The Year We Fell Apart (25 page)

MR. HARRISON’S GALLERY IS IN A
converted warehouse that from the outside looks a lot like the Bourbon Lounge. Judging from the number of occupied parking spaces, I’m one of the first people to arrive. The sky is overcast and gray, giving the afternoon a brittle feel that sends a chill down my spine as I cross the parking lot.

The interior of the gallery is divided into clean spaces with white walls housing various styles of art. Mr. Harrison’s work has been cleared out and replaced with ours for our final class.

As I suspected, only a few of my classmates have arrived, and Mack and Gwen aren’t among them. I head straight for the ladies’ room and shut myself in a stall.

I tried calling Declan on my way here. I stopped by his house, too. But no one was home.

Or he just didn’t answer the door.

I’m hyperventilating. I have to calm down before I see him. Closing my eyes and sinking back against the cool metal wall, I breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth.

He’ll understand. He’ll understand because . . . he has to.

I’ve got it all worked out. I’m going to get him away from here first. We’ll go for a walk. And then I’ll just tell him everything; tell him in a way that doesn’t sound like an excuse for my bad decisions.

Exhaling another cleansing breath, I pull open the bathroom door and examine my reflection. I spent extra time on my hair tonight. It’s curly, the way Declan likes it. But despite the cool air, I’ve sweat through my shirt. My hand clutches the fabric, wrinkling it.

“There you are!” Mack springs through the door and I quickly straighten my blouse.

Gwen walks in behind her wearing a tight black dress and an insanely bright pink headband. She notices me smirking at it and pushes it back a bit on her head. “Mackenzie,” she says matter-of-factly.

“I figured as much.”

Mack walks toward me and leans against the sink next to mine. “Are you feeling okay? You look kind of pale.”

“Just the fluorescent lights, probably.”

Her nose wrinkles. “Oh. I thought you might be a little . . . under the weather. After last night.”

“What happened last night?” Gwen asks.

Mackenzie waits for me to answer, and when I don’t she starts picking at her nail polish. “You know, I was hanging out with Cory when you called. He tried calling you back. . . . He said you sounded pretty upset about something.”

Another girl from class comes in and shuts the stall door behind her. I turn on the faucet and wash my hands, grateful for the diversion. It doesn’t last long enough. As soon as she’s gone, Mackenzie corners me. All five feet four of her looks ready to Sherlock the answers out of me.

“So the rest of the night worked out okay, then?”

My stomach clenches because she isn’t going to let this go. “Uh-huh.”

Gwen holds up her hand. “Okay, both of you are acting so weird. Am I missing something?”

Picking at my lip, I back up against the sink. “You guys haven’t talked to Declan?”

She tilts her head. “No. . . .”

Mack reaches for my hand. “Harper, you’re shaking. Seriously, what’s wrong?”

I throw my paper towel in the trash and my heart stutters after a skipped beat. I rub my sternum. “Um . . . something happened last night.”

“Something. What kind of something?”

“There was this party. And Declan was supposed to meet me there, but he said he couldn’t make it. So I started drinking, and then . . .”

He never has to know.
I bring my fingers to my lips. Try to keep it in.

“And then . . . ,” Gwen prompts.

“Kyle showed up. And he had some pot. . . .”

She winces. “Kyle?”

I clench my jaw and close my eyes, pushing the images out of my head. “I tried to leave with Sadie, but she wouldn’t even talk to me. So I went inside to get away from him, but he followed me in. He brought me upstairs and then before I really realized what was even happening we were kissing, and he was trying to do other stuff—”

Mack’s head whips up and she shifts toward me. “Whoa, wait a minute, what do you mean
before you realized it
? How drunk were you?”

“Three hits, half a pint of vodka. I was beyond drunk. Nothing ever would have happened otherwise.”

“Right,” Gwen says. “And when you say he was trying to ‘do other stuff ’ . . . what exactly are you saying?”

Swallowing, I squeeze the pendant on my necklace. “I dunno, just that he wanted more, and I was so out of it . . . but when I realized what I was doing—look, we were both really wasted. And I stopped him before things went too far. It was stupid. A mistake.”

