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Brooke learned to love at a young age.
She learned it in church pews with her siblings and mother beside her. She learned it when the radio came on, and she bobbed her head along to the beat. She learned it in the boy down the street’s hands on her hips. She learned it from the gun she held to her head at 16. She learned it from the addiction she gained after putting that gun down.
She learned it in Jose’s lips, and his heart, and his head, and his walk, and his shoulders, and his love…and his everything.
She wasn’t very good at it. Love.
But she learned at a young age that she could make herself good at just about anything.
So, she did.
She made herself good at dancing.
She made herself good at spelling.
She made herself good at lying.
She made herself good at pretending to be happy.
She made herself.
She learned at a young age that love is temporary.
Perfection is forever.
Nothing lasts but stone, and brick, and perfection.
She learned to love perfection.
She learned to hate herself.
It was really easy when she thought about it.
And she did. Think about it. A lot.
So, it was easy.
Until it wasn’t anymore. Because she had friends, and cats, and someone who made the air leave her chest without her permission. And that, that made everything more complicated. Because it wasn’t just Brooke on her own. It was Brooke, and Henry, and Apollo, and Courtney, and Steve, and Nina, and Jose-
Well, not him.
Not anymore.
Or at least that is what Brooke told herself.
In front of cameras and reporters.
In front of fans and friends.
But in dressing rooms and empty bars.
In seedy clubs and empty bottles.
In front of him…not so much.
It was harder to lie to him. He always did bring out the best in her. Even things she had taught herself to be good at, she suddenly wasn’t.
She had taught herself how to be bad at love. Bad at relationships. Seeing men as partners only as far as she could get an orgasm out of them.
Or at least that is what Brooke told herself.
HE, with his too perfect smile (even before the surgeries), had taken her ‘badness at love’ and challenged it. Challenged everything Brooke had made herself out to be. He saw the barely hidden cracks in her smile, the too whiteness of her teeth. Or maybe it had been in a forced laugh that ended too quickly or lasted too long. He had seen through it. Not that others hadn’t, it’s just…he had stayed.
He had seen those cracks and taken his time to get to know why they existed. Leaving a few in his wake.
Jose had traced the cracks with gentle fingers and words that sounded too good to be true. Promises of everything Brooke had taught herself not to want. Not to crave. Not to need.
But she had believed him.
She had wanted to believe him.
So bad she still sometimes vibrated at the thought. That she could be loved so completely and without remorse. Without judgement or fear.
Without perfection.
She was capable of being loved, and loving in return.
So, she ran.
As fast as she fucking could. She gave into the voices and the alarms and the panic. She had run through ice, and rain, and sun. Until she hardly recognized herself.
She felt bare.
She felt alone.
So, she started over.
Built herself, again.
This time, making sure to plaster over the cracks.