Los Angeles | 2010
Bradley's POV
Throughout the day I had tried talking to her, tried cheering her up but it was all to no avail. Nothing could bring back the smiling Alex I had left in the morning. I could see she was upset with something, but I could not figure out what it was at all. I even went and asked Luke and the only thing he said was that Alex got upset about her party during breakfast. It did not give me much of a lead on what was happening.
Then after practice she didn't pick up any of my calls. I had to see her.
…
"Why don't I have any friends?"
The question was so raw, so out of left field, that it brought me up short. What? I searched her eyes, trying to understand. All I saw was a deep, aching pain. My first instinct, my only instinct, was to offer the most simple and profound truth I had.
"You have me," I said with genuine concern, the words a firm, solid promise.
It seemed to be the wrong thing to say.
A bitter, self-deprecating laugh escaped her. "Yeah. I have you. And nobody else."
"Wh—what does that mean? Lexi, are you okay?" I asked, the same worried question from lunch, but now it felt urgent, desperate.
"I'm not okay, Brad, okay?!" she finally snapped, the words starting to tumble out in a torrent of pain and anger. "I have no friends, Bradley! I have spent the past five months so immensely involved in this relationship that I have nothing apart from you. Ever since we got together, all the people I have associated with are you and your friends!"
I just stared, completely blindsided. Where was this coming from? I thought she was happy. I thought we were happy. Yet when I though about it for a moment I remembered all those times she had latched onto me in comfort. Alex chose to be with me, she chose not to look for friends.
"You destroyed any chances of me having any friends at school!"
The accusation, hot and venomous, hung in the air between us. My own expression could only have been one of pure, uncomprehending shock. The girl I liked more than anyone, the one I had just spent the morning surprising, the one whose happiness had become so important to me, was looking at me like I was the source of all her pain.
"Alex, I—I don't understand," I started, my mind reeling, trying to process the sudden, violent shift from the happy birthday morning to this.
"What's there to understand, Brad?" she shot back, her voice thick with a frustration that was quickly turning to despair. "It's my birthday, and I'm ashamed of celebrating it because I have nobody to call for my party. And you know why that is? Because I burned any chance of having friends at school when we became a couple!"
"That's not fair, Alex," I said, my own frustration beginning to creep into my tone. This was illogical. This was an attack. "You're blaming me for something I have no control over. I didn't choose to separate you from people. I didn't tell you to always hang out with me. I gave you all the opportunities to have your own social life!"
"No, what's not fair is that I was always the social pariah, Brad, and I had accepted that for myself!" she cried, tears now forming in her eyes. "Then you came into my life, and I was suddenly thrust into situations where I was forced to socialize and make friends. And I ended up liking it. For once, I liked not being the girl looking in from the outside. I took a leap of faith and entered this relationship and look where it got me!"
"But how am I at fault for this?!" I defended myself, my voice rising. "You chose not to have friends before, Alex! And I told you, I told you that you should have friends apart from me, your own social group!"
"Yes, you did! But don't you see, Brad?!" she said, her voice cracking. "Because of your popularity, because of the way you're perceived, people made me the villain! Now Jenna and Cathy have everyone believing their sad story. You did nothing to stop it, Brad! You knew it was happening, and you let it continue! Jenna told me you just gave her a flaky apology that day when she confessed to you!"
"Jenna?" I said, my own anger now simmering. "That's who you're basing all of this on? You know she has it out for you! She is manipulating you with words, Lexi!"
"Did you or did you not go and apologize to her after the whole ordeal?! After you and I started dating, did you talk to her to sort things out? Did you?!" she said accusatorily.
I flinched. The memory was sharp and clear: my brief, dismissive words to Jenna, my focus entirely on getting back to Alex. I had not given Jenna the gentle and sincere apology she may have deserved. I looked down, a wave of shame washing over me.
