Best Kind of Broken

31 Pixie

I sneak down to the laundry room while Levi’s in the shower, carrying my wet pajamas in my hand. I don’t know why, but I’m wearing the most hideous clothes I own—a pair of plaid sweatpants and a large gray T-shirt that has a ripped collar and a grease stain on the front.

I’m heavily clothed, but I’m still cold.

When I arrive, I’m sure I’m safe because Ellen never comes to the tiny laundry room in the west wing. Never.

“Hi, Pix,” Ellen says behind me, and I want to cuss.

“Hi,” I say in a far-too-cheery voice as I turn around. I try to tuck my wet clothes under my arm without drawing attention to the obvious wet mark they’re branding onto my stupid gray T-shirt.

Ellen sees the clothes and smiles at me. “Doing laundry?”

I nod.

“With only”—she looks down—“two items?”

“Yep.” I nod. “I’m just trying to stay on top of things. These are my favorite pajamas. And I washed them in the sink to conserve energy.”

Okay, clearly, I suck at lying—Ellen knows this. And really, Pixie? Giving three excuses about why your clothes are wet when she didn’t even ask is a dead giveaway.

I pinch my lips together.

Ellen stares me down. “Spill it.”

“No.”

“Spill it.”

“No.” I throw my two items in the washing machine and cross my arms. I’m an impenetrable wall. I’m a fortress of silence. I’m—

“Does this have something to do with Levi?”

“Yes.”

Damn. I suck at being a fortress.

“Want to talk about it?” Ellen leans against the doorway and drapes her dark hair over her shoulder.

“No. I don’t want to talk about it. I want Levi to talk about it. I want him to look at me and stop seeing Charity and all the sadness and I want him to let himself love me again.” I’m totally talking about it, but now I can’t stop. “I mean, what the hell? He and Charity were my best friends. They were my whole life, and then Charity died and Levi just… just left me! And now it’s like we’re totally different people.” I say this loudly and realize I’m about to cry. “We’re not the same anymore. We’re not Levi and Pixie, Transformer and Barbie. We’re not the Three Musketeers with dreams and futures. Charity is dead and my heart is lost and Levi is a mess and I don’t… I don’t… I don’t…”

I start crying and Ellen pulls me into a hug, stroking my hair in a way my own mother would never have done. “I don’t know how to love him anymore,” I say into Ellen’s soft shirt as tears spill from my eyes.

She squeezes me. “Sure you do. Love doesn’t just stop, Pixie. It’s always there.”

I pull away and wipe at my face, frustrated for crying. “But he feels so far away from me. I just want him back. But I’m so…” I search for the word. “I’m so angry with him. For abandoning me. For letting me hurt without him. For forgetting me.”

She shakes her head. “He didn’t forget you.”

“He did.”

“No. He was just hurting, Pix. Levi lost a lot after the accident. He lost Charity, and then he lost his parents—”

“But he didn’t lose me.” My voice cracks.

Ellen bites her lip and waits a beat. “Maybe he doesn’t know that.” She pauses. “Maybe you should tell him that.”

“I can’t.” I shake my head, and a wild blonde curl falls into my eyes. “I can’t. We’re so messed up. I don’t think it would even matter if I did. We’re just too broken.”

Ellen tilts her head and looks me over sympathetically. She tucks the loose curl behind my ear and lightly brushes my cheek with her finger. Then she smiles softly. “There’s no such thing as too broken. Anything can heal.” She kisses my forehead and wraps her arms around me. “Especially you.”