—Heraclitus

Thursday.

Thursday was the first day that I truly got a taste of what it would be like to live again after Julian, and I would have used the term live loosely. 

We had spent most of the night awake, milking each fleeting minute, until our eyelids could not withstand the pressure any longer. He refused to say goodbye, absolutely refused, so when I woke for work two hours later, I couldn't bear to rouse him for another kiss. 

We would see each other again, so why did it feel like we wouldn't? 

It took everything in me to not call it quits at the paper, and just follow Julian around the world, for as long as he would allow me to. Grudgingly, reason and responsibility got the best of me, and I left for work knowing that I would return home to an empty, solitary apartment that night.

He was only an eight hour drive away, but he might as well have been back in London for all intents and purposes. Hell, he could have been on Mars, for all I knew. The whole day passed without a single text or call from Julian, and Friday was much the same. Every possible excuse he might have had crossed my mind, but none of them were convincing enough to mollify me. 

In an effort to shift my focus on something else, anything else, I invited Laina to the Foothills Mall for coffee and deal hunting. Half of my time there was spent listening to Laina talk about her new job at a bistro that had just opened, and sifting through endless clearance racks. The other half was passed by obsessively checking my phone for notifications that never came.

It got so bad that I even decided to call my mom, choosing to take her relentless backlash over the Orlando fiasco, rather than concentrating on Julian. She pounded me with ruthless interrogation until I admitted the truth about splitting from Caleb, and the fact that I was seeing somebody else. 

Maybe seeing wasn't the right word, but I didn't know what else to call it. 

Julian never put a label on us, and it was more unclear than ever before what exactly I was to him. To say that my mom was less than pleased about me being in Florida for the weekend, but not making time to see her, would have been a vast understatement. She berated me until she was nearly breathless, but somehow, I knew I was nowhere near hearing the end of it.

The whole weekend escaped me, and by Sunday night, I was weary of waiting for him. Still, sleep did not find me, so when I entered work on Monday morning, Eric noticed my frazzled state.

"You look like hell," he said, ever so cheerfully, in the break room.

"Thanks." I poured myself two cups of coffee and carried them, double fisted, back to my desk.

"Care to talk about it?" Eric asked more sympathetically.

"Nah." I shook my head and took a sip of the hot drink. "Just guy problems."

"Ah." He nodded knowingly. "Well, I hope it gets better for you."

I began plugging away at my new assignment of the day. Not even ten minutes into my shift, the phone on my desk began to ring, for the first time since I started working at that office. Taken aback, I picked up slowly.

"Brooke Fray speaking."

"Brooke." His accent kissed my ears.

"J—" I noticed Eric peeking at me, caught myself, and feigned clearing my throat.

"It's me, baby. I lost my mobile. I think I may have left it at your flat by mistake."

"Really? I'll look, but I don't think I saw it," I said, trying to keep emotion mostly out of my voice.

"I think so. Didn't you get my private messages online? I woke up late on Thursday, almost too late to catch my flight to California, but I just barely made it. I didn't know your number by heart, so I had to wait until now to ring your office. I found the number online and they just transferred me to you. Some Grace lady, she was nice." His long winded replies eased the knots in my stomach.

"Where are you?" I asked, although I already knew. It had never even crossed my mind to check the messaging program.

"I'm back in England." Of course he was. "It's six in the evening here, I've been antsy all day waiting to ring you."

"Have you?" I kept monotone. "How did it go on Friday?"

"Brooke, you wouldn't believe it." Julian's enthusiasm radiated through the line. "One hundred thousand people. We stayed signing autographs for four hours after our set! All of our merch sold out, I mean everything, and once we got back to England, we realized we had a thousand orders on our online store. Bloody hell, you should've seen the show! Devon dived into the crowd and some lad stage dived right next to me. A girl even threw her bra at Tommy!"

"Seriously?" I tried to stifle a laugh, while keeping my tone neutral, when I noticed Eric being nosy again.

"Yeah, promoters have been phoning management like mad, trying to book us to come back to the states in a few months." I could hear him beaming through the line. "This is it, Brooke. I can feel it. This is our big break."

"I'm so happy for you," I said, as quietly as I could, into the receiver. "So, so happy."

"I should probably let you go, right?" Julian noticed my odd tone.

"Probably for now." I coughed to insinuate I wasn't alone. "What phone are you calling me from? May I have the number?"

"This is Mason's mobile. Take down the number, and either ring or text it. He'll get the message to me. Let me know if you find my mobile tonight, and if you don't, I'll get a new one."

I jotted the digits down and slipped the paper directly into my purse for safekeeping.

"I will."

"Okay, I love you," Julian said.

"I... love you, too," I said, and Eric's head perked up, but he, thankfully, didn't look in my direction.

...

Later that night, I lifted the pillow that Julian had been using at my place, and under it was his phone with a dead battery. Of course. He sent me his address through a private message, and forwarded me a prepaid, expedited, international shipping label to print. 

