Disclaimer: If anyone has doubts about me owning anything, they are welcome to check, 'cause I don't...
AN: Thanks to everyone who gave this story a chance to not be a heartbreak, and I'm doing my best not to disappoint (because this story is about walking a distance, not about making it longer... you'll see what I mean, I think:)).
Also special thanks to allessandramari for being the first to support this story! I hope you enjoy!
Jess opens his eyes and blinks black and white dots back.
There's a short moment of numbness, right before he remembers his own existence, an intake of air before he lets the world slip back into his mind. Then, he's starting to remember stuff.
Like his head, threatening to explode, still cloudy with last night's hydroxyl daze. Like him being a pathetic joke of a man, entering filthy bars and not even being able to make use of their filthiness. Like the fact that there is a woman sleeping on the sofa in his living room. A woman? No. Rory. His wife. Somehow he still can't refer to her as 'a woman'. She's always been the italics in his print, and, maybe, despite his efforts, she's ever gonna be.
Jess sighs and sits up in the bed, rubbing his face.
Does she mean anything? Rory's words from last night echo in his head. I'll stay then.
I'll stay then.
I'll stay then.
I'll stay.
Stay. Stay. Stay.
Like breaking waves, the words reverberate in the closed space of his head and his ears pound with the sound.
Would she, really? he thinks then. A dry chuckle escapes his mouth. No, of course not, he shakes his head and gets off the bed. She's saying one thing, then she's doing another. That's what she does. He expects to find the sofa empty. Sheets neatly folded, maybe a brief note on top. If she was in the mood, that is. Another one of her 'I tried but couldn't' standoffs.
He slips a tee and a pair of jeans on and walks out of the bedroom barefoot.
The sight of Rory seeping her coffee, legs hanging from one of the high stools by the bar plot, catches him by surprise.
'Hey,' she looks up above her reading glasses and puts the paper down.
His face freezes for a moment before he mumbles a deliberately indifferent 'Hey.'
Shyly, 'I bought some bagels.'
Jess passes her by on his way to the fridge without granting her with a reply.
I'll stay then, gnaws at the back of his mind.
I'll stay. She stayed.
Now what?
He thinks about it and decides to ignore her as much as he can. He really doesn't know how to handle this. She decides to waltz back into his life (it used to be their life, remember?), back into his apartment (was once their apartment, but who cares anymore?), and God knows where else, and it's another one of her decisions that she makes by herself and only informs him afterwards. She marches in and out of his life with such innocent ease in her stride, and what does he do in return? Nah, he's too cool to do anything about it, he simply watches as she comes and goes and takes whatever she pleases from him, but he's too cool to admit it scares him shitless. The fact that she can. She can do this and it will still matter.
She's a thorn in the heart that aches with every heartbeat.
He pours himself a glass of cold milk and casts her a quick sideways glance from the corner of his eye. Her hair is gathered up in a loose bun, hair-ends still damp from her morning shower, and air smells like fruity shower gel and her coffee. Suddenly he can't disregard the fact that, without her, this place could never be home. Without her, nothing smells, tastes, feels right anymore. Nothing feels at all. Nothing holds the same meaning. Any meaning at all.
He can't still quite grasp why she stayed.
But there's that thing, right? She's not easy to grasp. She left without a word, saved for a telegraphic goodbye note, then sent him the divorce papers, refusing to discuss any of this.
I think one day you'll see it's for the better of both of us.
You're acting insane.
Good thing it's my life to mess up then, isn't it?
No, Rory, it's not. It's not your life, it's my life, too...
Then, after hunting him for two months to sign, she had him sign them. BUT, of course, refused to sign them herself. Hilarious!
Then, instead of granting him with at least a poor resemblance of a conversation (of course she wouldn't talk to him, why would she?), she ran half the country away to follow her dream (her big dream, he would've done anything to have her have her dream, anything, but it didn't seem to matter). YET, three months later, she quit her (big) dream to come back here.
Back here to what? Back here to whom? Home? Marriage? Did those still exist, because last thing he remembers, she brushed them off and he can't quite recall any further occasions when she tried to prove otherwise. That is, until one afternoon she decides she could enjoy being his wife for a couple of days (hours? who knows?) more. Mess. Everything's fucking mess.
Jess rubs his temples with point and middle finger, then leaves the empty glass in the sink. He needs to get out of here.
'I'm off to work,' he sighs as he passes through a cloud of fruity odor mixed with coffee.
