you caught in the crosshairs!
That last thought, especially, is copied straight from the Rey-family-drama capsule. Neither of my parents ever supported my relationship with Matt, and it’s no shock as to why. I’m sure it’s not fun to wonder where your child is when the world is literally on fire. I know for a fact my love life impacted my parents’, as fights about my safety turned into failed parenting accusations, which spiraled into dark marital rabbit holes of blame. I even tried to lie and say Matt and I broke up early on to help make peace at home, but his star shone too bright to keep our dating a secret. I eventually stopped looping them in altogether, tired of being in the middle of their blame game, and moved in with Becca. She was protective of me too but trusted me to make my own choices and didn’t make me feel like shit when I chose wrong.
Voices settle in the room, screaming melting into sobs. I breathe deep, hoping they’ve found some common ground. In the relative quiet, I get up to examine an enormous Warrior Nation mural on Claire’s wall, a massive floor-to-ceiling installation crammed with seemingly every scrap of hero ephemera that exists. Magazine covers, stickers, fan art: all lovingly curated and arranged with care. It’s a little…much, and yet, knowing Claire, I understand it comes from a place of admiration and not stalker obsession.
A glossy picture of Matt catches my eye: his Time magazine cover from about a year ago. He was so proud to be featured, and even though he’d been on other covers before, for some reason this one was special to him. Standing tall with his dark features looking amazing against his shiny white suit, he looks proud. Confident. Like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. There’s a printed quote next to his face—Heroes put others first—and I remember feeling frustrated about it at the time. It’s funny to read these same words through Claire’s eyes; she probably saw this as inspirational, a token of hope worthy of her collection, whereas I took it as a symbol of what was wrong with my relationship.
I touch the photo, tracing my finger over Matt’s jawline. If I were really touching him like that, he’d start squirming, since he’s extremely ticklish. I think about the scar that runs from under his right earlobe to midway down his jaw; most people think he got it from some heroic endeavor, but it’s actually a childhood injury from stealing cookies late at night. Just when he thought he was in the clear with his handful of Oreos, his family’s cat darted out from a shadowy corner, causing him to trip and hit his face on the corner of a coffee table. There are so many things that only I know about him, secrets never shared in blogs or broadcasts.
I miss you, I think, and the unexpected feeling catches in my throat, eyes glazing over with sudden tears. I could blame it on exhaustion or the worry shaking me to my core, but no, I really do miss being part of our couple. The intimacy and the quiet moments. I miss Matt.
Claire walks in, splotchy and angry, with her mom close behind. I quickly sit and stare intently at a random book on her desk, as if I wasn’t just stroking a picture of my ex-boyfriend’s face. Luckily, neither of them seems to notice, still calming down from their argument. I’ve never met Claire’s mom before, but I can already tell they have a much different relationship than me and mine. Just the fact that they’re sharing the same space post-fight instead of creating as much distance as possible proves a tighter bond. I haven’t been back to my house in months, and while my mom checks in with a text every now and then, she really doesn’t know much about my life at this point.
“Bridgette, hello,” her mom says, extending a welcoming hand my way. Since I can’t complete a normal handshake with my cast, I give a small wave back instead.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Rice.”
“You can call me Mary.” She smiles, blue eyes still watery. “I’m sorry about all that.”
“Hey, I get it. Believe me.”
Claire plops down on her bed, arms crossed in defiance, back facing her mom. Based on the closed-off look on her face, I guess I’ll need to be the moderator here.
“Tell me, Bridgette,” Mary continues, wringing her hands. “Have you ever