I packed his phone carefully, with way too much bubble wrap, along with a one word note. It read: Endlessly. 

One word encompassed how long I'd love him, how long I'd want him, and how long I'd wait for him. As a last minute effort, I spritzed the note with my perfume and hoped that the scent would carry over the 5,314 miles separating us.

The next three weeks passed by in lulls and drags. Julian was busy with Mason and Jesse finishing up the last couple of songs for their upcoming album, which was due to be released in November—just three months' time. They wrapped it up by the deadline, and were already in talks with management for scheduling another tour, to support the new album, for early the next year. Julian made sure Tucson was secured as one of the dates.

Steadily, the band was gaining an ever impressive online presence, with several hundred new people finding their music every day. It seemed the L.A. festival really did wonders for spreading their name, and even months later, Julian was feeling the effects. More often, people were recognizing him in the streets, and while he said it was immensely flattering, I got the impression that he was becoming a bit overwhelmed by the attention. Julian valued privacy too much, and I could tell he felt that his space was being invaded.

Every now and then, Mason would send a friendly "hello" text, and I would ask how Julian was doing with kicking his smoking habit. It wasn't that I didn't trust Julian's word, I just wanted someone near him to hold him accountable. According to both of them, he was down to one stick a day, which he planned to eradicate completely within a month. Julian said he could feel a huge difference in his morning workouts, and that a heightened sense of taste and smell was returning to him. In turn, I kept my promise of applying for a passport, so I could eventually visit Julian on his home turf.

While it was still borderline unbearably warm in Tucson, the days were growing noticeably shorter as we entered autumn. In response, Julian bragged about London being comfortably set at around thirteen degrees Celsius, which I learned to quickly convert to Fahrenheit at fifty-five degrees. It was cool enough, he said, to begin wearing his leather jacket again. I woke up one morning to a picture message from him, and was contented to find that he had stitched the fireman patch on the inside of his jacket, on the left chest pocket.

We would still talk on the phone most days, and video chat about once a week. Being able to hear and see him, while being unable to touch him, was a nameless misery. 

Some days, we talked without a single pause. Other days, we just listened to each other breathing—it pacified us to be connected somehow. At that time of the year, our time zones were off by eight hours, so I was always thinking eight hours ahead. Whatever time the clock read, my fingers would sprout up, as I counted forward, imagining what he might've been doing at that very moment. Julian was sometimes fast asleep while I was wide awake, and vice versa. We made it work the best that we could, but I could tell something was bothering him one night in late September.

"You seem off today." I noticed when his voice didn't hold its usual chipper, playful tone.

"I'm fine," he said unconvincingly.

"Will you please talk to me? Tell me what's going on. It won't hurt you to tell me," I assured him.

"I'm just not handling this well," he said flatly.

"Not handling what well?" I asked, even though I already knew.

"This long distance thing. Being so far away from you." He sighed deeply. "I can hear your voice, so I can imagine you're there. But when I open my eyes, you're not. It's starting to feel like you're an illusion and I'm going mad."

"You know I'm here, Julian." I rubbed my forehead where a pain was starting to form.

"All I really have is the thought of you. Memories. When I dream of you now, your face is beginning to blur." My favorite voice was hoarse with agony. "It's like I'm forgetting the small things, all the tiny details that make you, you. I don't know if I can handle being apart like this."

"Please don't give up on me. This is temporary," I told him. "We're going to figure something out soon."

"When, Brooke? You've been saying that for months." Heavy frustration lined his voice, turning it harsh.

"What can I do, Julian?" I was eager to please him.

"Move here," he answered immediately. "Come live with me in London."

"My passport hasn't even come in yet." I tried to reason with him. "And what about my job? My parents? Laina? All my stuff?"

"I'll ring someone to expedite it," he answered each of my reasons, one by one. "You don't need a job. I will take care of you completely. But if you wanted to work, you know we have publications here as well, Brooke. Any one of them would be so lucky as to hire you. You could go visit your family anytime, or they could come here. And I'll arrange for your things to be posted."

"Okay, Julian, I really will think about all of this," I said, with a spinning mind. "But you have to understand what you're asking of me. What if I move there and you change your mind about me? I will be stuck in a different country with nothing and no one."

"Are you actually suggesting I would ever allow such a thing to happen to you? Do you not understand my feelings for you?" His voice carried an indignation and scorn that was unfamiliar and disconcerting. Whoever was speaking to me did not sound like my Julian.

"I know you love me. But what are we, Julian? I mean, what is this?" My bravery came from out of nowhere.

"You want me to put a name to what we have?" Julian asked.

"I do." I needed to know I had a literal claim on him, something that would require work and communication to terminate.

"Like what? You want me to say you're my girlfriend, like we're in primary school? Like that would change something?" His words were beginning to feel like slices on my skin.

"It would change something for me. I don't even know how to introduce you to people sometimes," I admitted.

"Words," Julian said dully. "Just words. You're always concerned with silly words."

"And you like to strip the meaning from those words." I was biting my lower lip to keep from crying. "Those titles imply certain things, that's why they exist."

