POPULAR - Just a Little Insight

Part 17. She'll Admit to Everything

"Well you couldn't, and even if you did it wouldn't make any difference because you'd just be giving in to me, and a thing like this can't be one sided, we'd have to both give in, both of us together."

"And where would that put us?"

"No place in this world, because it can't be done."

~John Hodiac and Judy Garland, the Harvey Girls

In her anger, Brooke decided she had had enough with crying.

Wordlessly wiping the tears from her face, Brooke shut off her lights, and locked her door. She grabbed hold of her iPod from her drawer beside the table and settled back on the bed, determined to drown herself in music.

It almost worked. The angry music was so loud she was sure that she had burst an eardrum during a particularly ear-splitting solo, but it was what she needed.

She didn't want to consider Sam, packing less than twenty feet away, full of fear and apologies and pessimistic fatalistic thoughts.

She wanted to believe that if Sam came knocking on her door, full of whispers and apologies, she could tell her to go away, because she was THAT angry and Sam was right, she wanted to be over her. She wanted to forget her, forget this extreme of heaven and hell she had endured since the moment Sam had stepped into her life.

Her head ached and her heart pounded and there was a suffocating knot of tension buried in her stomach like a snake coiled inside of her.

And still... The music ended and the light in the bathroom clicked off and left in darkness, a sleepless Brooke's eyes opened.

It was quiet, and silent, and in that moment, Brooke understood just what it was she was beginning to face.

It had been six months, six months since she had lain on this bed in this exact same position, making ten thousand promises to herself and keeping exactly none of them.

Everything since then, every action since even the moment she had gotten up from the table in the fancy restaurant at junior prom had been an attempt to regain control of her own runaway emotions.

Loving Sam had never felt like a choice she had consciously made. It had been worked up inside her, until it flared and burst into a flame and Brooke had tried to quench it - and then control it - and it was all to no avail.

She understood what it was to fear.

Brooke had never been able to control Sam. She understood her, more than she wanted to at times, but she had never been able to reason with her. Everything she said, everything she did, always touched some sort of hot button, evoking the worst possible reaction, that only heightened in the aftermath of their intimacy.

"I'm not over you, Sam."

"But you want to be, right?"

Exhausted, she closed her eyes, unnerved and haunted.

She left the house early, too early to hear any arguments or punishments. Her head still ached, and her back was now sore, but she shouldered her bag and she stepped into her car with only a wince.

Sticking the keys in the ignition, Brooke paused a moment, swiveled her head and looked up at a window.

An intense shot of pain knifed it's way into her chest, and with a choked breath, Brooke fumbled for her keys, jerking. The car roared to life, and Brooke was ashamed as she breathed a sigh of relief, pulling away.

It would be a long drive to campus, but at least she had a destination in mind.

True to form, Brooke threw herself into her work. Checking into the photography lab this early had thrown the student yawning at the front desk, but she secured use of the lab without having to wait.

She had neglected her work lately, and if Brooke was going to move on, this time for good, she needed to work.

Pulling the pack down from her shoulders, Brooke immediately began to sort the rolls of film that had been gathering in the small compartment. Two for school projects, one for the paper, one of Dusty's band...

With nimble fingers she began to inspect the cardboard boxes, each etched clearly with the date and subject, because Brooke was organized in everything but matters of the heart.

With a deep, methodical breath, she began to set them up.

She was still new at color, but the paper preferred black and white anyway. It would do to at least develop those, get them done.

She had spent long hours in a dark room the weeks after spring break. It became her cave, and in a way Brooke was almost glad of it. Learning the intricacies involved in mixing powders and choosing developer fluid and controlling the exact measure of light required focus and discipline, and in her photos Brooke found a safer way of viewing the world.

She worked quickly, moving from the developer to the stop bath, working the film until she had three rolls drying above her, weighted by butterfly clips.

That was the time she hated the most.

She stayed in the darkroom, sinking down in a chair and closing her eyes.

She didn't know what time it was; she refused to look at her phone.

When it rang, she turned it off.

