"Insecurity"
Author's Note: There's some alcohol use in this story, and Jaming deals with some unpleasant thoughts. This came out a bit more melodramatic than I wanted it to, but I still like how it turned out. I hope you enjoy it.
Jaming stood on the docks, just short the gangplank leading up to the shop boat where Meredith worked, and wondered if it was preordained that he would always have such poor timing and bad luck. He had come to invite Meredith over for dinner when her work day was over, but someone was already talking to her.
Another man, far more blessed than Jaming himself in the way of physical attractiveness, was being entirely too friendly with her. The stranger was standing too close, smiling a little too broadly, and his eyes lingered a little too long on Meredith's...endowments.
The monocle whirred and clicked as Jaming focused on his girlfriend to gauge her reaction to the interloper's thinly-veiled advances. She looked the same as she always did when she dealt with customers; friendly smile, gesturing a lot with her hands as she talked.
Their voices could just barely be heard from where Jaming was standing, and he felt his heart sink when the man suggested that Meredith show him around town later on.
"Sorry, I have plans after work. Can I interest you in anything else?"
'Why didn't she send him away? She doesn't even look put off by the question...'
The man's response was what prompted Jaming to leave. "Some other time, then. I'd like to get to know you a little better."
Jaming turned on his heel and headed back to his garage, too quickly to hear Meredith's response. With the sudden ringing in his ears, he could hardly hear anything.
Why shouldn't Meredith take the man up on his offer? Compared to Jaming, this fellow looked like Prince Charming! Judging by his clothes, he probably had a job that paid well. Meredith would never be mocked for choosing 'the blue weirdo'.
'But the swine was staring at her breasts! He wasn't even trying to hide it! A quick glance is one thing, but he was eying her up like a piece of meat!'
Jaming entered his garage and closed the door behind him, a blanket of gloom settling over him as he made a beeline for a small cabinet set far away from the others. A bottle of strong liquor sat inside, along with a whiskey glass, which sat upside-down on the shelf to keep out the dust. The bottle was still sealed, and a thin film of dust coated the outside of it; he didn't drink very often. He poured himself a full glass of the strong-smelling amber liquid, and shuddered after he took a sip.
"I think I just remembered why I hardly ever drink this stuff..." he muttered, sitting down at his work table and running his finger along the rim of the glass. Now that he had poured it he didn't even want it, but he wasn't about to waste it.
He was going to lose her, he just knew it. How could he compete with someone like that? Meredith had told him herself that he was the only man she'd ever dated, and he had no reason to disbelieve her, but what was to stop her from moving on when someone better came along? It was only natural, really. Jaming knew he was no prize. Women wanted men with normal-sized, straight teeth. Men with a normal human skin tone. Men who weren't so scrawny. Didn't they?
She was going to grow bored. She was going to leave. What did he have to offer her, anyway? He wasn't rich or famous, and he certainly wasn't attractive! What did she see in him?
As Jaming traced the rim of his whiskey glass, he realized just how badly he was reacting to this whole thing. He had fallen so hard for Meredith that it had frightened him, and now the thought of losing her to that...that womanizing pig made him want to vomit. He would never treat a lady like that. He was a gentleman, damn it! But what would he do if she left him for someone else?
He already knew the answer. He would let her go, and his heart would break. End of story. What right did someone like Jaming have to fight for the woman he loved? With his previous crimes, his appearance, and his propensity for depression, he didn't deserve her!
The garage door opened, and he didn't even look up as Meredith came in. The truth was, he didn't even hear her.
Meredith stopped as if walking into an invisible wall. Jaming looked like the bottom had just dropped out of his world! What could be the matter? "Jaming, are you okay?"
Jaming glanced over at her, tried unsuccessfully to force a smile, then took another sip from his glass. "Why do you ask?"
She shut the door, and approached him with a look of concern. Pointing to his glass, she lightly tapped it with a fingertip. "Well, for one thing, I've never seen you drink."
"I don't, usually..." He drained the glass, already feeling the effects of the alcohol. Too late, he recalled the second reason why he normally steered clear of the hard stuff.
Meredith pulled up a chair and sat down, trying not to show how very worried she had become. "What's bothering you, Jaming? You really look..."
"Blue?" he snorted mirthlessly. "That was a pun."
He got up to pace, thought better of it, and sat back down again. "You know that one customer you had today?"
"Oh, you'll have to be a lot more specific than that...I get a lot of customers."
