Los Angeles | 2011
Alex's POV
The silence in my room was absolute. It had been hours since Bradley left me at the lockers, hours since I came back home and sat just replaying everything. I could still see the raw, wounded look in his eyes right before he turned and walked away. The image of him choosing practice over me, over this, was a fresh, twisting pain. But even deeper than that was the acidic, gnawing guilt.
I made a mistake. A terrible, cascading series of mistakes. I shouldn't have sprung it on him like that, in a crowded school hallway, right after I'd spent the entire day treating him like a stranger. I should've taken the time to slowly break him into the topic.
But how? How do you do that? 'Hey, Brad, can you pass the salt? Also, a guy I didn't know forcibly kissed me in Wyoming, and I've been lying to you about it for weeks. More pasta?'
I remembered him clasping my hand this morning, being concerned, worrying about me. I remember him trying to play paper chess, his brow furrowed in that familiar, focused way. I remember him asking if everything was alright, and the pain he felt seeing me act unlike myself. He gave me opening after opening, and I just... shut him down. And then, when I finally couldn't hold it in anymore, I didn't just tell him. I detonated.
I remember the guilt gnawing inside of me, the constant, low-level thrum of it that had been my companion ever since that day on the ranch. The image of that dumb idiot harassing me, his smirking, privileged face. He kept calling me 'gorgeous' like it was a weapon. I was on the tree swing with Lily, trying to ignore him, and he just wouldn't stop. So I gave him the full Alex Dunphy dressing-down. I called him a troglodyte. I told him his insistence was a clear sign of a developmental deficiency. I was sharp, I was mean, and I felt in control.
And then... he kissed me. He just... did it. Stole it. His lips on mine, wet and shocking. And the pain I felt when I realized what had inadvertently happened... it was less about the kiss and more about the violation. The sudden, total loss of control. And then I remember Lily, innocently chanting, 'Alex kissed a boy!' over and over, not realizing the horror that innocent chant birthed in me.
I remember running away from it all with Lily, dragging her back to the cabin, the embarrassment, the wrongness of it, eating away at me. In that moment, the person I most wanted to talk with, I couldn't. I couldn't call Brad and tell him about this. The cell service was non-existent, but even if it wasn't... how could I?
So, it festered within me like a wound, and it became darker throughout the trip. Every day of silence made it worse, made it feel more like a betrayal I had committed.
Finally, when everyone returned home, I broke down and told Haley everything. I found her in her room, surrounded by tissues, her eyes puffy and red. She was shocked, and she was dealing with Dylan. "He... he proposed," she sniffled, blowing her nose. "And then... and then he met that rancher, Jake, and he... he's staying, Alex! He's staying in Wyoming to be a rancher! He broke up with me... so he could be a rancher!" She dissolved into a fresh wave of sobs. I just sat there, patting her back, my own secret feeling small and stupid in comparison. But it was suffocating me. "Haley... I have to tell you something. Something... bad."
I told her. The whole, ugly story. Her sobbing stopped. She just stared at me. "Wait. He just... kissed you? You didn't kiss him back?"
"No! God, no! I pushed him! I hated it!"
"Oh." Haley's expression hardened. "Alex, that's not... you didn't do anything. That's just a thing guys do. They're gross." She grabbed another tissue, this time for me. The only advice she could give me at that moment was that I didn't do anything wrong, that I am the victim because I got taken advantage of.
I was reluctant to admit it, but hearing her say it, so simply, felt like a release. She was right. I did get taken advantage of. It wasn't my fault. I clung to that justification. It helped, for a little while. By the time I realized how much it was still bothering me, it had been just a few days left before school starts.
The secret was still there. A few days passed. School was about to start. I was jumpy, irritable, snapping at Luke for just breathing too loud. Mom cornered me while I was loading the dishwasher. "Okay, Alex, what is it? You've been a storm cloud all week. And don't tell me it's about school starting, I've seen that, this is different."
And just like that, I broke down. Again. I told Mom about what happened. Her reaction was different from Haley's. No dismissal. Just... a deep, quiet anger. "Oh, honey. That's... awful. I'm so sorry that happened to you." She hugged me, a tight, protective embrace. "But... while this was worrying, you should admit the truth to Brad regardless."
"What? No! I can't!" I pulled away. "He'll... he'll be just like he was before. He'll be angry. He'll hate me! I'm scared that he would leave me."
"Alex," she said, her voice firm, holding my gaze. "Brad is a smart, good kid. But he is still a boy. He needs to hear this from you. And he needs to hear it soon. Because the more you hide it, the bigger the problem will become."
She was right. She was so, so right. In my head, I kept saying, 'I will tell him, I will tell him,' but I just couldn't. The fear paralyzed me. The secret got bigger. Darker. Heavier.
And then today... I saw him. Taller. Confident. Happy to see me. And I just... froze. I couldn't ruin his first day. I couldn't be the girlfriend who dumps this toxic... thing on him in a crowded hallway.
But I did. I did exactly that. I just sprung it on him, a grenade of guilt and fear, and I was shocked when it blew up in my face.
I put my face in my hands. The tears that I'd held back in the hallway, the ones I'd choked down after he'd walked away... they came now. A hot, miserable flood.
I wasn't just the victim. Haley was wrong. I was the one who hid it. I was the one who lied by omission. I was the one who, in my fear, had become a coward. And I'd hurt him. I'd hurt the one person I couldn't bear to lose.
