When Stars Fall by Wendy Million
Chapter Twenty-Six
Wyatt
Ten Years Ago
My head throbs. I open one eye, wondering where I’ve ended up this time. In the semidarkness, I make out an alarm clock and a framed photo. Careful not to move anything else, I drag the frame toward me. Isaac and I are at a club, laughing, and someone—was it Ellie?—snapped a picture. I’ve looked at this photo a thousand times in the last few months. If I return home, I often end up in Isaac’s room to sleep off my hangover. With a groan, I ease myself to a sitting position, rubbing my forehead. My clothes are missing. I must have shed them as I came in here. My legs are wobbly when I stand, and I fumble my way out the door.
In the living room, my pants are in the middle of the floor. I check the pockets for my phone. Did I call Ellie last night like I promised? Squinting at the screen, I try three times to punch in my passcode before being locked out. I hurl the phone across the room, satisfaction piercing my gut as it smashes on the tile and skids to a stop, pieces scattering everywhere.
From my other pocket, I take out my pills and shake the bottle. Empty. Can’t stay that way. I turn toward my room to go refill it, and my foot catches on the Persian rug Ellie and I bought in Turkey. The snag tips me forward, but I catch myself just before my face connects with the hard ground. My skull barely contains my bouncing brain, and my eyeballs throb with each beat of my heart. I close my eyes to block out the pain, and Isaac is there, collapsed on the ground, thrashing on the dirty sidewalk.
Rage at my incompetence floods me, drowning out everything else. When I rise, I grab a fistful of the carpet, yanking it over and over until the furniture releases the fabric.
A fire. I want to burn it all down.
Striding to the massive fireplace, I shove the grate out of the way. I’m about to find out whether this fireplace even works. There’s lighter fluid in the kitchen, and I grab that before returning.
I stare at the black pit for a minute in indecision. Fuck it. If I have a fireplace, I should use it. I douse the ornamental logs in fluid and remove a box of matches out of my discarded pants’ pocket. When the match is lit, I toss it into the pit. The logs and fluid catch with a whoosh. Quick and ferocious. I step backward, laughing. Something else has to go in there. I stare at the carpet. Too big.
With the flames roaring, I enter Isaac’s room and gather anything I can carry. I rip the sheets off the bed; I grab the photo from the bedside table and any other photos I can find. Back in the living room, I toss them into the fire. The sheet trails along the ground, and I grab the last corner, stuffing it into the fireplace. When flames lick at my hand, I shake it, chuckling. Fuckin’ hot.
“Wyatt?”
My heart races at the sound of her voice. Ellie’s by the kitchen island, a bag at her feet. The exact day and time is fuzzy, but I think she’s home early. There’s no way to be sure. I’ve gotten terrible at keeping track of anything.
“You’re here.” My back is to the flames.
“What are you doing?”
I hate when she treats me like a delinquent child. “I’m cleaning up.” We don’t need any of this stuff. He’s gone.
“You’re burning sheets?”
If my heartbeat wasn’t so fierce and irregular, my head might not pound in sync to it anymore.
“Is there someone else here?” she whispers.
“No.” I glance around the room, and my voice echoes in the emptiness. “Should there be?”
“Why are you burning sheets?” When she gets closer, her expression changes from uncertainty to one of realization. She sighs, and her shoulders drop. “They’re Isaac’s.”
“Yeah.” I scrunch up my face. “Why would I burn our sheets?”
She’s wearing the silver bracelet I gave her for our first Christmas together. She rotates it, and stays focused there instead of on me. “Do you remember calling me last night? I took a red-eye to get here. I’m supposed to be on set today.”
“Why aren’t you?” Sweat trickles down my back. Turning, I realize the fire has tentacles peeking out of the cavern, shooting up the mantle.
Ellie’s eyes widen, and she strides to the kitchen and throws open a door by the stove. She grabs the fire extinguisher and hurries to my side.
“No.” I rest my hand on top of her arm. “Just a sec.” I leave her to search Isaac’s room. With the drawers open, I remove anything I can find that reminds me of him. My arms are overflowing when I re-enter the living room.
“Wyatt.” Ellie shakes her head. “No, don’t do that. You’ll regret doing it.”
“Like hell I will.” I toss everything into the fire. “He’s gone, Ellie. He left us. Don’t need his shit lying around anymore.” The photos on top of the pile curl and smoke.
“Wyatt.” She sets the fire extinguisher beside her feet. A thin sheen of sweat coats her face when she drags me into a hug. “Wyatt,” she murmurs against my ear. “I want you to come to my set with me.”
She’s overreacting and worrying more than she should. I’m fine here, and she’s only a plane ride away whenever I want to see her.
“You need to come to set with me. I know you’re supposed to start shooting in a couple weeks here in LA, but I can’t keep flying home on the spur of the moment. Chris is being kind to me because he knows you, he likes you, and he understands about Isaac. But I can’t keep doing this. I’m costing people money. I can’t—no one will hire me if I keep running to you.”