He works late and it's after midnight when he unlocks the door to his apartment. He's spent but it makes it easier to keep his focus away from unwanted thoughts.
'Hey,' she greets him from the sofa. Her laptop lies open in front of her. She's been waiting up for him. For some reason, it makes him sad.
'There's Chinese, if you're hungry,' she tries.
Deja vu.
Didn't they already have this conversation, a couple of hours ago?
Hey. Hey. There's food. I gotta go.
'Night, Rory,' drains out of his mouth and he's heading for his bedroom.
'Jess...' comes behind his back. A little urgently. A leap of courage, springing out of her tiny form.
She's begging him to turn back. Turn back to everything they used to share when each saw the world in the other one's eyes.
He doesn't want to turn back. He wants to close the door of his room, lock it and never get out again.
'Yeah?' he turns back wearily.
Her face is a knot of emotions. Hope. Embarrassment. Hurt. Fear. But mostly hope.
'Goodnight,' she smiles a small insecure smile and he gives her a short nod before he disappears into his bedroom.
The sound is shrill and raspy and dies out as quickly as it appeared.
Rory's eyes dart open instantly and she's out of her bed.
She opens his bedroom door without knocking and stumbles inside in a rush.
He's sitting up in bed, breathing heavily, palms pressed against rumpled sheets.
She takes the distance in two quick steps and kneels at the foot of the bed, putting a hand over his legs instinctively.
'It was a dream,' she says soothingly, giving his knee a small squeeze. 'It was just a dream.'
He's staring ahead, eyes lost, still fighting to even his breathing. His shirt is damp and sticks to his back.
She swallows hard.
'Jess...'
There's pure terror in his eyes when he looks at her and she doesn't know if it's because he saw something terrible in his dream or because he's terrified by her presence in his bed.
She moves forward before she has time to decide against it, and she's drawing him close, gathering him in her arms tightly. He lets her hold him, stiffly at first, but then she can feel him relax against her and lean into her touch.
'It's okay,' she whispers and then he's lifting his arms, closing the embrace. 'It's okay,' she repeats comfortingly and sways him in her arms, as his fists close around the back of her pajamas. His grip tightens and she can feel him hold on to her for dear life.
Sometimes she thinks this is the only way they were ever able to hold on to each other. For dear life.
'You're gonna be okay,' she sways him soothingly and kisses his damp temple. 'You're gonna be okay.'
They stand like this for some time, lost in the familiar yet long suppressed comfort of holding each other.
When the moment passes, he loosens his grip and draws back and she lets him, although reluctantly.
'Jess...'
'Why are you here?' he doesn't let her finish.
The moment is over, reality sets back in.
'I heard you scream and I...'
'Why are you here in Philadelphia, Rory?' he asks coldly and she winces at the skepticism soaking his voice.
She looks down and starts picking at the end of her yellow sheep pajamas.
'I came back,' she admits, allowing a guilty vibe in her voice.
'Why.'
His question is not really a question. It's a 'why' with a period instead of a question mark. He's not trusting her whatever she says.
'I...' her voice cracks. '... wanted to.'
'Bullshit.'
'I missed you,' she insists, a trace of accusation in her voice. She missed him, does he not believe this?
'It didn't stop you from sending me divorce papers,' he points out analytically.
There's so much cynicism in his tone. Yet all deserved, she reminds herself. She sighs.
'I never signed them,' her voice falters, but she's sitting at the foot of his bed calmly, waiting for him to burst out, cave in, whatever he decides should be her sentence.
'I did,' he says quietly and it catches her unprepared.
Her eyes follow him as he gets up and puts a pair of sweatpants on, then an old sweatshirt over the damp tee.
' Was it...' she finds her voice again and it comes out small, so small, she's feeling like she's watching herself through the wrong side of a telescope. 'Was it because you don't love me anymore?'
He stops at the door and gives her an unreadable look.
'No,' he says after a moment of inner debate. 'It wasn't.'
I didn't sign because I don't love you anymore. I signed because I do.
He wouldn't lie to her about this.
She lets herself relax just a little.
'I need some air,' he says then and walks out, leaving her alone in what was once their bed.
Was it because you don't love me anymore? No. It wasn't.
Rory closes her eyes to the thought, then gets up and goes back to the living room where she prepares to spend a sleepless night on his sofa.
To be continued...
AN/ I do wanna know what you think...