The door was still just a door. He wasn't walking through it. I checked my phone for the hundredth time. The screen was dark. No text comes, neither does Brad.
This was it. I feared the worst. I went too far. I took the one good thing in my life, the one person who saw me, and I broke him. I broke us. The image of his face after I told him—that look of raw, blindsided hurt—was seared into my memory. 'You can't blame me for your failures.'
He was right.
The panic, which I'd been holding at bay, began to rise, cold and suffocating. I began running the scary scenarios, thinking about the worst possibilities. That Brad is done with me. That he doesn't want to talk with me anymore. This was it. I was going to be alone again.
I couldn't stand it. My hands were shaking as I grabbed my phone and dialed his number. It rang once. Twice. Three times. Each ring was a fresh wave of nausea. "Hi, this is Bradley. Leave a message." Voicemail. I hung up, a sob catching in my throat. I tried again, immediately. Straight to voicemail. He was cutting the call. Screening me. He hated me.
I fell back onto my pillows, the tears I'd held back finally breaking free. I was hysterical. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe. I needed someone. Not Mom, not Haley. I needed a different kind of perspective. I needed a friend.
I panic-called Mandella. Her name was a blur through my tears as I hit 'call'. She picked up on the second ring.
"Wassup, Dunphy? Finally ready to admit The Taming of the Shrew is a deeply misogynistic cultural artifact?" "Manda," I choked out, the word dissolving into a broken sob. Her voice changed instantly, all traces of sarcastic wit gone. "Whoa, Alex? What's wrong? You sound... what happened?"
"I messed up," I cried, the words tumbling out in a frantic, incoherent rush. "I told him, Mandy. I told Brad about the kiss in Wyoming. And I was... I was awful. I begged him for forgiveness but he went cold and distant. He just accepted it at face value and he told me we will talk about it later. And he left, Mandy! He just walked away, and now he won't answer his phone, and I think he's going to break up with me!"
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. I could just picture her, processing, analyzing.
"Okay," Mandella said, her voice calm and firm, cutting through my hysteria. "First, Breathe, man. Second, you are overthinking things and going into needless panic."
"But he hates me! I saw his face!" I wailed. "I told him everything and he walked away"
"Yeah, which, sans doubt, was a colossally stupid move, Alex. Truly, a tragedy of errors. But listen to me," she insisted. "This is not a run-of-the-mill kind of thing that he can come to terms with within hours. You just dropped a 'some-other-dude-kissed-me-and-I-hid-it' bomb. He's not mad; he's hurt. And he's probably confused. Give Brad some space. He's smart, right? He's logical. He'll think about this stuff and understand that it wasn't your fault... you know, the kiss part. Yeah, you'll need to apologize for that. But he'll get the main point."
"You really think so? You think he'll understand?" again I began to think that maybe I truly wasn't at fault... at least not for the part that started it all.
"I do," Mandella reassured me gently. "Have faith in your relationship and in Brad. He's not the kind of guy who just walks away from something real. He just needs to process. So wait for him to come to you. Seriously, stop calling him. It's desperate, and 'desperation is a stinking weed.' I'm pretty sure that's a quote. Probably."
I let out a shaky, watery laugh. "Okay. Okay, I'll wait."
"Good. Now go read some Shakespeare. Or, even better, eat your feelings. I find ice cream is a great companion to existential dread. Talk tomorrow."
She hung up, and I fell back onto my bed, her words echoing in my ears. Give him space. He'll understand. I accepted that. I had to.
The evening dragged on. I skipped dinner, the thought of facing my parents' questions impossible. I just lay in my room, staring at the happy birthday lights Haley and Bradley had hung, which now felt like a cruel joke. Every passing car on the street made my heart leap, thinking it was him. Every buzz of my phone made me jump. Nothing.
Finally, hours later, as I was starting to drift into a miserable, restless sleep, my phone lit up on the nightstand. A text. My heart stopped. It was him.
Brad: Hey. Had a fight at school after I left you. Had to go to the hospital.
My blood ran cold. I sat bolt upright, all the guilt and self-pity evaporating, replaced by pure, cold terror.
Me: WHAT?? Brad, are you okay?? What happened? Are you hurt??
The reply took an agonizing minute.
Brad: I'm okay now. Just need to rest.
Brad: I'll be fine.
This wasn't enough. I needed to hear his voice. When I called him, he cut the call without picking up. It rang once, then click. He'd rejected the call. A new, sharper pain hit me. He was hurt, and he wouldn't talk to me. The guilt came rushing back.
A new text message appeared immediately.
Brad: Sorry. Can't talk right now. On a lot of meds and just need to rest. I'll see you tomorrow or when I feel better.
I stared at the message, the words blurring through my tears. He was pushing me away. He was hurt, physically hurt, and he didn't want me. I hurt him so I deserve this. What else could I do?
Me: Do you need anything? I can come over. I can bring... anything.
I waited. One minute. Two. No reply.
Me: Okay. Please rest. I'm... I'm really sorry about everything. Please feel better.
No reply came. I turned off the happy birthday lights, plunging the room into darkness. I sniffled my way back under the covers. The guilt from my mistake—hiding the kiss, lashing out—was now compounded by a suffocating worry for him. His attitude of not talking to me in his usual sweet, loving way hurt even more than my confession and guilt. It felt so cold, so distant. I fell asleep thinking about him, alone, in pain, and feeling him drift further and further away.
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