Anxious, Brooke began to fiddle with her camera, fiddling with the buttons until she realized there was still a roll locked inside of it, one frame away from complete rotation.

The Getty.

Brooke knew better than to think it was morbid curiosity that forced her to reach up, turned the camera on herself, and snap the frame.

With nimble fingers, she opened the casing and extracted the film.

Her fingers were trembling, but she was careful.

It was infinitely precious.

Hi, you've reached Brooke's voicemail. I'm either in class or in a dark room or screening, so leave me a message and I'll give you a call at my earliest convenience."

"Brooke, it's Stephanie. Are you okay? I can't believe that guy was drunk! That's just so crazy! You're still coming tonight, right? Because Maria told me you and Dusty broke up and I'm sorry but you HAVE to tell me the whole story. Like. NOW. Or if not? Tonight. I hope you don't mind. I invited Harrison. He's cute."

Hi, you've reached Brooke's voicemail. I'm either in class or in a dark room or screening, so leave me a message and I'll give you a call at my earliest convenience."

Brooke, honestly? I know we haven't actually provided an actual punishment for last night... but there are still things we need to discuss! Leaving a message saying you're going to be in a dark room all day is not good enough! You're sister's leaving for Northwestern tonight. Did you know anything about this? Come home soon, Brooke.

Hi, you've reached Brooke's voicemail. I'm either in class or in a dark room or screening, so leave me a message and I'll give you a call at my earliest convenience."

Hey. It's Dusty. I think we need to talk. Call me.

In a dark room, there was quiet. No sound but the swishing of fluid, the acrid scent of chemicals, and stained fingers soaking sheets. Colored eyes watched intensely as pictures emerged from a blank canvas.

The back of a child, with chubby legs and chubby feat and short dark hair, staring over the sloping plain of a garden, preparing herself for the courage to roll down it full force.

The profile of a rock star dripping with sweat, mouth open and eyes brilliantly clear, guitar hanging from straps on her arms as she stood on a stage. For the moment overwhelmed, exhausted, and sated.

A brunette, with dark glasses and dark lips, lying back on grey grass, looking into the camera in a perfect, unknowing pose.

Brooke lifted the wet picture from the fluid, and stared into it.

Her chest began to swell and Brooke sucked in her breath, suddenly overcome.

In the tray, forming a picture of quiet devastation and resolve, was a blonde woman in a dark room. Alone. Tired. And scared.

Finding a parking spot in Hollywood Hills had always been hard, but Brooke found a yellow loading area that was free.

She wouldn't be staying long.

Unloading from the car, Brooke grabbed hold of the packet of prints and removed her sunglasses.

The quiet experience in the dark room had left her numb and still.

She moved up the stairs and when her shoulder contracted - a sudden muscle spasm - she ignored it.

Rapping on the door with her knuckles, Brooke bit her lip and waited until Dusty appeared in a wife beater and a tight pair of jeans. Her girlfriend's expression was tight and guarded as she stared at her from the other side of the screen door.

"Hi," Brooke managed, voice suddenly tight.

Dusty seemed at war with herself, and then without a word she flipped the latch and with a creak, the screen door opened.

Brooke thought Dusty was generous, given the circumstances.

"Thanks," she managed, and gingerly stepped into Dusty's apartment, not nearly as freely as she had the evening before.

Dusty's hand crossed over her injured arm, and she shifted on her feet nervously, glancing away from her.

"How's your shoulder?" Brooke asked, when the silence became nearly unbearable.

Still averting her eyes, Dusty managed a dry smile. "Great," she answered, and then her head rose. "Just fucking peachy, Brooke."

Brooke expected anger. "I'm sorry."

Dusty swallowed, eyes blinking, suddenly moist. "That day, I saw you in the quad. And you were crying." Brooke's throat closed up, her heart froze in her chest. "You were crying over Sam, weren’t you?"

Uncomfortable, Brooke took a deep breath. She owed her the truth, at the least. "Yes," she said, firmly, carefully. "I ... Sam and I just ... Yes," she finally just answered. "I was crying over Sam."

