The End of All Things Beautiful (2 page)

But
something about this moment is strange, like I’m watching it from a distance,
like it’s a dream and I’ll wake up and find myself in bed or still on the
beach. Passed out from too much alcohol and pot. In slow motion almost, the car
fills with the cold air from the night, I realize the windows are gone; tiny
circular glass particles raining down on us and covering the floor.

Then
everything around me goes black, yet my nose stings with the smell of burnt
rubber and gunpowder. My eyes are watering and a searing pain radiates through
my head as if I’ve been hit with a baseball bat.

I
call out, but no sound escapes my mouth. My eyes feel heavy and every time I
attempt to open them, they fall shut again. Over and over, everything is
weighed down, like I’m swimming through mud.

I
hear my name, but the voice sounds distant and when I finally place it, I
smile.

Benji.

I
can hear him calling my name and I see his face. His beautiful blue eyes are staring
at me, making me feel safe and I want him to take me in his arms and tell me
this is all a dream. I love him and he loves me. Everything will be just fine. But
the panic I hear in his voice startles me and he begins tugging at my arm,
screaming at me to get up.

I
turn my head to catch the time on the clock. I blink and when I open my eyes,
it’s gone, but not forgotten. I crawl out of the car, my knees hitting the
gravel on the road, cutting into my flesh as I gain purchase and stand up. My
legs are weak and Benji catches me before I fall, but when I look up at his
face, it’s covered in blood.

I
back away from him in horror.

“What
happened to your face?” I ask, my voice shaky.

“Fuck,
Campbell!” he screams, his hand tugging at his hair as I start to cry. He’s
never yelled at me in all the time we’ve known each other.

“Why
are you screaming at me?” I ask, still completely unsure of what has just
happened. I know there was an accident, but it all feels surreal.

“We
have to get out of here!” he yells again, this time grabbing for me and pulling
me away from the wreckage.

I
take it all in, the headlights of two cars shining on the empty road,
illuminating and accentuating just exactly what has occurred over the last few
minutes. Both cars are completely devastated, destroyed, and to be honest, I
can’t believe anyone survived.

I
brace myself, pulling back against Benji’s incessant tugging.

“No!”
I scream back at him. “We have to call the police!”

He
stops immediately and his face takes on a terrifying look I’ve never seen before;
his eyes wide and his lips set in a firm line. He shakes his head slowly before
tightening his grip on my wrist and yanking me in the direction of two shadows
I see standing a few feet away. As I’m being pulled away from the crash, my
body too weak to fight anymore, I see Sam’s lifeless body covered in blood and
slumped over the steering wheel of the car. The white of the airbag swallowing
his head until he just looks like a lumpy bloody pillow.

My
head turns back, watching as I’m pulled past him and my brain finally catches
up. Crumbling to the ground, I realize what is happening all around me.

We’re
running away from what we caused.

The
other car unrecognizable.

Sam
is dead.

And
somehow, as this is all going on, the first thought that crosses my mind is,
Tommy can finally be happy
. It’s a
disgusting thought and it makes me vomit again.

“Fuck,
Campbell,” Benji screams again. I hate the sound of his voice. I hate what we’re
doing and right now I hate him. “Stop crying and stop fucking barfing!” His hold
on my wrist is so tight that I begin to feel it cut off the circulation, my
hand throbbing and tingling under his grasp.

I
struggle to get away from him, twisting against his hold, but I can’t break
free. By this point I’m sobbing uncontrollably, deep, heaving sobs as Benji
lets go of my wrist and takes me in his arms.

“Campbell,
baby, please,” he whispers in my ear and suddenly the Benji I know and love is
back. His hands stroke up and down my back, soothing me. “We have to go. We can’t
stay here. Do you know what will happen to us if the police find out we were
here?”

“We
can’t leave him,” I plead with Benji.

“He’s
dead, Campbell. Sam is dead.” I know this already; it’s obvious, but hearing
him say it out loud makes this all far more real than I’m ready to cope with.
When he starts speaking again I want to stick my fingers in my ears and sing “Mary
Had a Little Lamb” loudly like I did as a kid to drown out what I didn’t want
to hear. “They’re all dead,” he says, his voice cold and emotionless.

“Who’s
dead?” I ask, knowing full well he’s talking about the people in the other car.

“The
family in the other car.”

“Oh
fuck, it was a family? Oh my god, Benji, no. We can’t run away from this.” I’m
begging by this point as the distant sound of sirens ring out in the night. My
tears are still falling uncontrollably, but I don’t know what else to do, so I
follow him.

I
leave.

Present Day

I’d
like to say everything went back to normal and we all existed as if none of
this ever happened, but that would be a lie, of course. You don’t recover from
this. Ever.

Physically
we were bruised and battered, but surprisingly, we came out of it without any
serious injuries. Actually most were barely noticeable, and since we were in
college and spent many weekends drinking, explaining away a black eye or bloody
lip wasn’t too difficult. We had no broken bones or any lasting scars. Everything
was internal; a deep wound that won’t ever heal. But emotionally and mentally,
we were a mess.