Mack is still pacing. I don’t like it. I want to tell her to quit it because now my knee is bouncing and I don’t like that, either.

Laughter carries in from behind the bathroom door. Everyone outside is having fun and living their lives. I want that. I want to stop feeling Kyle’s breath on my skin.

My fingers snap the elastic band on my wrist again again again.

Mack’s hand covers mine. My leg is still trembling. I flatten my palm on my thigh, trying to force it to stop. “Anyway, when I came out of the room, Declan was there. He saw Kyle, and the look on his face . . .” I shake my head. “He didn’t give me a chance to explain. I have to explain; it didn’t mean anything.”

They exchange a look. I don’t trust it.

“You guys have to promise not to say anything. It was nothing; I’m not like that anymore.” My voice is rising, becoming panicked.

Gwen holds up her hand. “Calm down, we would never tell people about this.”

I’m watching Mack. She’s pulling at the ends of her hair again.

“Mackenzie?” She looks up. “You can’t tell Cory. Promise me.”

She drops her hair and crosses her arms. “Of course not.”

I turn back to the sink and check my makeup one last time. I have bags under my eyes and I don’t think I’ve been this pale before, ever.

With jittery hands I tuck my hair behind my ears and put on ChapStick. Ready as I’ll ever be.

They follow me out the door. Cory is here to support Mack, and she runs over to him right away. But fifteen minutes later, Declan still hasn’t shown.

I take a turn about the room, looking at everyone’s pictures. I pause in front of Declan’s nameplate. No picture.

“I was quite impressed with your submission,” Mr. Harrison says behind me.

I turn around. He’s actually talking to me. “Oh.” I stand up a little straighter and let my necklace slip out of my hand. “Thank you.”

He pushes his glasses up his nose and clears his throat, gesturing toward my picture a few feet over. “Okay, Miss Sloan,” he says in his teacher voice. “What can you tell me about this shot?”

“Um . . .” I cross my arms and look at the picture. One I took at the cemetery, right before Declan found me. “Well, I like this shot because of the moment I experienced while taking it. It was a long night, and more than anything I just wanted to see a new day begin. I liked the contrast of people who are gone, people we miss, and the idea that we never really know what the future holds. I may not have captured all of that, but it’s what I was thinking.”

Gwen catches my eye from across the room and weaves her way over.

“I think you captured more than you realize,” Mr. Harrison tells me. “You’ve shown a lot of progress this summer. I hope you’ll continue your work.”

“Thanks. I will.” He moves on to the next shot and I turn my attention to Gwen.

“He’s here.”

I follow her gaze to the back corner of the room. “Okay.”

Okay.

Declan is propped up against a wooden beam, staring at a black-and-white portrait of a mother holding a newborn baby. I try to get a better read on him as I make my way over. Something is off, but I can’t quite figure it out. It’s the way he’s slouched against the boards, like he doesn’t have the energy to stand up straight.

“Declan, I really need to talk to you.”

His face is shut down, and above his eyebrow is an angry-looking cut.

“Oh my God, what happened to your face?” I touch his forehead and he jerks out of reach. I lower my fingers, unnerved by his appearance. I clear my throat and try again. “Did you have an accident at work or something?”

Finally, he looks at me. The bruise on his temple is worse than I thought. His jaw shifts to one side and he wears a smile that does not reach his eyes and seems more menacing than happy.

He shakes his head at the floor. “Something like that.”

Before I can respond, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a metal flask, waving it in my direction.

“Want some?” He holds the open flask under my nose. The strong smell of whiskey burns in my nostrils and makes my stomach roll. I turn my head away. “Suit yourself.”

Glancing over my shoulder, I make sure no one has noticed us and lean closer. “Dec, put that away.”

He takes a long pull from it instead. He laughs, fumbling as he screws the cap back on. “What, did I bring the wrong liquor?”

The collar of his shirt is kinked up on one side and I want to fix it, but touching him again seems like a very bad idea. Declan is a tensed coil, and there is more belligerence in his eyes than I’ve ever seen before. I have no idea what his next move will be. Whether he will lash out or shatter.