Dusty's mouth closed, a firm line, and she rubbed at her injured arm like it was a tick. "Do you love her?"

She swallowed hard. "Yes."

"And Sam loves you."

Her sigh was ragged. "Apparently."

"But you're not together."

Her smile was sad. "It's complicated."

"So complicated you decided to try and fuck me instead?"

The sentence was a like a punch into her stomach. It actually hurt. "It wasn't like that."

Dusty nodded mechanically. "I guess I had it coming. I mean, I knew I was something."

"Dusty-"

"But you don't exactly run into gay step-sisters in love all the time, you know?"

"Dusty-"

"I cheated on you."

The words were said breathless, panicked, and Brooke blinked, thrown by the sentence.

Dusty sank down on the couch, lost. "Last night. One of those fucking groupies came to the hospital and I had just seen you with her and..."

"And you brought her home," Brooke said, frame stiff, voice surprisingly clear.

"... Yeah."

Brooke didn't want to know who it was. She felt the pain, and for the moment, she was grateful for it. It proved she had felt something for Dusty, in the midst of all this.

It hadn't all been about using her to get past Sam.

"Okay," Brooke said, nodding and drawing in a deep breath. "I brought you these." Packet in hand, she reached forward, holding them out to her ex-girlfriend.

Uncertain, Dusty just stared at her. "You're not even going to get mad?"

"I'm not over Sam, Dusty. And I know it's not fair to you to try and be with you, even if I can't be with her. I need to learn how to deal with it instead of trying to figure out how to move on. And if that's the case, then I don't deserve to get mad." Her mouth trembled. "But if you wanted to hurt me, you did."

Settling down on her couch, Dusty reached for the guitar strewn haphazardly beside her, and twanged carelessly on it. "It helps a little."

Dusty was a beautiful girl, with shaggy hair and a great smile. But she wasn't Sam.

Reaching forward, she took the pictures from Brooke's fingers, and fumbling a bit, managed to open the envelope. Prints spilled out, 8 x 10s of rockstars and clubs and Elphaba Thropp.

Dusty looked at them silently, dark eyes taking in each and every shot, before wordlessly moving to the next.

"These are really good," she told Brooke quietly.

"Thank you," Brooke responded, and they stood awkwardly in Dusty's living room, strangers once again. "For what it's worth... I didn't know... I mean, it wasn't because of..."

"Yeah it was," Dusty interrupted, staring up at her. "And if you're going to say you didn't want to hurt me, it's a little late for that."

And there it was. The end of it.

"Okay," she said to Dusty and turned away.

"Hey, Brooke."

Pausing, Brooke glanced back, to find Dusty wavering. "I wasn't in love with you yet."

Unsure where this was going, Brooke kept quiet.

"If you need a friend. In a couple months, I could probably be that."

At that moment, Brooke really wished she could have loved Dusty.

"Thank you," she said unsteadily, grateful. "I'll take you up on that."

"Sam's flight is leaving in two hours," Jane told her, the minute she stepped into the house. "Do you have anything to do with this?"

Brooke stared silently at her step-mother, in the midst of feeding baby Mac mashed up bananas. From her toddler's chair, Mac shot her happy banana filled smile.

"Probably," Brooke admitted, pulling a packet of pictures out of her pack, dropping the rest of her stuff on a nearby kitchen chair. "But I'm going to fix it."

Jane eyed her carefully, quietly. "What's going on, Brooke?"

She paused, and looked back at her step-mother. "What do you think is going on, Jane?"

Jane's eyes were dark. Her expression was guarded. She looked nearly afraid.

Brooke was finally centered and nervous and yet somehow no longer afraid to face her own truths.

It didn't mean Jane was there with her.

Shoulders dropping, Brooke came forward and without another word, pressed a kiss to Jane's temple. "I can't make her stay," she whispered. "But I can promise you that I love her, and I will make sure she knows that."

Straightening, she didn't wait for Jane's reaction as she pressed another kiss to Mac's forehead and then headed for the stairs.