 
Each one of us fell apart at some point
or another, but nothing as devastating as what happened to Kelly. Unable to
live without Sam, she killed herself on the one-week anniversary of the
accident. I was the one who found her and by that time I had become
desensitized to the thought of death. To say I hadn’t considered doing what she
did would be a lie. The thought entered my mind as often as most people think
about eating. I watched her lifeless body hanging from the doorway of our dorm
room as her feet dangled just above the floor. The rope strung from the rafters
in a shabbily tied knot that looked as if it could’ve given way before she
actually died. But it didn’t.

Unfortunately
the repercussions from that were equally devastating, and the guilt that Tommy
carried with him nearly broke my heart. He couldn’t save her; he would never be
enough for her, and watching her take her own life drove this point home harder
than a knife through his chest. I tried to help him, but my own problems took
control and I bailed before I could fall any deeper.

We
were just kids and these problems were far greater than our friendship could
handle. I loved all of them, but not enough to save us.

I
wanted to love Benji forever. I wanted to get married and live happily ever
after, but after the accident, I saw a side of him I never knew existed and I
couldn’t be a part of his life anymore. A constant reminder of what we did,
somehow we ruined each other being together, yet each day I wake, it destroys
me that we’re apart.

But
I let him convince me that walking away from the scene of the accident was what
was best. I watched him lie to the police, lie to himself and to me until it
was more than I could handle. But it’s not like I ever came clean. I carry it
with me to this day. All the secrets and the lies, they live hidden behind the
fake smile I wear.

It
wasn’t long before we all fell apart; the bond that at one time seemed
irrefutable, severed in one tragically flawed night. What was left of five was
only three, an incomplete set of broken lives that couldn’t be pieced back
together.

I
left school mid-semester, walked away from Benji and Tommy and to this day I
have no idea where they are. Yet not a day goes by that they don’t cross my
mind, that I don’t ache for what we once had. But more than anything, I miss
Benji.

I’ve
never stopped loving him.

I
roll over and take in his peaceful face, a look of calm that only a restful
night’s sleep can bring. His name is Carson and he loves me. He loves the fake
me.

“Campbell
and Carson, it’s so cute,” people say. “Two C’s, it’s adorable. You’re perfect
together.” Every time it’s said, I get nauseous, but this is who I’ve become: a
shell of my former self. As time goes by, I’m starting to falter. The
depression, the sleepless nights, the tears and the guilt all eating at me. I’m
growing cold and disinterested in life. Pretending to be someone I’m not is
exhausting.

Carson
has no idea the person I was, the person I still am or what I’ve done. Or
worse, that I’m in love with another man. I’ve learned that in order to survive
this bullshit that has become my life, I have to pretend it didn’t happen.

And
that’s why I’m sharing a bed with a man I don’t love.

My
eyes fill with tears and squeezing them shut, I will myself not to cry. I wake
every day before Carson just so I can have this time to myself, time to
remember who I am and what I’ve done.

He
stirs next to me and I run my fingers under my eyes brushing away any stray
tears that may have escaped. I can’t give him any indication that something is
wrong. Two years I’ve lived like this and he’s still oblivious.

He’s
a good man. Wonderful, actually. And it’s why I stay. He makes me want to
forget what I’ve done, what I’ve left, and what I’ve lost. Yet it’s still never
enough.

“Good
morning,” Carson says, his voice raspy with sleep, a loose smile on his lips.

“Good
morning,” I answer back, my eyes closing and not from exhaustion. I can’t bear
to look at him this morning, knowing I’ve spent the last hour wishing it were
Benji in my bed.
 

“What
do you have going on today?” he asks, moving closer to me until I feel his hand
connect with my hip. A small shudder rolls through my body.

It’s
not that I don’t like Carson, I do, I honestly do. But at times, just living my
life is a struggle. There are times when he makes it easier and there are times
when he doesn’t. Right now is one of those times.

“I
have a few meetings at work, but nothing really going on,” I respond as I roll
away from him and climb out of bed.

“Okay,”
he says with an annoyance to his tone and the guilt pools heavy in my stomach.

I
take a deep breath and close my eyes in an attempt to purge my thoughts and
start over again. “How about you?” I ask, trying to engage him.

“Busy
at work, but I was thinking we could hit up that new Thai place by your office
for dinner tonight? Meet me there around six?”

“That
sounds amazing,” I answer, as I try on a smile before climbing back into bed
and snuggling against Carson’s warm body. And when I take a deep breath I
think,
He’s perfection to my failure.

My
day goes by without complications. Two out of the three meetings I had
scheduled were canceled and about an hour ago my assistant ordered in sushi,
which I’m now eating quietly at my desk.

My
computer alerts me of my next meeting and when the calendar pops up on the
screen, I realize it’s been exactly nine years since the accident. I don’t know
how it slipped my mind this year and maybe it didn’t. There’s no way it could
have. Eventually I would’ve remembered, because at least once a day something
reminds me of it. Whether it’s a song or the sound of someone’s voice, a name, a
comment or a phrase, it’s always with me.