He steps around me. Pauses. Snaps his fingers like he just remembered something. “Oh, and since you asked, I got fired this morning.”

With that, he moves for the door, leaving me reeling from this new information and puzzled over what, exactly, his getting fired has to do with the way he just looked at me. Like I was someone he recognized but didn’t really know.

He’s already out the door when I start to chase after him.

“Declan, hold on!” He doesn’t. “Will you please wait?”

My flip-flops slap loudly on the concrete sidewalk as I follow him all the way to the parking lot.

He spins around when he reaches my car, sliding onto the hood. Lifting the flask to his lips, he locks his eyes on mine and takes another shot. The taste doesn’t seem to faze him.

“Listen, you have the wrong idea about last night.”

He half smiles again, gesturing toward me with the flask gripped in his right hand. I notice for the first time that his knuckles are scraped and raw. My fingers tighten around the fabric of my shirt.

“Yeah? So what were you doing upstairs?”

I snap the elastic on my wrist and he notices. The corners of his mouth sink lower and his eyes narrow and it’s awful.

“I went inside to use the bathroom,” I say quietly.

Declan taps the flask against the hood.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

I’m transfixed, flinching every time he makes contact. He breaks me.

“I was upset,” I add. “I wanted to get away from the party. But then I kept running into people.”

“Like who?”

The tapping stops. I can’t get my voice to work.

“Who.” He spits the word like it gives him a bad taste in his mouth.

Kyle’s name comes out as a whisper, and although Declan begins to nod, his face remains the same: a carefully placed mask that has no dimples, no crooked smile. His eyes are as flat and gray as the sky above us. And I miss him; I miss my favorite Declan.

He slides off the car. “Couldn’t even wait until I left town this time, huh?”

“No, that isn’t—you don’t understand.”

He stares at the ground. “I got fired because I overheard Kyle telling all his preppy golf buddies—in a tremendous amount of detail, I might add—about how he hooked up with Harper Sloan at a party last night. He was saying things about you. . . .” Declan’s jaw knots. “I confronted him. I got in his face and told him he needed to shut his mouth. I called him a liar.”

I glance at his hand again and all the pieces come together. He takes a step toward me and the betrayal and hurt in his eyes rip through me and sever the last shred of self-respect I had left. His mouth barely moves when he speaks again.

“I’ve never been a very good judge of when I’m being lied to, though, have I?”

“You just have to let me explain.”

“Explain what?”

My whole body is trembling. I pull my arms tighter across my stomach and dig my nails into my sides.

“What is it you want to tell me?”

He has a horrible, derisive smile on his face now, and my own mouth is closed with magnets. All of the words I chose before coming here are trapped beneath the lump in my throat. I can’t get them out. Instead, I step closer to him, stopping short at his next words.

“Because, really, Kyle didn’t leave much to the imagination.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“No?” he asks in a tight voice.

Panic rises in my chest. I shake my head.

“Did something happen with him or not, Harper?”

My vision blurs and I dig my nails in harder, but I can barely feel it; my ribs are splintering.

“Yes,” I breathe, my voice so soft it’s a wonder he hears me.

But he hears me. His lips smash together and his breathing is heavy and he’s blinking too fast. It hurts to look at; I have to make it stop.

“You don’t understand,” I rush to continue. My purse slips off my shoulder and crashes to the ground in my effort to get closer. I pull his arm as he turns away. “I was really messed up; it was a mistake!”

He hurls the flask across the parking lot and steps toward me with hair in his face. “Then I understand perfectly!”

His growl echoes across the half-empty lot and I keep repeating
I’m sorry, please, I’m so, so, sorry
. I keep reaching, too, trying always to get closer, close enough to rest my forehead against his, show him—
you and me
—but Declan won’t let me touch him.

When he grows tired of pulling away, he turns and backs me into the side of my car. I can smell the whiskey and I do not like angry-drunk Declan.

He swallows. It makes his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. He swallows again. “So did he get you off?” A whimper escapes my lips and I look away. He dips his head down so he’s in my line of sight again. His eyes are wild. “You wanted to talk about it! Let’s talk! Was he good?”