"You know, the blond fellow. The one who kept looking down your blouse." Jaming paled. Did he actually just say that? "Um...I mean...I'm sorry, I guess I don't have much of a tolerance for this stuff..." He indicated the empty glass.
Meredith's eyes widened, and she went back over the previous day, wondering if he saw something she missed. Only one possible customer came to mind, and as she tried to look at the exchange through Jaming's eyes, she began to understand what had upset him. "Ohh...I think I know who you're talking about."
"Never mind...It's none of my business."
"Last time I checked, I was your girlfriend." Meredith frowned, rather disturbed that Jaming seemed to be assuming the worst. "It is your business. Did you think I would have taken him up on his offer?"
"Well, I wouldn't blame you if you did..." Jaming mumbled, feeling rather intoxicated and wishing he had locked his door.
"Why not?"
Jaming blinked as he looked over at her, taken aback by the blunt question. "Well...look at me."
"I am looking at you," she told him. "And I understand why you'd be angry at him, some stranger moving in on your girl."
"But you're not mine," Jaming was beginning to slur a little. "You're...you're yours, and I can't keep you!"
Meredith slowly shook her head, and she actually smiled at him. "Jaming...just because someone flirts with me, that doesn't mean I'm leaving you. I didn't even know he was, until I thought over the conversation again, but that doesn't change a thing. I don't want some stranger, some guy I don't even know who thinks it's okay to try to look down my shirt! I want someone who knows me, someone I know. Someone with ambition, and...and hopes, and dreams. Someone with a good heart, even though the world might not have been very good to him. I can't imagine my life without you in it. I love you, not him."
The alcohol had more or less obliterated Jaming's filter by then, and even though he heard her clearly and knew that she wasn't going to dump him after all, the use of the word 'leaving' twisted something within him. As he listened to what she had to say, he tried desperately to keep back the tears that threatened to break. Meredith telling him she loved him undid him completely, though, and before he could stop himself he pulled her into a desperate hug and exploded into an embarrassingly intense fit of sobbing.
Meredith, badly alarmed by this, could do nothing but ride out the storm. She gently rubbed his back, occasionally saying something quiet and soothing that she wouldn't remember later because it was a while before he was calm again. "There you go...Feel better?"
Jaming removed his monocle to clean it, and blinked as about a teaspoon of lacrimal fluid fell out of it and plopped down on the table with a loud 'splat'. "Not really. I'm...rather ashamed of myself, actually. I...I don't normally drink. As you can probably tell."
"It's okay. As long as this doesn't become a habit." She moved the glass out of reach to illustrate her point.
"It...it won't," Jaming wiped his face with his sleeve, feeling like he could fall asleep right where he was sitting. "I rarely drink. I just...I don't know. I never thought I could be so happy. Not until I met you. Every day, I'm amazed at how lucky I am. That someone like you could ever look at someone like me, and..."
"Well, you should have seen me as an adolescent," she shuddered.
"You left all that behind you, though," he pointed out.
"Not all of it...The memories stay."
Jaming didn't want to argue with her about who had it worse. He knew what she was trying to say, and he nodded. "And seeing him talking to you, for a moment I was furious. But then...I don't know, I panicked."
Meredith fought the urge to roll her eyes, because the situation didn't really call for it. "We need to work on your self esteem. Listen...let's talk about this some more when you're sober, okay? I can see you're almost falling asleep. Why don't you go have a nap, sleep this off, and we can go from there?"
Jaming looked over at the small bed at the back of his garage, then sighed. "All right."
The next day, Jaming actually left his garage wearing dark sunglasses. After waking up to vomit profusely into the trash can Meredith had thoughtfully left beside his bed, he dumped the rest of his bottle of whiskey down the sink and spent most of the morning and the early afternoon shut up in his garage with a terrible hangover.
Meredith met him half-way between his garage and the docks, and she smiled as soon as she saw him. "Welcome back to the land of the vertical!"
"Er...thank you. Meredith, I'd like to apologize for my disgraceful behavior yesterday. I embarrassed myself, and I made you uncomfortable. I'm sorry." He tucked his hands deep into his pockets, squinting behind his shades as the sun's rays seemed to slice through his skull.
Meredith linked her arm in his, a gesture that both confused him and warmed his heart at the same time, and replied, "Apology accepted, but it's unnecessary. I wasn't uncomfortable, I was worried."
"Worry is a form of discomfort," he pointed out.
"Well, yeah..." she conceded as they walked aimlessly, keeping to the shade. "I meant what I said, you know. I love you."
"Whether or not I deserve it..." he chuckled, then winced and put a hand to his forehead. "I love you, too."