She found Sammy in her bedroom, seated at her desk, hands folded on top of her desk, staring at Lil' Bleu Too.

Breathless, Brooke paused in the doorway. For the moment, she drank in the sight.

This was her Sammy. Beautiful. Stubborn. And sometimes, when she thought no one was looking, quiet, sentimental, vulnerable.

The figure in her bed stirred, turned, and dark eyes locked on hers.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, a beat later, suddenly scrambling to her feet. "I didn't know you were home-"

"Don't apologize to me," Brooke interrupted quietly. Closing the door behind her, Brooke couldn't help her staring, mapping the dark hair and the dark eyes, beautifully intoxicating.

And poor Sammy didn't know what to say to that. She was scared and unsure and certain she was doing this for the good of Brooke, and it was idiotic, but it was what Sammy needed to do.

"I’m not going to be here when you leave," she announced, as firmly as she could. Sam's eyes went to the floor. "Because I don't think I'd be strong enough not to ask you to stay."

In the searching, startled glance that Sam gave her, Brooke found her strength.

"I'm not sure," she began, "If you ever really understood why I walked away from you, when I woke up from my coma."

Brown orbs flitted downward, to the carpet, then back up.

"I've said so many things to you in my head that I forget I haven't actually said them out loud." Brooke wrapped arms around herself. "I just kinda... expect you to step into my shoes and understand and..."

"Brooke..."

"It's okay, Sammy. I hurt you. I get that." Brooke's emotion began to bleed into her words, and it caused her to choke up. She paused, head shaking, trying to reorient herself.

"I hurt you too."

"Yes," she agreed. "You did. Many times. But you also made me very happy, Sammy. I don't think you... I always had problems in high school, Sam. I always tried so hard to make everyone else happy because I thought that if I did that, I would make myself happy." Sam kept quiet, but she heard her inhale deeply. "And for a long time, I deluded myself into thinking that I had succeeded, and then I crashed into you in a hallway and my heart did this..." With the package in her palm, she pressed against her chest. "Sam, the first time you smiled at me, when you really LOOKED at me, and SAW me and you smiled... I had never felt anything like that. Ever."

Sam was frozen. Her expressive mouth quivered, opened, then closed. Unnerved by her own naked honestly, Brooke was almost grateful for her uncharacteristic muteness.

"Maybe I fell in with love with you because you made me love myself. Or maybe because you loved me, I could finally love myself. I don't know. All I know is that as miserable as I like to say you made me, nothing ever made me happier than when I was with you." Sucking in her breath, Brooke tried to continue. "On prom night, with Harrison... I sat at that table and I realized that I was in love with you. And it scared the hell out of me. So I ran. And I ran from you and into Nicole's car."

Sam's fingers twitched, they pressed against her hips, as if Sam had nowhere else to put them.

"Brooke..." Sam began unsteadily. "You don't have to-"

"I do," Brooke replied softly, and kept her distance. Mouth curving up slightly, she sighed raggedly. "Because I owe it to you. Because I wrote you a letter that told you all of this and I was too scared to send it, and now you're leaving me again and I won't be able to live with myself if I don't tell you all the things I've never said. Because I can now."

She came forward, as close as she dared without touching Sam. "Here's the thing, Sammy. I love you. Not because I have to, or because I have no other choice, but because I just love you. Even when I can't stand you I can't help but ache to be with you, and when I hurt you all I want to do is take you in my arms and never hurt you again."

She smiled.

"Maybe, we got lucky, or we got cursed. I met the love of my life at sixteen and I wasn't ready, Sam. There was so much else clouding everything and I couldn't see it and when I did I couldn't handle it. I wasn't supposed to feel this way so soon. You meet the person you're supposed to be with when you're older. When you're past all the petty stuff and not when you don't even realize you're gay or when your parents decide to get married... The things you make me feel scared me so much Sam, but what I'm more afraid of it not feeling that way ever again. And I know I won't if I'm not with you."

Sam looked breathless, and it wasn't Brooke's intention.

Biting her lip, Brooke forced her arms across her chest, pressing the paper envelope against her.

