Tarnished Love by Bianca Borell
FILIP
She’s right—I don’t trust anyone. And when she left, there was a part of me wanting to go after her, but the other parts were fucking exhausted.
The next few days I stalk her online, which pushes another boundary. I miss her, and I slide my phone into my jacket, trying to push her out of my mind.
She’ll be back. She has her things at my place. This is what I tell myself, only when I get home, everything is gone, and the finality strikes me in my heart. I fall on the edge of the bed, fisting my hair in my hands. I send one text.
Really? She types and deletes, and nothing comes as an answer. When I go to her building, the doorman sees me and says, “Miss Taylor is away.”
Yes, right, you can never know when she has her next photoshoot. She is more away than at home, anyway.
This isn’t over. I type and speed away. Back at home I throw my keys on the counter, and the eerie silence startles me. She brought sound, turned everything around her into colors. I rake a hand through my hair and pour myself a glass of whiskey. She wants me but loves him, how the fuck do I take that? It’s not that I overreacted, but the fact that I could have prevented this.
My phone chimes, and I hurry to pluck it out of my jeans. My hopes of her calling me vanish when my mom’s name flashes. There is always a certain edge I am pushed to whenever she calls. She only calls me when there is something important, for anything else she sends me a message.
“Mom?” I answer, my voice cracking, and she sighs. She must have heard the fear in my voice.
“Hi, Filip.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Bria . . . she’s distancing herself . . .”
“What do you mean?”
“She works all the time.”
“Yes, but that is not unusual.” I drop on the couch, this helplessness roping around my neck.
“Every time I look at her, she resembles my daughter less and less.”
“Mom.”
“I know, I must be horrible right?”
“Stop, it’s not your fault, it’s no one’s fault.”
“I still miss her. How can you miss a living person?” A soft cry escapes her mouth, and I shut my eyes, trying to force away the feeling of being powerless and the endless anger and despondency surrounding me.
“I miss her too, Mom.” How you grieve a living person is beyond me. Yet, the loss is a permanent fixture.
“I am sorry, I shouldn’t bother you with this.”
“No problem, Mom.”
“Good that I have you and Monica.”
“Don’t be so harsh on Bria.”
“Do you think she has a problem with them being together?”
I love her, but to ask this question even though knowing what she knows of Bria’s condition still bewilders me, but I bite my tongue and lie instead.
“I don’t think so.”
“Your cousin is so happy, she deserves it.”
Not at the cost of my sister, but again I bite back a retort. I am a dick, but she can’t be this blind about Monica, I guess after losing Bria, Monica became her surrogate daughter.
“Was there something else?”
“Are you coming on Sunday?”
“Probably not.”
“I want at least one of my kids at the table.” At my mom’s emotional blackmail, I sigh but give in.
“I’ll be there.”
“Thank you.”
***
“Bria keeps skipping family dinners,” Soph says. No, only when he is around. I shrug, I hate this.
“What do you think?”
“Who knows anymore? I am going out with the girls.”
“You seem pissed.”
“One of these days I’ll explode. How can they all pretend—how can we all pretend—everything isn’t falling apart?”
When we take our seats, my eyes look around at everyone. It’s not that we pretend, it’s simply what we know. We patched the hole, that is what we did.
There are fleeting seconds when your core constricts in anticipation, warning something is going to happen—a pounding in your ears, a shiver rocking you from within. When I glance up, as Damien and Monica stride by hand in hand, my stomach heaves.
Then I force myself to take in what revenge looks like. She beams at getting what she’s always wanted, while he seeks out my sister. She’s not coming, you moron. You did it again, pushed her away. Monica squeals, and I focus on her extended hand, a diamond glittering on her ring finger. Sophia twists her head toward me, her mouth agape, while I crumple the napkin.
“We’re getting married.”
I can’t take this anymore and rise to my feet, seeking the bar. And slide into the armchair. I see him passing by, heading to his room, of course.
“Burn that room, you tarnished it anyway,” I say.
“You know nothing.”
I scoff and sip on my drink. In this moment, I hate him. His eyes pierce mine as if to check if this anger is honest. It is.
“Are you happy now, Damien?”
“This is not about me,” he snarls, losing his patience.
“Of course not, it’s about my sister.”
He winces. He can hide it from most people, but I spend more time with him than anyone else in the family.
“I pushed.”
“You pushed too far.”
“How would you know?”
“She’s not here, is she? Does she know?”
“She should receive the wedding invitation by Monday on her desk.”
“Bria, her name is Bria.”
He grits his teeth, fists balling at his sides, and I wonder with whom he is angry at the most.
“You disappoint me.”
“I don’t care.”
“Right, none of you care. What an epic failure.”
“What did you say?”
“Beg her for forgiveness, Damien.”
“Never. I am sticking to my plan.”
“Have it your way.” He strides away, his footsteps on the stairwell resonating around me.
“Where is he?” Sophia asks, fuming.
“Guess.”
“Do you wonder what we did wrong to have these idiots as siblings?”
“Every year more often.”
“I’ll never understand how broken he must be to sabotage his future like this. All because of her.”
“Bria. Her name is Bria, goddamn it.”
I throw my head back, staring at the ceiling. I am harsh, but it hurts how all the blame is put on my sister. She was a teenager who made one mistake for which she paid too high a price. I breathe in and out, no one knows that part, and as long as it stays a secret, they will continue to blame her.
“I am out of here.”
At the traffic light, I could turn right or left. One way takes me to the airport, the other to my apartment here. Go, there is nothing you can do! I urge myself but I turn toward my apartment. I need to see Bria, check on her.
When Monday rushes in, I head toward her office at lunch break. When I bump into Alexander, there is something flashing in his eyes, a hurt so raw it gives me pause.
“Hi, man.”
He jerks his chin in acknowledgement and passes me by. I let myself in, her hand rests on her chest, her eyes scanning the horizon.
“Bria.” She tilts her head at me.
“I thought you were in London.”
“I am leaving tonight. How are you?” She hates this question, it’s in the mini gestures that betray the fact her condition might be under control, but underneath that is a trapped woman.
“Finished lunch, getting back to work.” It’s not the answer I am after. Let’s pretend, sis, what else.
“Damien is getting married.” Her entire posture stiffens, to see this full-blown reaction startles me, and I gasp.
“I received the invitation this morning. I am happy for him, for her.”
“Liar.” She has the decency to not deny it. “How much longer, sis?”
She has never answered before, and when she does my heart shatters in her office.
“Just for a little while longer, then it’s over.”
I stumble outside her door, yanking at my tie. My vision blurs with the pain, the tears. She’s leaving, and the moment she steps on Quinn’s jet, she will forever remain a stranger.
The next day, I storm into Damien’s office and heave a fist at his face while he backtracks.
“I am done with you. Done with this. I’m going back to Zürich.”
He dabs with his thumb at the blood seeping from the corner of his mouth while I storm away not even fully acknowledging Chloe or her shocked expression over my action.
