss me. Before his lips could brush mine, I caught the scent of garlic and onion on his breath, and turned my face to the side, to throw up on the pavement of the parking lot.

Eric took a few steps backward. For some strange reason, I felt the need to apologize.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

No.

"Yeah," I said. "I... think I'm better now."

Eric nodded in understanding, then took a step toward me again. Instinctively, I inched backward, to press my back against my car.

"I need to go," I explained.

"Okay, Brooke, but before you go, I really need to know something." He stuck his hands in his pockets, while shuffling his feet nervously. "I've been wanting to ask for quite some time."

Eric looked to the ground when I met his gaze. He cleared his throat.

"Could you ever see yourself with me?" Eric asked. "I mean, do you like me at all?"

I knew this was a terrible idea. All of my assumptions were proving to be true. My fears had been warranted.

"Eric, I'm sorry," I explained. "You said a friendly dinner. That's the only reason I agreed to this. I'm really sorry if you got the wrong impression of me."

"Why though?" For just a moment, the flicker of an indistinct emotion flashed across his face. "What's wrong with me?"

"No, it's not that, Eric. There's nothing wrong with you." I tried my best to soften the blow. "We're just not good for each other."

"But that psychotic musician is good for you, somehow?" The hostile words came calmly from his mouth, in an odd combination. He spoke them as if he truly didn't understand. Not that I would have expected him to get it. It was none of his business, anyway. "That's why you went to England, right? It's making more sense now."

"Okay, I really need to go." He was starting to piss me off, and I wanted to leave before I burned any bridges. Julian had been right all along—Eric's kind gestures were actually advances, and I was too naive to think them innocuous.

"I'm sorry, I just think you're a great girl. It's a shame to see your happiness go to waste." My back was turned to him, but I stopped with my hand on the opened car door. "You're worth more than to just be used as a commodity. I could treat you right. If you just gave me a chance—"

"Thanks for the dinner, Eric." I huffed and got into my car, without looking back at him.

...

Thankfully, my next visit to the office wasn't until several days later, allowing plenty of time for things to cool and settle after the awkward dinner with Eric. As soon as I got inside to my desk, I was even more relieved to find that Eric wasn't at his desk next to mine. There was a pile of previously printed newspapers by my computer, each of them including one of my stories. Tanya supplied them to me, since I liked to keep the print editions for myself, and put my bylines into a scrapbook collection at home.

Somewhere in the middle of the stack, I found the edition with my story on Ascend the Stars. I opened the paper and felt my stomach drop as I read deeper into the lines of text. I hadn't written what was printed there.

There, in the blocks of text, read heavy criticism, instead of my honest, praising review of their concert.

"...In all, the performance was sloppy and chaotic with unimpressive playing much unlike the perfected instrumentation on the recorded album. With several missed notes, scratchy vocals with forgotten lyrics, and a lack of energy on stage, it was a wonder to see nearly every seat filled in the arena."

No. . I didn't write this.

Before I even knew what I was doing, I stomped to Tanya's closed office door and barged through. She was on the phone, but motioned for me to have a seat in front of her desk.

"Yes, Ms. Fray?" Tanya's devilish smile told me she already knew why I was in there.

I slammed the newspaper down on her desk without saying a word.

"That was a nice piece," she said as I glowered at her.

"You know I didn't write that. What are you doing to my work?" I swallowed hard, fighting the tears. "This is worse than imposition, this is corruption. This is immoral. This is—"

"A lie?" Tanya offered another descriptive word. "Biased?"

My eyes widened, body stiffened, and suddenly everything made sense.

"Eric told you," I said aloud, as soon as I concluded it for myself.

"Oh, yes, he did, Ms. Fray." Tanya's red lips curled up into a phony grin. "He reported you for a conflict of interest, just as he should have. Now, why didn't you tell me yourself when I entrusted you with the story?"

"I'm sorry." My brown eyes met my feet.

"Yes. Yes, you are." Tanya tapped her fingers on the wooden desk. "You are under an ethical code to refuse a story, if you feel a favoritism towards the subject."

"Ethical code?" My anger started to rise to uncontrollable levels, though I tried to keep myself in check. "How dare you speak of ethics to me? No, I shouldn't have taken the story, but everything I wrote was accurate and true. You've attached my name to this... this infringement... this... this is blatant perjury in print... this is—"

"This, this, this!" Tanya mocked my episode of stuttering. I stood there motionless, consumed by fear, fury, and forlornness.

"Let me explain something to you very clearly, Ms. Fray." She stood up and rounded the corner of her desk to stand mere inches from my face. Her finger was at my nose. "You pull anything like this again, and I promise you'll never see your name in print again."

I turned to leave without saying another word.

...

Maybe it was just the fact that my head lay upon the pillowcase he had given to me for Christmas, with our picture on it, but I couldn't sleep.

So, I found my copy of Fahrenheit 451 that I hadn't opened in so many months. Midway through one of my favorite sections, something fell out onto my chest. It was the dried, old, wilted petals of the yellow tulips that Julian had given to me at the airport in Orlando, which I had used then as a bookmark.

The petals instantly crumbled as my fingers touched them, cracking into yellow specks of dust on my collarbone. The flecks broke and dispersed, taking with them the memories of my good times with Julian. It was okay, I told myself. The fairy tales were best left behind in Florida, and the Maldives, where they belonged.

They had no place in the dreary, empty apartment that felt nothing like home.

Recklessly, I scrolled through my phone's camera roll, staring at pictures of us together. My finger numbly deleted photograph after photograph. I couldn't bear to risk seeing his beautiful face again, so close to mine.

In a sleep deprived haze, I stumbled down the staircase to find the caricature of us from our time in Florida. My hands were centered, gripping at the top of the thick poster paper. Heavy falling tears induced my hands to tremble, shaking at the thought of destroying it. I wanted to rip it to shreds for everything it stood for, and see the small, unrecognizable pieces float on the uncleaned carpet.

But I just couldn't do it.

I'd been separated from Julian before, for a longer period of time, but this hurt so much deeper. To see how easy it was for him to walk away from me—to turn away and never look back—was an agony without definition. It seeped into my very core, circulating throughout every centimeter of my being. To know he wasn't coming back was draining and cauterizing me from within. To simply say it was the worst misery I had ever known would not have done the excruciating feeling justice.

I wished I had known when I met him exactly how special Julian would become to me, so that I could have either cherished our final conversations, our final kisses, our final moments of happiness together, or never have said hello to him in the first place, and just been blissfully unaware of what the pain of losing him felt like. As much as the torment of longing for him maimed me, it still pained me even more to think of carrying on in a world without ever having known of his existence. All of my days were absorbed by thoughts of him, when I wasn't convinced he ever spared even a second to think of me at all.

The next day was my birthday, and since I hadn't had a drink since the previous April, that meant one year sober. Laina and Wes tried to cheer me up by taking me out to dinner and a movie. They brought me some presents that I didn't feel like opening.

It didn't even matter.

What I really wanted couldn't have fit inside the small, blue gift bag they handed to me, anyway.

1. "Chasing Ghosts" by The Eden Project

2. "Out of Mind" by Tove Lo

3. "Hide and Seek" (cover) by Amber Run

4. "Nocturne" by The Eden Project

5. "Circles" by The Eden Project

6. "Man Down" by The Eden Project

7. The 1975 Mashup (cover) by Blake Dempsey & Jessie Dempsey

8. "Dancing On My Own" by Calum Scott

9. "Without Me" by Halsey