"I know everyone always says that your first love you get over, but I'll never get over you, and I don't want to. I want to make you happy. I wanna know how to do it and I know I can because I'm so good at making you miserable, that if I worked at it, I could make you so happy. I want us to have a chance and I want us to be with each other for the rest of our lives. But I can wait, because that's how long we have. We have the rest of our lives and I’m going to love you for that long. I'm going to get this right. I'm going to be with you. But when you're ready. Just know, when you go, I'll be waiting for you. I'll be working on me. And when you decide to come back to me, I'm not ever letting you go."

It was pure, utter resolve, and it sounded so much braver than Brooke felt, but it was finally said. Out in the open. Out loud, and Brooke was unashamed.

Sam looked terrified. "Brooke," she managed, thick and broken. "I can't-"

Tears slid down perfect checks and Brooke reached forward, tenderly as she could, to gather the drops against her thumb.

"You don't have to. I have something for you." Her tone was soft and reverent, and she pressed the envelope of pictures into Sam's arms. "Look at them, Sammy, and look at how beautiful you are. Maybe, if you see yourself the way I see you, you can understand how beautiful I think you are."

Her thumb drifted against soft skin, and as her heart pounded, she forced her hand to drop, step away.

"Have a good flight," she managed, suddenly choked, and before she lost her resolve, she stepped out of her room.

Stephanie's beach party hosted a myriad of drunk frat boys and half naked sorority girls. Gorgeous, beautiful people drunk on cheap liquor, drunk on life.

The music was loud. The screams were shrill and ear-splitting.

Dressed in a bikini with a pair of cut-offs, Brooke could feel lingering glances. The token gay girl in an attractive sorority, Brooke understood her uniqueness. Like Sam, months ago, in this environment, she invited curiosity.

This time, when she stepped into the cool air, kicking off her sandals to step into the sand, trudging toward the waves, Brooke didn't have Sam's hand to hold on to.

The waves crashed into the shore, and on them Brooke focused. She wasn't sure why it was so important not to break down. Not to cry.

A spry of sand against her shorts alerted her to a warm face and a friendly smile.

Without a word, Harrison settled down beside her, depositing a bottle into her hand.

"Thanks," she managed, rubbing ruefully at her shoulder as she kept her gaze on the ocean. "I think I'm done with drinking for a while."

"It's lemonade," he corrected. "Steph says Maria brought them."

Brooke glanced down, staring at the label. "Somehow I'm not surprised," she answered, but smiled gratefully, lifting the bottle to her lips.

Harrison waited a moment, watching the rise and fall of the blue water, the frothy foam coming ever close to nipping at their toes.

"So..." As Harrison began, Brooke could only smile bitterly. "Where's Sammy?"

She swallowed, ignoring the lurch of pain inside her. "Probably on her way back to Northwestern."

"Right..." She heard an audible sigh. "I guess I'm just surprised that it came to that."

Her eyes screwed shut, fingers tightening around her bottle. "I ran from Sam for a year, Harrison. I guess I owe it to her to let her run for a while too."

"Because you're sure she'll come back."

"No," she responded. "I'm not. But I've said everything I could say. She's still going. I can't stop that."

Harrison nodded mechanically. "You never could stop Sammy when she put her mind to something."

Brooke dug her lemonade bottle into the sand. "You know, at Stephanie's last party, Sam got a little drunk. It was the night I first found out that she had wanted me. I was so scared, Harrison." She shook her head, still.

And then the tears came. So fast they took her by surprise. They were streaming down her cheeks before she even knew they were there, and Brooke began to sob, crumpling into a sodden mess against Harrison's shoulder.

Her friend drew her close, and desperate for comfort Brooke wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her nose into his collar.

"Oh, God, Harrison," she choked. "I wanted to do this. I wanted to let her go but -"

"Let who go?"

Tears caught in her throat, Brooke jerked away from Harrison's embrace to discover Maria and Stephanie staring down at her, wide-eyed and worried.

"Oh, God," she whispered, wiping furiously at her stinging eyes.