"We can't be described like that, so it's pointless to utilize a label," Julian said, as if it were fact. "Why do you need to wear that badge for validation? You know how I feel."

"I have to go," I managed to blurt out before the tears started streaming down my cheeks. Immediately, Arrows began calling back and I ignored each one. After thirty minutes of ignoring his calls, the text messages started rolling in.

I'm so sorry, Brooke. I am such a fuck up.

I haven't had a smoke, I'm just on edge and I miss you so damn much. I'm going mad without you. Please forgive me.

Brooke, please. I'm begging you. Don't leave me.

I replied. I'm not leaving you. I just want to sleep, Julian. That's all. I've had a long day, and this isn't the way I wanted to spend my evening with you. I still love you, and I always will. No matter if you try to hurt me.

I muted my phone and tried to rest my tired eyes, but I couldn't unwind. Slow breathing did nothing to stop the pitiful whimpers escaping my mouth, nor the wetness collecting around my nose. 

In an attempt to silence myself, I faced into the pillow beside me, only to breathe in his spicy scent left behind long ago. I had purposely decided not to wash the pillowcase on his side of the bed, and in doing so, was left with a faint reminder of his cologne. Inhaling him, when he was nowhere to be found, only made the tears fall more steadily. It was the cruelest reminder of what I didn't have, maybe what I would never have again.

A migraine pounded in my temples, exacerbated by my ceaseless crying. The fact that Julian wanted, even expected, me to move across the Atlantic Ocean to be close to him, but couldn't so much as give me the satisfaction of calling me his girlfriend, left me feeling ill. Perhaps I was interpreting it falsely, but it almost seemed like an ultimatum of sorts. For the life of me, I couldn't decide which was worse—the fact he had requested that of me, or the fact that I might have actually done it.

Perhaps London would have been a good move for me, if only Julian could have verbalized the promises I knew he wanted to make. But until he could trust me in his most vulnerable state, I had to question his objectives. I loved him, more than anyone or anything, but I could not lose myself in the process of loving him.

The tears staining my cheeks left my face feeling hot and uncomfortable, so I found a cup in the bathroom and sipped water from the lukewarm tap. Inside the cabinet were my sleeping pills, staring back at me from a half-full bottle. It was only nine o'clock, so I had plenty of time to attempt to sleep on my own, but my compulsion got the best of me. I downed two pills, for the first time since the night before I met Julian. 

Within fifteen minutes, my heart was slowing. Every heartbeat was for him, so each one I skipped was like eluding a fresh pumping of distress throughout my veins.

...

"Do you love me?" the brown-haired boy asked sweetly.

"Of course I do." I couldn't recognize his features, but somehow, I was aware that I knew him, and that I loved him fiercely.

"Do this for me then." His skin was scabbed, eyes yellowed, and frame weak.

"I can't." My heart broke at the sight of him. I wanted to wrap him up completely, but I was deathly afraid to touch him, for fear of crushing his bones.

"If you loved me, you'd want to make me happy." The sickly boy argued me, clenching his white knuckles into unimpressive fists at his sides.

"Why can't you find happiness in me?" I sobbed, falling to my knees in front of him, as the boy backed away slowly into darkness.

"Where are you going?!" I screamed into the consuming black space. He allowed it to absorb him whole, before my very eyes. "You can't go! Don't go! NO!"

"NO!" I woke myself up, screaming in hysterical panic.

Sweat had collected around my forehead and eyelids. I used the back of my hand to swipe some of it away. Outside my bedroom window, it was still a pitch-black night. My phone showed 1:19 in the morning. Lovely, I thought. 

A single text message from Julian was illuminated in my inbox, and my finger hovered over the key to open it for the longest time. When I finally found the nerve to click, I was greeted with five simple words that allayed many of my worries.

I love you. I'm sorry.

Adults argued. I had to think it several times before it sunk in. It was completely normal for two people to have healthy arguments, I tried to convince myself. Was ours healthy? Everybody fought at some point, and we were bound to have a disagreement eventually, right? That was just our first one, and I hoped our last one. Maybe arguments were typical for others, but why did it feel so inherently wrong to argue with Julian? 

It felt foreign, filthy, and rotten. Like combining oil and water, it could not happen. Disagreements would not become us.

Even with the sleeping pills lingering in my system, it still took me a long while to fall back asleep after my nightmare. It was hard to grasp that what I had just seen was only a figment of my wicked imagination. 

I chalked it up to the delirious effects of the pills, and concentrated on the seamless swirls of the spinning ceiling fan above me, delivering cool bursts of air to my hot face. 

Thankfully, it was the weekend, and I could sleep in the next day, for as long as I wanted. But, as I knew all too well, the times when you most wanted to sleep were often the times you could not sleep at all.

1. "Wake Up" by EDEN

2. "Right Now" (cover) by Demelza

3. "Losing You" by Aquilo

4. "Stay" (cover) by Boyce Avenue feat. Mandy Lee

5. "My Love" by Sia