When I was six years old I sat in my cousins room and listened to the sound of my aunt and uncle scream words at one another until one of them would leave the house, not to return for hours. When I was eleven I would watch from a crack in the door as my parents caused each other to cry. When I was fourteen I stood by as the father of my best friend would drink himself away and scream his bitter feelings towards his wife. And when I was fifteen I promised none of that would ever be me. I would never deal with heartbreak; it is a horrid and disgusting disease. I would never be the girl to fall into that trap.

“Hi,” I said sliding into the passenger seat I’ve become too familiar with these past months.
“Hey,” he said without even looking at me.This is how every conversation we’ve ever had has started. A simple hi. A natural hey. But this time felt different; forced and awkward. Perhaps because we both know this is the last time we will ever be together.
He drove to Taco Bell while making light conversation with me about school or church or family, whatever we could think of to fill the empty silence. I ordered cinnabon delights, not that I actually liked them, but because if I was eating I wouldn’t need to speak. We parked in the nearest empty parking lot so that we could be certain our conversation would not be interrupted by anyone. I pulled my makeup stained pink blanket tightly around my shoulders; it made me feel safe and secure even though I was positive my heart was about to burst.
I looked at him but his eyes were still averted, we could feel the tension floating in the air all around us. “Hi,” I said.
“Hey,” he said looking at me for the first time in five days and giving me a smile. I loved his smile. That was the smile I danced with at homecoming. The smile that gave me hugs when I felt like the world was against me. That smile is what holds my heart. I almost smiled in return, before yesterday flooded back to me. I could feel tears poking their way out from my eyes. I turned in my seat and struggled to climb into the back of the car - not the best for comfort but at least I wouldn’t have to look at him. I turned towards the window and took a deep breath, focusing on the soft rain tapping against the glass. I bit my bottom lip once I felt the tears filling my eyes once again. I could hear the movement as he began to follow me to the back. I refused to look at him, the tears were coming back and I refused to let him see me cry.
“How are you doing?” he asked. I didn’t answer, a tear had begun its journey down my face. I moved my hand to it brushing it away. He cleared his throat and attempted once more, “Are you okay?” My body began to softly tremble and more tears began to fall, but still I refused to look at him and I refused to answer. “Brooke,” he whispered placing his hand on the small of my back, “please don’t cry.” My body immediately tensed at his touch, a touch that held all the memories of our past. I pushed his cold hand away and let my tears begin to freely fall. These tears held my mistakes, and with each one I let fall I could feel a bullet in the heart reminding me of the things I should have done better. I lost my chance to be a girlfriend, to have a best friend. I squeezed my eyes tight wishing so desperately to go back in time and fix myself.
I took a shaky breath and I worked up the courage to look at him once more. “Why,” I choked out while tightening the grip on my blanket. My voice turned into a whisper so quiet it almost wasn’t there. “Why did you break up with me?” He looked down. I began to pinch my skin to focus on a new type of pain, scolding myself for asking him that. I knew why - he liked somebody else, and he lied about it. Silence once again and I didn’t know how to break it. I stared at him while my heartbreak continued to find its way from my soul to my eyes and onto my cheeks. “What’s she like?” I asked. This is the worst thing I could have said but at the moment I was done caring.
“Stop.”
“Please answer, you owe me that.”
“She’s... different.” I nodded my head pretending to understand what that meant. Different in a good way? A weird way? Hopefully a bad way? I didn’t know and I didn’t expect him to tell me. He sighed, “She isn’t you.” More heartbreak, more tears. I bit my bottom lip and rapidly began to blink my eyes hoping the tears would stop, but one glance in his direction and they began to fall faster. He said nothing, just stared at me blankly. Faster and faster the tears came, a river becoming an ocean. My body was no longer mine, it was an earthquake, a storm, shaking and raging no longer in any sort of control. I am so vulnerable, I am raw and exposed - he was never supposed to see me this way. My blanket was pulled tighter around me, the only thing left holding me together - but even that wouldn’t be enough for much longer. I felt a strong hand gripping my shoulder and my eyes shifted towards it, but not the the face of its owner. I couldn’t make eye contact with him again or I was sure to break. “Brooke, stop please. I didn’t mean it like that.” I gulped trying to slow my tears and my heart rate but it barely did any good. I turned and rested my forehead against the window. She isn’t me. She is better. She is his. I had never so desperately wished to be someone else than I did right then, but when I looked at my reflection in the glass I was still the same quirky, tear stained girl.
“You hurt me,” I gasped, forcing the words out. I worked up the courage to look towards him. “I did nothing to you, I’ve done nothing to you, and you’re hurting me.”
“I’m sor-”
“You aren’t.” I looked him square in the eye and the tears stopped. My heart began to pound so loud I was sure he heard it, but I ignored the sound. “You are not sorry.”
I turned back towards the window before another tear began to slip out and I hear a sob escape - it wasn’t mine though. A pair of arms wrapped around me and my head moved back towards him. “I am. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want this.” Another sob escaped and I watched as my best friend began to fall apart right in front of me. My thin shaky arms found their way around him too and I hugged watching him cry, ignoring my own tears that had once again begun to fall at a fast rate.
“Please don’t cry,” I told him. But I knew he wouldn’t stop, just moments before those words had been directed towards me, and I knew their effect.
“I’m so sorry,” he said once again. “She isn’t you. She doesn’t have your smile. She isn’t sweet like you are. You are you and that’s who I want to be with. I made a mistake. I regret it and I’m sorry. I love you and I hurt you and I don’t know what to do about it.” I sat in shock hoping I would know what to say back. I didn’t; there are no words. A hand touched my face and wiped the tears from my eyes, it is not my hand. “You shouldn’t be crying over me. I am not worth it.”
“You just said you loved me.”
He nodded and sat up, moving his hand into my own. “It’s true. I do love you.”
My head felt cloudy and my body numb, “If it were true you wouldn’t have done this to me.”
“You’ve been hurting me and I didn’t know what to do about it.” I knew what he meant. I had done nothing to him, but I had done nothing for him either. Our entire relationship had been based around me; he would do things for me and be there for me and show me he loved me, but when it was my turn I would sit there and ignore him, merely a fly on the wall. Why had I not tried harder? I could have talked to him more, or simply asked how his day was. I failed.
“I’m sorry too,” I said looking towards my feet. “I know that I should have tried harder.”
His arms were once again around my body pulling me close to him. “It’s okay,” he said. “I still shouldn’t have done this to you. You didn’t hurt me like this and I understand if you can’t forgive me.” I looked at him and in seconds had my favorite bible verse running through my head- ‘Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, “Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?” Jesus answered, “I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.”’- and I knew that in this moment I had a choice to make. I’ve spent my whole life trying to live the words of the Lord and I didn’t know how to do it. I sat slack jawed searching for help, for an answer. Does forgiveness need to happen now? And if it does, am I setting up to just get hurt again?
I took a deep breath, holding onto the air for a moment longer than necessary before allowing it to escape. “I do forgive you,” I choked out. “Not completely, not yet, but eventually, hopefully, I will. I promise to try.”
A smile covered his face so wide and so genuine I couldn’t help but smile back as he leaned over to kiss my forehead. “I love you.” His lips pressed against mine and I lost myself before I could repeat the words back to him.
Heartbreak is funny in the oddest of ways. It’s taught me lessons, and led me to become someone more than who I had been before - a better version of myself. It comes in like a lion’s roar and leaves with the soft purr of a cat, changing your heart. In the end you will learn that some things are worth the pain and some people are worth living for.