Failing was definitely not part of the plan. Well, it's never really part of any plan, but when it comes to important things like choices that will matter; you never even consider making the wrong one. But when you accidentally do (because nobody truly screws everything up on purpose), all the life you put all your time and energy to build literally slips through your fingers like sand. And like it's the case right now, you're left with nothing but the certainty that you broke something you won't ever get back. But what tastes bitter in your mouth isn't the fact that you didn't get something, it's the realization that you didn't even want it because in addition of not having any achievement, you don't have any goal.
His breathing is slowing down, he's not asleep, but relaxed enough to just lay there on his side and let the thoughts circulate inside his mind. He's got both arms wrapped around the sleeping form against him, the pressure and the warmth of another body procuring him just enough comfort to calm down completely. It feels so good he could almost cry. Shelby snuggles into his chest and he can feel her breath through the fabric of his shirt as he pulls her even closer. Somehow, he always ends up here, next to her. When he was little and got sad or insecure, he prayed for the moment he would finally get home, feel safer and breathe better. They say home is where the heart is and he just feels like the decisions he made recently only took him further away from this abstract place he's yearning for.
It didn't happen in one night, when reality crashes to the floor; it's a whole process that you can feel coming miles away. All of this, performances, UCLA, the roles and the girls, it was never his dream. It was more of a talent, a gift that made him special. However, he still wonders how you can not want something you're so good at. He guesses fate doesn't like him very much, and maybe somewhere along the way he confounded talent with passion, but it still makes him angry that he could never manage to have both. He's mad at himself for not wanting this life, knowing it would be so much easier if he did. He tried to pretend with all the strength he has, he tried so hard and it almost worked. But forcing this artificial certainty out of his heart turned out to be a strain he couldn't bare. The thing is, everything seems so much lighter when you have a dream. Then you know which way to go and you have a hope to pull you up when it gets hard. But when you don't know what you want, when there's not a single spark inside your core, you're just lost. You don't hear a sound, you don't see a thing and you have no clue of what to do because you're trapped. All you have got are the bats inside your head and as they scream, you realize you are a complete stranger to any sort of happiness.
And that's what he is: unhappy. He feels Shelby move her head slightly, but she doesn't wake up. He starts caressing delicately her upper arm with his fingertips. She's always been so good to him. She let him in her house, in her room and on her bed. She didn't ask why he came back, she understood. She let him hold onto her because she knew how bad he needed it, needed her. He feels guilty toward her, toward everything she's done. She gave herself completely to him, to make him better, to polish his talent until he became stunning and breathtaking. He remembers the countless nights they spent together, practicing, going over songs and set lists, just the two of them. The lack of sleep often got them dizzy, laughing and dreaming about projects they had. She believed in him, believed he could make it work amazingly and that's exactly why she did all of that for him. She sacrificed so much and this is how he says 'thank you".
He holds her a little tighter as the guilt rushes through his veins. He feels sorry he won't be able to provide her something to be proud of, at least an actual accomplishment that would have made all her efforts worthwhile. She didn't show any sign of anger or disappointment and in a twisted way, it makes him hate himself even more. She's just sad for him and he thinks maybe a punishment from her, some sort of resentment would make him feel better, like he had what he deserved. But she didn't, mostly because she knows he's doing a pretty good at beating himself up inwardly, but also because she's not like that. She often appears like a bitch because of her drastic manners and cold tone, but it's only to get the best of everyone. Sure, she's mean and does yell at people when they don't give themselves entirely or when they don't take things seriously, but she has the heart of a mother. She would never hit someone who's already down, especially not Jesse. She just hugged him for an eternity, without a word and then led him to her bed where she settled in his arms. They weren't being inappropriate, they were just being themselves. He simply needed it: her warmth, her smell, the feeling of her hair, her skin, the intimacy of her room. The closeness was probably what he had missed the most. He never spoke, though he wishes he had, but he thinks she heard the words he didn't say.
He lets his eyes close because really, he's exhausted. He buries his nose in her hair, his lips slightly brushing her skin. God, that scent. This, right there, isn't quite what he had expected, but it's the closest to a dream we will ever get and honestly, it feels like home and it's exactly what he needed.