"Oh, my God, Brookie!" Plopping down beside her, Brooke found herself suddenly pressed against Stephanie's cleavage, the other girl nearly squeezing the blood out of her brain. "It's Dusty isn't it? That rocker chick broke your heart!"

"No," she managed, struggling against her friend's surprisingly strength. "Stephanie, you're choking me..."

"Umm..." Harrison sounded concerned. "Might want to ease up..."

"Do you want us to kick her ass? I mean, granted her groupies might get us first-"

"It's not Dusty!" Brooke snapped, jerking away. "It's Sam."

Stephanie looked dumbstruck. "Sam?" she repeated. "Your gay sister? You're hot for your sister?"

"No," Maria said, non-plussed as she took a drag off her cigarette. "They're step-sisters," she corrected. "And they didn't even grow up together. It's totally not incest. What?" she questioned, when everyone stared. "I listen!"

"You're hot for Sam? Cute Gay Sam? Oh, my GOD!" Reaching around Brooke, Stephanie smacked Harrison on the shoulder. "How could you not tell me?"

"Umm... Oww?" He responded, scuttling back. "Abuse is not an okay part of this relationship!"

"Oh, God, it makes so much sense now! You're not frigid at all! You're hot for your gay-step-sister!" Stephanie paused. "Somehow that doesn't come off as better."

Brooke closed her eyes, overwhelmed. "It doesn't matter," she sighed, wiping at her drying tears. "Sam's on a plane back to Northwestern, scared out of her mind, running away from me again and I'm stuck on this beach, hopeless, in love and... frigid, apparently," she added, when Stephanie blushed.

Reaching forward, Harrison grabbed hold of a handful of sand. "And you think it's fine. Letting her go."

"It's what she asked for, Harrison."

"Brookie, can I just say something?" Shifting, Brooke blinked, as Maria crouched down in front of her. "You're an idiot."

"Excuse me?"

"Look, I know I’m incredibly self-involved and a little bit of a tease, but I am your roommate, and that means I see things, ya know? Also, I read your emails."

"What?!"

"There's this movie I saw called 'The Harvey Girls'. We're supposed to do the musical in school next year so I was doing research. And in it Judy Garland is this waitress, right? And she comes to this really seedy western town where this really hot guy runs the local saloon and whorehouse-"

"Why are we getting a movie review?"

"Shut up, Harrison," Maria said sweetly. "Anyway, she's like this waitress and is all up for making the town respectable and he's like, all for you know, his whores and all. Anyway, they're hot for each other but they can't be together because they both can't be together without comprising themselves, right?"

"Uh... Ebert? Does this have a point?"

"YES!" Maria screeched. "Let me finish. God. Anyway, the guy decides to pack up and leave and Judy decides to go after him. Well, it turns out he decided the same thing so they end up both giving in, you know?"

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

Maria's eyes rolled heavenwards. "GO AFTER HER, YOU MORON. GIVE her a reason to believe in you besides your pretty pretty words and ten thousand broken promises."

For a brief moment, all Brooke could do was stare open-mouthed.

"Amazingly? That last part actually made sense." Harrison noted.

Brooke couldn't breathe.

The blood began to rush into her ears, and her heartbeat suddenly began to pound erratically. "Go after her?" she repeated. "To Northwestern?"

"Well..." Stephanie mused. "That IS a helluva gesture."

"Oh, God," Brooke breathed, suddenly hyperventilating. "She's really going, isn't she? I’m really going to - I have to go after her."

"Yes, you do," Harrison agreed.

"I have to go after her and if I have to bang on her dorm door and make her believe me- I can't- I have to go-"

"Oh this is so exciting!"

"Shut up!" Brooke said, scrambling to her feet. "I need to get to the airport."

"Brooke, wait up-"

"I can't! I need to get a flight!" Already, Brooke was stumbling in the sand, sprinting toward the beach house. "Stephanie, I'm stealing your clothes!"

She needed jeans.

She was pretty sure it was freezing in Northwestern.

END CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

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