Page 95 of Closer

“I couldn’t miss your first show.”

She sighs impatiently. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“You’re wearing my pearls.”

She glances down as if she had no idea how they got there. “So what?”

I grin. “So, you must have something to say.”

She scoffs, “Leave. Before I call security. I don’t have anything left for you.”

“Bullshit,” I say. Several people gasp. I don’t give a shit. If she won’t talk to me, at least give me the opportunity to apologise, I’ll say everything I have to say in front of them. I’ll tell the whole motherfucking world. “I fucked up. I hurt you, and it killed me. It killed a part of me.”

“It killedyou?” Brie never could control her temper; it’s what I love most about her. At a tiny blue-haired girl’s insistence, Brie moves away from the crowd and into the wings. I follow.

Blue-hair addresses the crowd behind us, but I tune them out.

“It killed you?” she demands again, this time tears well in her eyes. “You left me in another country. You checked out. So obsessed with your drugs and your liquor. You didn’t need me, you had your grief, and your anger to bed down with at night. You didn’t need me. I was just someone else to get mad at, to torture you, to be selfish enough to ask you to put me, to put us first. You tried to kill yourself. It didn’t kill you, but it destroyed me.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby.” I grab her hand and pull her closer, but she wrenches away.

“Do not touch me.”

“Brie—”

“Go home, Levi.”

“No, I’m not going anywhere,” I say, resolute. She glares. “I don’t care if I have to wait outside every one of your shows. I don’t care if I have to stay right here in this theatre, I’ll wait forever if that’s what it takes. Until you talk to me.”

“Then you will waste your life, because I have nothing to say to you.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” I shake my head. “You still love me. I know it. You know it.”

“Get out,” she hisses.

The blue-haired pixie pops her head around the corner, and sing-songs, “We can still hear you.” She gives Brie the contorted smile of an angry manager when her act is being a bad girl, and subsequently, bad for business.I’m pretty familiar with that look. This must be Piaf. I make a mental note to buy her a new car, or a boat or a fucking crown because this girl is the reason I ever got close to Brie at all. “Go, go!”

Brie heads off the stage completely into a narrow corridor. I follow because I can’t help it. I need her to know how sorry I am. “Brie, talk to me, please?”

She whirls around and gets up in my face. “What should I say? That I hate you? That I can never forgive you?”

“Say you’ll listen. Please, just say you’ll listen. If you don’t want to talk to me after that, then I’ll understand. I’ll leave you alone.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. I can’t say I’ll like it, but I’ll do it. If I think that’s what will make you happy.”

“Because you’re suddenly an expert on making people happy?” she scoffs. “You can’t even make yourself happy.”

“I couldn’t. I agree.”

“So, what? Now you’re fucking bozo the clown?” she snaps. “You’re all fixed?”

“No, I’m not fixed. I’m still battling my shit every day. But I miss you.”

“Too fucking bad. You made your bed.”

“I know, and I set it on fire, but I love you, Brie. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone.”