The Aftermath

To think all I needed for my career to finally take off was to accidentally sell my deepest darkest secrets to the publishing house.

I'm not proud of the things I did, the things I wrote about, or the fact that they're out there for the whole world to read. I would never have even dreamed about publishing some of those things before last summer. If it weren't for the fact that I'd mixed up the attachments in that email to my publisher, no one would ever have known and I would still be a no-name ghost writer for a cheesey smut company.

It might not have been the story I wanted to be famous for, but at least it was honest.

Once the shame of the book's release had faded, and the money from sales started to slow, I braced for impact and headed out into the world once again.

Theoretically I very well could have gone outside sooner, it wasn't like I was Stephen King or anything, no one would recognize me walking down a busy street, but the guilt that had buried itself in my gut had been weighing on me, I had it stuck in my head that you might read it and come find me, that somehow you could have gotten my address and you'd be waiting for me, angry and betrayed that I'd written about you. About us.

Selfishly some part of me was hoping that that's what you'd do, because if you came to berate me, to yell at me to hate me, it would mean that you still think about me.

No one approached me on the street, It was like nothing had changed. It was a warm summer day, the sun was shining and the stores on the block all had their doors propped open with cute little chalkboard signs. I wore big, bug-like glasses and a ball cap, disguising myself from my own eyes in the mirror. Maybe the shame hadn't fully subsided yet after all.

A small bookstore on the corner of the street caught my eye, I'd hardly gone in there before my publication, it had always had this pretentious hipster vibe that I kind of hated, but now a pretentious hipster didn't seem like the worst thing to be, and I was in no place to be making judgments.

The store turned out not to be as snobbish as I'd thought, it was actually kind of welcoming. There were soft gray carpets of varying shades along the narrow aisles, warm orange walls lined with floor to ceiling shelves of second hand books. Plants in the window added to that familiar scent of old paper and leather giving it a fresher note, and the man behind the counter was sweet and old looking.

I ran my fingers along the spines tracing the embossed letters of titles and authors, relieved to find that my own book wasn't there. A sigh I hadn't realized I'd needed escaped my lips. It was the first real breath i felt I'd taken since I hit send on that email over a year ago.

"Looking for this?" I whirled around, not having realized there was someone behind me, watching me.

I pulled my glasses up to rest on my hat, only just noticing that I'd kept them on, the unhindered light streaming in stung my eyes, I blinked to focus on the face in front of me.

Though a part of me had half expected it to be you, it wasn't. I didn't recognize the face, he seemed familiar, a similar age to us, but I honestly could not place him.

"I"m sorry?" I asked.

The man offered a sheepish smile, "Alyson Reed right? You wrote Us and the Ashes, " He waved a copy of my book around.

I looked him up and down, still trying to place how I knew him. He certainly knew me, it couldn't just be from the book could it? My Author's picture didn't even look like me.

"Have we met?" I asked. Though we were standing in close quarters in the middle of the aisle in a very small store, I didn't feel any need to step back.

"Yeah, I guess I have a better eye for faces, It's Sage, we went to highschool together back in Creekside." the smallest blush crept up his neck, coloring his cheeks and ears a light red. It was then I came to his eyes, they were a light pale green, the same color as his name. Huh.

"Oh, um, sorry, yeah, hi." I strung together every word I could think of. It was honestly a wonder I'd managed to write anything coherent given how limited my vocabulary seemed to be.

I held my hand out for Sage to shake, he did. His hand was warm and calloused, I wondered what he did.

"You still have no idea who I am do you?" He smiled, still pink cheeked and warm.

"Not a clue," I said through an awkward smile. He dropped my hand.

"That's alright, so what brings you in today?" He asked.

It only then occurred to me he was wearing an apron with the store's name embroidered across the chest in orange that matched the walls. He worked here. Staff of bookstores usually read popular new books. Like the one I'd written.

"You haven't read that have you?" I asked, suddenly remembering every detail of the sex scenes I'd both lived and written, I remembered now why I hadn't left the house more than twice in the past few months since the books release.

He chuckled, catching on to my train of thought exactly, he had a nice laugh, I wish it wasn't so telling.

"Yeah, it was a little more scandalous than I was expecting. Be honest since we're old highschool classmates, is it really true?" he asked, there was a glint in his eye, I couldn't decipher if he wanted it to be true, or not.

My face burned, my palms were sweaty and my ears were ringing. I probably didn't even have to say anything, my body language spoke for itself. I nodded mutely. "Every word," it came out on a croaky whisper.

He sensed my discomfort and came closer, he smelled like dawn dish soap, the blue one.

"Hey, wait its ok, I'm sorry I didn't mean to upset you," his eyes scanned my face searching frantically for more clues as to why I was suddenly so distressed.

Before I knew it tears were running from my eyes.

I should never have published that damn book.

I sunk to my knees, Sage followed me to the floor, kneeling in front of me, holding my arms in his big strong calloused hands, being nothing but supportive and kind to the woman who broke up her best friend and his fiance the summer of their other best friend's funeral and then wrote about their illicit affair in excruciating detail and turned it into a New York Times Bestseller.

Sage held me until I stopped crying. Then he sat back on his heels and lifted my chin to meet his unrealistically green eyes.

"It takes a brave woman to share so much of herself. "

"I cheated, I ruined it. I'm a terrible person." I sniffled.

"No," Sage said, "You did a bad thing, and you said as much in the book. It takes a special kind of courage to admit to a mistake, to admit to being human."

I frowned at him, wiping at my cheeks and nose with my bare arm, the snot and tears stuck to the hair on my arms. "Who even are you?"

He smiled again, a tighter smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm just Sage from highschool,"

"You're more than that," I said. Even as I said it, I didn't know why, only that it was true.

He shrugged, "We'll see I guess," He stood and held out a hand for me to take, he pulled me to my feet and gave me the last copy of my book in the store. "It's yours if you want it, maybe in a few years it wont be so hard for you to see it in a different light."

I held the book to my chest, cover facing in, as if it were some secret.

"Thank you," I said, Sage was already turning away, disappearing further into the store. Taking all of his wisdom and answers and kindness with him.

"Don't mention it," He offered me a wave as I left.

Once I was back out on the street, I turned to look back at Sage. He was sweeping the entrance to the store, leaning on the broom and watching me go.

I smiled, a real smile.

It felt like something good was starting.

A part of me still loves you, Eden, and probably always will, and I shouldn't have published my story without telling you, but for the first time in a long time, I feel like I can finally move on from all of this. I can finally start something new. Something better.