A
few seconds later my assistant notifies me that my one o’clock meeting has
arrived and she escorts the man into my office. He’s in his late thirties,
possibly even early forties, impeccably dressed, not that I’m surprised. I’m
dealing with presidents of large corporations. And the look on his face is the
same one I get from everyone who steps through my office door.

“Hello,
Ms. Forester,” he says, but I can hear the astonishment in his voice and when
he raises one eyebrow, a questioning look on his face, I know he’s wondering
just how the hell I ended up in this position. But he doesn’t ask…at least not
yet anyway. As if his face has given him away, he quickly adds, “Wonderful to
finally meet you.”

“Mr.
Walters,” I greet him with a nod of my head, my hand extended out. When he
takes my hand, I tighten my grip. “You can call me Campbell,” I request, a firm
smile on my lips.

“And
you can call me William.”

Again
I nod in response before taking a seat around the large conference table in the
corner of my office. I would’ve liked my office to be smaller, more personal,
but I was told that wasn’t an option.

“So
tell me,” William says, opening the conversation. “How does someone like you
find yourself in this job?”

I
chuckle a bit at his words,
someone like
you
and I wonder just what he’s referring to. The fact that I’m a woman or
that I’m only twenty-eight or that I’m attractive and thin and I couldn’t possibly
have the brains or ability to go head to head with him or any of the other men
that have graced my office.

“I
give amazing blow jobs,” I deadpan and his jaw nearly hits the floor.

Unprofessional?
Absolutely. But I couldn’t give a fuck to be treated this way anymore. I’ve
grown weary of this response at my ability to hold down this desk.

Before
he has time to respond I cut in. “But today I’ve worn a skirt and I really don’t
feel like being on my knees for the next ten minutes, so I’ll just have you sign
this and we’ll call it done.”

“What
makes you think I’m signing that?” he questions, indignantly.

“Well,
I see it one of two ways, William. You can sign your company over to me and
avoid filing for bankruptcy, having your name tarnished and everyone in your
company finding out you’ve mismanaged funds or you can watch it be plastered
all over the papers tomorrow morning.” I lean back in my chair and shrug my
shoulders. “Your call.”

“You’re
blackmailing me?”

“Oh
no, not even close. I want to buy your failing company, get you out of debt and
let you live the life you always wanted: Wealthy on a beach somewhere.”

“You
just said it yourself. My company is failing. It’s no good to you,” he says as
if he’s trying to convince me not to buy him out. I shake my head and give my
eyes a quick roll. He’s missing my point and I’m growing annoyed.

“You
called this meeting, William because you’re drowning. Do you want my help or
not?”

“How
will this benefit me?” he asks, and again I chuckle. It’s always about them.
Self-absorbed pricks that can’t hack it financially, but decide to question my
ability.

“The
profit margin is small and of course there is risk, but you wouldn’t be sitting
across from me if you hadn’t done your research.” I lean forward, my hands
folded in front of me. “I buy your company, get you out of debt and you walk
away. And once a year, I send you a check, that if you manage correctly, will
allow you to live comfortably for the rest of your life.”

“It’s
too good to be true.”

I’m
beginning to feel smug and I’m about to tell this asshole to leave. Too many
questions and this is taking far longer than it usually does. I’m wondering if
I’m losing my touch, but then I notice a change in his posture and I know I
have him.

“I’ll
restructure and the company will begin to turn a profit in less than a year.
You’ll receive royalties for the rest of your life, a small amount, honestly.
But two percent of a million is a lot of money, William and that’s what I intend
to make within the first year. Plenty more after that.”

“How
can you be sure?” he asks. Again with the questioning and I let out an
exasperated sigh.

“I
do my research and I’m good at my job. I’m an investor, William. This is an
investment firm. It’s my job to turn a profit. I wouldn’t be sitting here right
now if I were incompetent, uneducated, and ill-informed, would I?”

What
I would love to tell him is that I’ve thrown myself into this ruthless career
to distract myself from the shit show that has become my life. It keeps me even
and it never allows me to get close enough to anyone to feel. I have no friends
in this business and I like it that way. No friends, means no one knows who I
really am.

This
time he’s left speechless, only a slight nod of his head to indicate he finally
grasps what I’m saying. And before I slide the contract across the table, my
lawyer enters and I give him a quick wink to let him know he can begin his
proceedings.

“It’s
been wonderful doing business with you, William. I do hope you manage your
money a little better this time around.” I extend my hand once again, but this
time there’s some hesitance on his part to take it. “You’ll be leaving now.
This is my attorney; he’ll handle everything from here on out. Take care.”

I
escort him to the door and as he’s leaving he turns back to face me.

“Campbell,”
he says, and I cut him off.

“Ms.
Forester,” I respond, giving him a cold look. There’s a reason I do things the
way I do. You want that comfort factor in place, to give them a sense of power
over the situation, but in the end, it’s business and I own them.

“Yes,”
he says, swallowing hard. “Thank you.”

“My
pleasure,” I say before adding, “you fuckwit” after the door to my office
closes and my fake smile instantly disappears.

I
hate my job.