"Okay," Beck starts, and he's not looking at me. "Okay, so, like, Jade … you know I love you?"
His brunette orbs flick upwards for some reassurance, and I nod once, tersely.
He presses his lips together and proceeds, gripping the Styrofoam cup of bright green soda that has probably lost its fizz for weeks. "I love you, but … I don't know if you've noticed, but it's, um, it's just not working."
I hear him swallow, and I dig my fingernails into the palm of my right hand, probably hard enough to draw some blood, but I'm too afraid to check.
"Uh, yeah," Beck continues. "I mean, things have been great. You are great, you're a really cool person but … it's taken some time and I've realized that maybe you're just not the one for me. Sure, we've been together for a really long time, and I should've said something sooner but … Jade? Jade, are you listening to me?"
It takes me a while to answer, maybe a minute or two, and right before Beck is about to open his mouth to say something once more, I cut him off harshly. "Yes."
"Good. Because, this is really, really hard for me to get out. Like, so much harder than you could probably imagine. Hm, where was I? Right, right, I know I should've said something, but I didn't want to hurt you, you know? I didn't-"
"You what?"
"I, uh, I didn't want to hurt you."
"You didn't want to … hurt me?"
Beck looks up again, this time with his eyebrows pulled down. He takes a nervous gulp of his drink and stares at me again. "Yeah."
"So, you think by bringing me to some grungy pizza shop and telling me over some stale soda that you 'love me' but you 'don't want to be with me' after two fucking years of being together that you're not hurting me?"
Beck swallows again, the muscles in his jaw flexing with the movement, and it takes ever fiber in my being not slap the tan off his face. So, I do the best thing I could do at the moment. I leave.
"Fuck you, and thank you for wasting two years of my life." I rise up from my seat so fast that I accidentally knock my chair backwards, and it topples to the floor with a crash, causing hard glances from various customers in the pizza shop in my direction.
I seriously couldn't give a shit.
Snatching up my jacket, I shrug it on as quickly as humanly possible and then steel myself as I begin my walk (or stomp) out of the shop. Everyone is staring at me, all mirrors of green, blue and brown, and I avoid their curious gazes as best as I can make a beeline for the front door.
Beck is right behind me, I can feel him trailing my footsteps.
"Come on, Jade, I really do love you-"
"I know, Beck, I know," I whip around so fast that I almost break my neck, and he takes two automatic steps backwards, hands raised as if to shield himself. "I know how great a person I am and I know how much you love me. But that doesn't stop you from being a complete asshole and breaking my heart, now does it?"
His eyes enlarge themselves, and he lowers his arms, and then reaches them forward, hovering them over my shaking fists, trying to touch me.
"Jade, I-"
"Don't even try to explain, cause I swear to the ceiling that I will chop your dick off! You're a piece of shit, and tell whatever whore that you've been sleeping around with and are leaving me for that she deserves you. Rot. In. Hell."
I don't realize that I'm in my car until I hear the engine roar. I don't realize I'm crying until the windshield begins to look like a Kindergartener's colorful painting gone haywire.
Somehow, I make it home in one piece, and after fumbling around messily for my keys, I jam them into the slot and push open the door, stepping into the silent, empty structure that I'm forced to live in.
No one's home. No one is ever home. My mother, Hilary, is a self-made work-o-holic who would rather attend a business meeting than ask me how my day was, and my father … who knows where the fuck he is?
I drop my keys in the little dish my mom put on a table by the front door and, in the dark, peel off my jacket and kick the door closed with my foot. After locking it, I blindly feel my way through the hallway and up the stairs.
I move zombie-like through the upstairs hall until my fingers slide against the familiar wood of my bedroom door, and I bolt inside, without bothering to switch on the light, and I collapse onto my bed in a crumpled heap of a person.
Through all that, I'm still crying. Through all that, I'm still hurt. Through all that, I'm still alone.
That asshole. That fucking asshole. How dare him! How dare he do that to me, how dare he think that he could just lead me on for two years and then drop me! And probably for some slut that is only attracted to him for his looks.
At least I loved him for him.
I need to do something. My heart feels like it's about to explode and my ribs feel ready to cave in on my stomach. I want to throw up.
Being the hormonal wreck of a teen girl that I am, I go with newest impulse.
I sit heavily in my computer chair and grasp my mouse, shaking it to wake my computer up. When it's finally awake, and the screen is bright white in my eyes, my The Slap profile is staring me in the face.
I click the red Update Status button.
My fingers rapid across my keyboard, I type: Fuck love. And fuck everyone else, too.
When I hit Post, I don't feel any better.
Venting through the internet has never worked for me. What am I really doing, pouring out all my feelings into a machine and letting everyone and their fucking mother read it?
I'm too tired to delete the post, so I don't.
I rise ghost-like from my computer chair and wander over to my bed again, kicking my boots off in the process, and land face-first on my comforter. Then that's when I let it all bubble out.
The gut-wrenching, animalistic sobs that escape my throat are so loud and terrifying that I'm surprised my neighbors don't call the police. I lay there, pitiful Jade West, and I cry harder than I have ever cried before in all my years of existence.
I squeeze my eyes so tight that I see stars, and they're the last thing I see before I drift off into sleep.
When I wake up, someone is knocking on the door. My room is still dark.
I felt incredibly groggy and incredibly hung over, but I managed somehow to lift my head slightly and peer at the lime green numbers on the digital clock beside my bed. They read 1:23 AM.
My first instinct is to let the person keep knocking until they finally get a freaking hint that no one in their right mind opens the door at 1 AM. But then again, I'm not exactly in my right mind.
It's like Beck messed with my brain, jacked up my sense of judgment, and my feet are moving on their own as they trudge, no stomp, down the steps and into the front hall.
"Who is it?" I snarl, pressing my face up against the cold wood of the door, peering out of the peephole but seeing nothing but an outline of a figure against the darkness.
"It's me."
I grip the cold metal of doorknob, and turn, and while flinging the door open, I plaster on the meanest, nastiest face I could manage at the moment.
She doesn't say anything. She's just standing there with a DVD copy of The Little Mermaid under one arm and a bag of half-eaten Sour Patch Kids under the other.
We don't say anything for a while. We watch The Little Mermaid three times. Not by my choice, but mostly because every time it would end, she would just get up off the couch without a word, rewind the disk and sit back down.
By the time the movie ends the third time, she is yawning and she finally ejects the DVD from the player, and snapping it back in its assigned case. Then she discards the empty Sour Patch Kids bag, and then heads for the front door.
"Cat," It's the first word I've spoken since I told Beck to rot in hell (which I totally meant), and my tongue feels like a deadweight in my mouth. Upon hearing her name, she stops and turns, her eyes shiny. "Thank you."
A smile finds its way to her lips, and she says, "You're welcome."
When she's beginning to leave again, I say, "Cat."
She turns, again. "Yes?"
"Stay," The word comes out needy, desperate and I, Jade West, am never desperate; except for now. "Please?"
And then she strides back over to the couch, flicks off the lamp with one hand while properly positioning one of my mom's various throw pillows with the other. I stretch out with my legs over the armrest, and because the couch is almost as wide as a bed, she stretches out beside me.
She smells like vanilla, and she's warm.
When I fall asleep again, I can hear the beatbeatbeat of her heart.
Hello. It's me, Ali. Well, that was sad, wasn't it?
Anyhoo, this going to be a mulitipart thing. Probably no more than three chapters at the most.
But, did you like it? I don't know if I do, I feel like it may be a tad bit all over the place. Constructive critisim is great. Reviews are wonderful.
Laters.