“What do you mean?” she asked, with a frown.
“I mean, what if he doesn’t accept my apology?” I asked. “What if he says he still can’t forgive me and that he doesn’t want to be with me anymore?”
“Then you tried.”
“I can’t live without him, Marta,” I said.
“Don’t be silly now,” she said in a measured voice. “You’re young… If Phil can’t forgive you, you will move on one day and meet someone else. But if this man truly is the love of your life, then you need to fight for him—otherwise, what is the point?”
I nodded slowly, feeling scared and vulnerable. But I knew that Marta was right. I had to fight for Phil if I wanted to make things work with him. The only problem is I had no idea where to start. I walked home that day wondering how on earth I was going to approach him. I practiced the speech in my head, but every time I started, it came out differently.
I walked into Brent’s apartment in a fog of thought. The police had done a full sweep of the place just before the trial. Once it had been found to be clean, the landlord had given me the option of either keeping the apartment and taking over the rent payments or moving out at the end of the month. I had thought about it long and hard, but I wasn’t sure I could afford to keep this place without a roommate to share the cost of it.
In any case, I didn’t really want to stay in Brent’s apartment. It smelled of him, it reminded me of him, and at the moment I wanted no reminder. It wasn’t love that was compelling me to find a place of my own. It was disgust and disappointment. I was ashamed that my own brother would do things so despicable, especially to the man I loved. I was even more ashamed of myself, for falling for his lies and believing him over Phil.
I sat down on the sofa and stared out the window for a full twenty minutes. My mind was scattered, and I knew there were several things I needed to get done, but I had no inkling of how to go about any of them. I decided to take baby steps and start with something I should have done days ago. I dialed my parents’ landline number and waited for someone to answer.
The last time I had spoken to them had been almost a month ago, before shit hit the fan, so to speak. They had no idea what was going on, and I knew that I had to tell them. I had post phoned this conversation long enough.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mom,” I said.
“Megan?”
“Of course it’s Megan,” I said. “You have only one daughter.”
“Where’s Brent?”
“Brent…” I stammered.
“I’ve been trying to call that boy for two days now, and he’s not picking up,” she replied. “Hold on; Dad’s here too. I’ll get him to pick up from his study.”
I heard her yelling for my dad, and a couple of seconds later, I heard a click, and my dad’s breathing became evident.
“Megan?” my dad said. “Where’s your brother?”
I sighed. “I have something to tell you both,” I started slowly. “And it’s…difficult and requires a bit of explanation
. Are you two sitting down?”
“Megan, what are you talking about?” Dad asked.
“So dramatic, as usual,” Mom added.
I gritted my teeth but forced myself to be calm. “I’m not being dramatic, Mom,” I said. “I’m trying to handle this as sensitively as possible.”
“What are you handling?” she asked. “And where is your brother?”
“That is what I’m trying to explain to you,” I said. “If you’ll hear me out, you’ll know where Brent is.”
That shut both of them up. I started my explanation from the very beginning, but when I got to the part about Brent dealing drugs, that inspired an interruption.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Megan,” Mom cut in. “My Brent doesn’t do drugs.”
I sighed inwardly. “He wasn’t just doing drugs, Mom,” I said as gently as I could manage. “He was dealing them, as well.”
“No, he wasn’t,” Dad said with absolute confidence.