“Then stop. Stay here with me. Quit the movie. I can look after you.” I tug her closer. “We can spend all our time together.”
“Do you remember calling me last night?”
“I got locked out of my phone.” I gesture to the ground behind her. When I rub my forehead, my hand dampens with sweat.
“You pulled up the carpet?” She searches beyond where our Turkish memento had lain to the smashed phone. “And you broke your phone.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll buy a new one.”
She steps away from me and picks up the fire extinguisher. In one fluid movement, Ellie sweeps the spray across the fireplace, dousing the flames.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that.” My brain stalls while she smothers my blazing creation. “I wasn’t done.” The smoke gets to me, and I cough.
“Have you gone to see Tanvi?” she shouts over the noise of the fire extinguisher.
“Not lately, no.” I grit my teeth.
“I bet you’ve had lots of time for Anna, though, right?” She tosses the fire extinguisher onto the couch. The fireplace is a mess behind her, but the flames are gone.
Watching her almost makes me laugh. She’s so tiny and angry that I want to wrap her in my arms and carry her away. “She’s my sister.” I shrug. “She understands how I feel right now.”
“She does, does she?” Ellie’s dark eyes blaze. “She knows what it’s like to watch her best friend overdose? I wonder why that is? What does that say about her?”
“You mean what does that say about me?” My anger rises. Her judgmental tone grates on me. She’s silent, with her arms crossed. “That’s bullshit. How could you say that to me?”
Her expression collapses from angry to pained. She clasps a hand over her mouth, muffling a sob, and a few tears slide down her face.
“Ellie.” My anger is gone in an instant. Her tears are always my undoing. “Don’t cry. Ellie, come on. I’m sorry, okay? I don’t remember calling you. Don’t have a clue what I said. My head . . . it’s like I have a train in there. I need to take something and then I’ll be back to myself.”
“I don’t know who you are anymore,” Ellie whispers into my chest.
“You don’t mean that.” I smooth her hair. Panic toys at the edge of my sanity. “You don’t mean that.”
There’s a hitch in her breathing before she says, “Maybe you should talk to someone.”
I let go of her to grab the fire extinguisher. The flames are starting again. Fire can be so persistent. The last thing I need is for the house to burn. Pointing the extinguisher at the fire, I smother the new flames. “I talk to people all the time.”
“You’re not talking, not really. Not about anything that matters. You’re stuffing it down, covering whatever you’re feeling with more and more drugs.”
Her words wash over me in a haze. The pounding in my head is winning out. I leave her and go to the master en suite bathroom to search the cabinets. Nothing left. Not a single pill in any bottle. I stride out past her to Isaac’s en suite and check in the bathroom drawer where he used to keep his stash. Success. An old container of pills. I toss the bottle from hand to hand before popping the top off and taking a Xanax. Clutching the last of my sanity in my hand, I return to Ellie.
She faces the charred remnants of Isaac’s memory, arms crossed against her middle. She doesn’t look in my direction and tears are streaming down her face. The fire is out, so there’s no need for her to be crying.
Standing in front of her, I run my free hand along the side of her face. With a deep breath, I say, “What do you want me to say? I’ll tell you whatever you want to hear.”
“I want your truth.” More tears slip down her cheeks. “I want your hurt, your anger, your sadness—I want all of it. I want you. I don’t have you anymore.” She gestures to the pill bottle. “That has you. Anna has you. Who knows who or what else has had you.”
“I would never cheat on you. You’re it for me. I don’t want anyone else. I’m never going to want anyone else.”
“I don’t understand how to do this.”
“I’m having a hard time right now.” Panic seizes my chest. “But I’ll bounce back. I always bounce back.” I lace our fingers together and tug her closer, wrapping our linked arms around her back. “You’re not . . .” I search her face, dread building in me. “You’re not going to leave me, are you, Ellie?”
“I just want you.” She strokes my face and sighs. Tears pool in her eyes and spill over. “I want you back.”
“I’ll come to set with you. That’s what you want?” A rush of relief hits me. She won’t leave if I give her what she wants.
“I want to be sure you’re okay. At least if you’re there, I’ll know if you’re okay.” She leans her head on my chest.
I toss the bottle of pills onto the couch. They’ll be fine there until I get them later. With my hands under her legs, I lift her up so her face is flush with mine. “I’m going to be fine, Ellie. I’ve got you looking after me.” One of my hands slides under her ass so I can draw her head closer with the other one. I kiss her long and deep. She relaxes into me, her tongue slipping along mine. I’d do anything to keep her. “Let me look after you,” I murmur, deepening the kiss.
She loops her arms around my neck, pressing her breasts against my chest. “I love you, Wyatt,” she whispers into my ear, kissing my neck. “I love you so much.”
With her in my arms, I walk us back to our bedroom and lay her on the bed. She peels off her clothes. Her breathing is heavy, and her eyes are already darkening with desire. She drags me on top of her, my underwear falling to the floor.
“It’s you and me. Forever. That’s never going to change.” I’ll never let her leave me without a fight. Whatever she asks, I’ll do, if it means she’ll stay with me.