"I knew it," she whispered, her voice full of hurt. "What recourse did you leave me then, Brad? You may not be the architect of my misery, but you certainly did nothing to stop it, either. I thought we were supposed to support each other."
The hurt in her voice was a physical blow. But underneath it, a hot, defensive rage began to swell in my own chest. She was blaming me for all of it.
"No, you're being unfair, Alex," I said, my voice rising, my own control slipping. "I may not have done right by you with Jenna, but you have not done the right thing, either. You placed all your emotional demands and needs on me, and I can never fulfill all of that as a single human being! So what if Jenna poisoned your chances with some people? She does not control everyone's opinion! You could have made friends with other people who were not influenced by her! But instead, what do you do? You blame me for making you miserable! You can't blame me for your failures! That is not fair!"
I ended my rant, gasping for breath. The room was silent except for my own ragged breathing. Alex looked at me, distraught, her face pale, tears streaming down her cheeks. It was only then, seeing the look of pure, wounded shock on her face, that I realized I had stood up and had practically shouted at her.
The word hung in the air, cold and final. "Leave." Her voice was devoid of emotion.
"What?" I asked, incredulous.
"I said, leave," she repeated, her voice just as empty, her eyes not meeting mine.
"Is that your solution to all this? Pushing me away? How is this going to solve anything, tell me?!" I asked, a desperate edge to my voice.
"I don't know," she paused, looking at the wall behind me. "But the way this is going, I don't want either of us to say something we will regret."
"Haven't we already?" I said with a sad smile.
She looked at me then, and her expression was torn between her own hurt and the coldness that was seeping into us both. I couldn't bring myself to stand there and look at that face any longer.
"Fine," I said, a hollowness creeping into my own voice. I made my way to her door, and after looking at her one last time, I closed the door behind me, the soft click echoing in the sudden silence.
As I walked downstairs, I felt lost. There was a gaping hole within me that I didn't know what to do with. Everything felt dead and fleeting. When I walked into the driveway, I saw Claire getting groceries out of the car. Harris had already seen me walking out and had brought the car to the front of the house.
"Oh, hey Bradley! Did you come to spend time with Alex?" Claire said enthusiastically, a teasing tone in her voice.
I felt none of the warmth from it. I looked at her, plastering a fake smile on my face. "Hey, Mrs. Dunphy. Yeah, I met Alex. Though I have to head out now, Dad called," I said, faking an urgency.
"Oh, that's too bad! I thought you'd stay, and we could celebrate with dinner," she said, her smile unwavering.
I gave out a hollow smile. "Maybe next time, Mrs. Dunphy."
"Alright, alright. See ya soon, Bradley!"
"You too, Mrs. Dunphy." With that, I hurried to the car and took my seat. The door closed, sealing me inside with the silence. I just wanted to get home as soon as possible.
As the drive began, I just faced outwards, looking at the roads and houses passing me by in a meaningless blur. The argument replayed in my head, a vicious, looping track of my own shouted words and the distraught look on her face. A tear formed on my face, then another. I tried to stifle it, biting the inside of my cheek, but it was useless. Eventually, I let out a whimper, a small, pathetic sound that I immediately hated, as I sniffed and wiped away at my face.
"Brad, are you alright?" Harris asked, his voice startlingly gentle. I looked at the rearview mirror reflecting his face and I saw that he was genuinely concerned, but it only made me more shameful. I didn't like this vulnerability, this feeling of being pitied by others.
"Y-yeah, sorry about that, Harris. I'm just not feeling myself today," I said, my voice hoarse.
"Well, if it's anything you wish to talk about, you can speak with me freely," he offered with a warmth I didn't deserve.
"No, it's alright. I'd just like to get home soon." I did not have it in me to continue this conversation any further.
"Alright," he said, and mercifully put his focus back on the road.
