Forget-Me-Nots
Disclaimer: If The O.C. was mine, I wouldn't be sitting at home on a Friday night, whining over the fact that someone ate the last piece of cake. Okay, I would, but not the point. I don't own it.
A/N: Apparently we may be seeing some Julie/Jimmy in the future, which I'm looking foward to. Just a second person piece, inspired by Julie talking about how Jimmy married her because she was pregnant and she married him because she loved him in "The New Kids on the Block" (Hangin' Tough!). She very well could've been lying, but who cares?
You wait patiently in your deep red dress, tapping your foot as you wait for him to arrive. You're still a little embarrassed at the slightly shabby apartment compared to his house, but it's better then the house in Riverside. Besides, he doesn't care. You don't care. He's gotten you out of that place. You know it's just a matter of time before he knocks you up and has to marry you, but it may be sooner then you ever expected. It's not like you're anticipating it, you're dreading it, because that's when the fun ends. But tonight, you're certainly not going to think about it.
Except for that you haven't gotten your period in three weeks.
The knock at the door notifies you that he's there. You smile and eye the bright blue flowers, Forget-Me-Nots. He knows your favorite flower.
You kiss him and smile. For one second, you try to ignore the pregnancy test in the bathroom. You can't, it's fogging your thoughts. "I took a test," you sputter.
He raises an eyebrow. "A pregnancy test," you pause, searching for his emotion on his blank face, "I haven't gotten my period. I might be..." you stop.
"Are you?" he asks, and you can tell the horror of the idea of having to marry the Riverside chick that he has.
You don't answer and scurry to the bathroom, beckoning him to follow you. "Let's find out," you say before picking up the stick. You both look.
Blue.
The flowers drop to the ground, the color blending with the plus sign. He sits on the toilet seat, in awe. He's crying.
You never realized how much it would hurt because you want a family with him. You can deny it, but you know that you love him.
And he doesn't love you back.
His warm fingers graze the skin on your cheek, the skin that you've tanned in the sun and abused, but somehow he makes it feel like it's new, like you're new. You know you aren't, but you don't care. His touch is familiar, it's what you need.
He was always the wishy-washy one. You had to be the firm hand in the marriage, the business deal. There's no business deal now.
But you've got a business deal with someone else, you can't break it. You pull away from his hand that's making its way down your back in a swift motion.
"This is over. Let's not revisit it," you hiss.
He gives a gruff smile and steps forward. You smell the air, it's salty. You're not sure if the boat is rocking back and forth or if his hand that's around your neck is making you dizzy.
"Do you want to?" he asks huskily.
You're not sure what that girl did to him but he's different. You sort of like it. You open your mouth to reply with a refusal but before your mouth can fill with words, it's full with his tongue.
His hand goes into your hair and you don't care how crumpled it'll be when this is over. You don't want to think about when this'll be over. You're backing into the bed and you can't take your lips off of his.
You flick open your eyes to see that you're lying on top of him and you aren't wearing anything. You're not sure how this happened, but all you know is that it's done. It was...nice, because you remembered it.
"Don't tell," he whispers into your ear.
Your vision gets blurry and you get off in a rush. You begin to get on your clothes as fast as you can because you have to get out of there. Now it's just far too familiar.
He sits up, confused. He follows you to the dock and grabs your wrist. You turn around and face him dead in the eye. "That's what you said last time," you say.
He lets go and sighs. Thoughts of fallen flowers and broken hearts fill your head, you can never let them go. He's always Jimmy Cooper, the guy who made you cry too many times no matter how many Forget-Me-Nots he gave you to make up for it.
You keep walking with your expensive designer purse by your side, never looking back. If you look back, you might go back. You can never go back.
Not again.