Tonight, she can't help but think of him.
The power went over out almost hour ago, as she lounged on the couch watching the Food Network and waiting for the Chinese takeout to arrive, legs splayed across the cushions as her head dangled over the side, hair barely brushing the floor. (On days when Logan works late she fills the absence with late-night television and Mu Shu Pork). The lights flickered then went out, and the TV faded to black, Rachael Ray smiling at her in mid-stir. Now she'll never know the final ingredient in the Italian Chicken Frittata, and the thought makes her sad, though she doesn't know why; it's simply another thing in her life left unfinished, and she's certainly used to that.
She spent forty-five minutes blindly searching the apartment, opening cabinets and fumbling around inside them, hoping to feel the familiar shape of a flashlight under her hands. Truthfully, she knew she wouldn't find one, just as she knew she wouldn't find any candles, or matches. She'd long ago resigned herself to the fact that Logan never prepared for anything, and though six months had passed since she'd first moved in, she still didn't feel at home enough to start filling the apartment with necessities, or even frivolities. Those things represented permanence, and she wasn't ready for that quite yet.
The Chinese food never came. Briefly she wonders if the deliveryman is okay. She can hear the rain pounding against the roof, and knows that accidents are frequent on nights like this. She searches for something to do, but finds nothing. There is no light for reading; the battery on her laptop is dead, and she knows without looking that the only things in the fridge are ketchup and caviar.
Now, sitting alone on the floor in the apartment, there's nothing to occupy her mind.
Nothing but him.
She's often thought of him since the last time she saw him, four months ago.
She can still remember how his lips felt on hers, how in that moment she felt lost (though later, she decided that what she'd felt was home. She'd been lost before. And she was lost after); can still remember the taste that lingered in her mouth afterwards (peppermint and cigarettes).
But most of all, she remembers the look on his face. She remembers watching the hope fall from his eyes.
I'm in love with Logan.
She lied. It was difficult to force the words out, and she feared he would see through her fragile act: She'd never been a good actress. It killed her to speak those words; to watch him believe them, and see the hurt she'd caused.
In that moment, she nearly cracked, nearly let the truth slip. I'm in love with you, Jess! Can't you see?
But she knew she couldn't do that to him. He'd finally fixed himself, and she was breaking. She knew she couldn't ask him to save her, when he'd finally managed to save himself. He didn't love her; he loved who she once was, and she wasn't that person anymore. She couldn't bear to disappoint him with the reality, to drag him down with her.
And so she did what she had to do. She broke his heart, knowing that it would eventually mend. That he was better off without her, better off not knowing who she'd become.
And so she went back to Logan, though she knew she would never forgive him. She could never forgive him for pulling her into this mess; this hole. She held him responsible for her fall, though deep down she knew that she herself was to blame; that she had jumped of her own volition.
She pushes herself up off of the floor, and plods into the bedroom, slipping her hand under the bed, brushing aside the bedsheets, and gently frees a book (his book) from it's hiding place, snug between the bedpost and the wall. She hides it there not because she's ashamed or afraid, but because to her, the book is Jess, and she doesn't want Logan to see it, or to touch it. It feels too intimate.
She runs a finger along the spine, and though she's touched it a thousand times before, this time it's different. This time she feels nothing. The spark is gone; the longing has vanished, and she knows. She can't stay. Not in the apartment; not with Logan.
She needed Logan to fill that hole that Jess left, but over time she's filled it herself. She doesn't desire Jess any longer, doesn't love him anymore, just as she no longer needs nor loves Logan. They were stepping stones, they helped her find her way, but now she's found it. And she knows it sounds cliched, but she can't help it. She sees now, understands. She went for so long thinking she needed someone in her life, but she knows now that she doesn't.
Right now, she only needs herself.
And suddenly, the room floods with light.