The rest of the drive was a silent spiral into self-loathing. I was furious with myself. For crying. For losing control. For being so weak emotionally that I was unable to stop tears from forming. My entire identity was built on strategy, on seeing the variables and controlling the outcome. But with Alex, I had just... exploded. All logic, all control, had vanished, replaced by raw, clumsy emotion. The hollowness I was feeling wasn't just sadness; it was the gaping void left by my own failure. It was a sure sign of my immaturity. I was even angry at Alex for accusing me, for blaming me. Yet a part of me wondered had I really done the things she said I had. Did I really fail her so completely.
Soon, the drive ended as we reached home. I didn't even wait for the car to come to a complete stop. The moment it did, I threw the door open and bolted my way up to my room, closing it shut behind me. I didn't turn on the light. I just stumbled toward my bed in the darkness, the sanctuary I'd been desperately craving. And there, with no one to see, no one to pity me, I promptly began to cry into my pillow. I cried myself to sleep.
…
I woke up to a dull ache behind my eyes and a hollow, gnawing feeling in my stomach. I had cried myself into an exhausted, dreamless sleep. Drowsily, I walked downstairs, drawn by the low light and soft sounds coming from the kitchen.
There, I found Mom and Dad sitting at the kitchen island, eating some food in a comfortable quiet. When they saw me, Mom smiled at me lovingly. "Are you hungry, honey?"
I just nodded, my throat feeling tight. She set a plate for me, the rich aroma of the pasta she'd made finally registering. "Sit with us," she said gently.
I sat down and ate the pasta mom made, my focus entirely on the plate in front of me, not making eye contact with either of them. I could feel their eyes on me, a heavy, expectant silence building with each bite I took.
After I had had a couple of bites, Dad finally began speaking. "So, you got something to tell us, Brad?" he asked, his voice even and calm.
I looked at him quizzically, feigning ignorance.
Dad sighed. "Son, we know you and Alex got into a spat. Claire called some time ago, worried. She told us that Alex was crying. And your mom... she found you in your bed asleep, with tear stains on your pillow."
The words were a slow build up to their inquiry into what had occurred. I felt a hot wave of shame wash over me. I was completely exposed. I felt ashamed and looked down at my plate, unable to meet their gaze.
"We aren't pressuring you to tell us anything, honey," Mom said, her voice soft and gentle. "We just want to help you. If you don't wish to talk now, we can talk about this later."
I finally looked up from my plate, first at Mom and then at Dad. "If it's okay with you, then I don't want to discuss this right now."
Dad looked at me warmly, though his stoicism was still there, a mask of calm over his concern. "We understand. But just to assuage any worries, nothing too extreme occurred between you and Alex, right?"
I was caught off-guard by that, realizing his mind had gone to a much worse place. He was working on the presumption of something bad having happened.
"No, Dad, nothing extreme happened," I said, defending myself. "We just—we just got into a fight. And we said some things to each other that were hurtful. Then I came back home and slept."
Dad's expression relaxed at that moment, the tension leaving his shoulders. "Alright. I just had to know. And I know you wouldn't do anything untoward, Brad. I know you, son," he said reassuringly.
"May I be excused to my room?" I asked, not wanting to sit there any longer. I then looked at Mom.
She came over to give me a tight hug and whispered into my ear, her voice a warm, secret comfort. "I know you're just like your father, honey. But when you do feel ready, know that I will help you, no matter what." She kissed my cheek as she separated.
"Goodnight, honey," Mom said, and Dad nodded at me. I stood up and walked back to my room, the pasta sitting heavy in my stomach.
I noticed that it was almost ten at night. When I reached my room, I looked at my phone. There was a missed call from Leo, and nothing else. A part of me had hoped that Alex would've texted, at least. A single, sharp pang of disappointment hit me. I pressed on the feelings bubbling up again and went back to bed.
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That's all for this week. All relationships have some form of conflicts and this was my attempt to showcase how a cocktail of teenage hormones and impulse can lead to emotionally charged situations. There will be more of these in the future as Brad and Alex evolve both as a couple and individuals. See ya Monday