Sorry for the long wait! Classes and all that took up most of my time. The next chapter should be updated sooner.
This is the last time I'll abandon you and this is the last time I'll forget you;
I wish I could.
Lisa sighs as she slides down further in the bath. It's not that she feels very relaxed in there, but it has been quite the long day at work and a hot bath helps with her sore legs. Her eyes looked bruised from the dark circles under them, and the skin is stretched taut over her ribs. She looks like she needs a good meal…if she can stomach it. Her appetite is extremely lacking these past few years. Her father has been begging her to go see a therapist of some kind; it's quite obvious that the funk she's in is much deeper than that time of the month. Depression at its best and Mr. Denial accompanying it. She'll be OK; just a little more time and she should be back to her dandy self (or as dandy as she used to be), so screw the therapy; fuck you, Dr. Phil.
She's getting along much better during that last four months, after she decided that Jackson Rippner is most likely a rotting corpse in some shallow grave; which means she'll get on with her life. And if he isn't a corpse, well, then he's no longer worth thinking about anymore. Was it only three years ago that he oh-so-arrogantly told her that he will be back before she knew it? Seems longer...seems more like a decade to her...she looks a decade older, that's for sure. She'll have to buy some miracle cream for her face in the next week or two, maybe choke down a full meal for once too; lest her dad finally snaps and drag her to some psychiatrist.
Lisa remains sitting in the tub until the water turns barely warm; then she grabs a towel from the rack above and slightly to the left of her. She stands and steps out of the tub, drying herself out before she drained the bath water. She puts on a pair of maroon sweatpants and a light blue tank top; then she walks to her kitchen. She has a day off tomorrow and lunch date with her father. He'll most likely make a comment about how thin she is and nag incessantly about seeing a doctor again. She wonders if she can stuff herself twenty pounds of food in one night to look less twig-like by tomorrow. It's doubtful.
She stands there in the middle of her kitchen, looking slightly frustrated and wracking her brain on what she can make to eat. She wasn't the least bit hungry; eating was just something she did to keep her alive, not something to be enjoyed anymore. It's hard to stomach anything when you can't enjoy it.
She makes a "tsk" sound and starts going through her freezer. Alright, lasagna from an icy tray is as good as anything. She yanks it out of the fridge and stuffs it into the microwave, setting it according to the instructions she can practically recite. She rinses a fork over the sink and grabs an oven mitt just as the microwave starts to beep, hurrying her to take the damn thing out already. She carefully peals back the plastic covering and chucks it into the trash before she slides on the oven mitt and yank the tray out of the microwave. She brings the tray to the living room and sets it on the coffee table, on top of a magazine lest the super hot dish warps the wood. She plops down heavily on her couch and lets out a soft "oof" before she starts to randomly stab her fork into the lasagna. She manages to take a few tasteless bites before someone knocks on her door. Now who the hell would possibly bug her?
She leaves the fork in the tray as she sighed and got off the couch, padding her way to the source of her current annoyance. She reaches for the door knob with indifference and opens her door. The sight before her makes her freeze like a deer in the headlights. "Jackson…" she whispers in complete and utter disbelief.
He smiles ever so slightly, "Hi, Leese."
He looks different from the last time she saw him. His hair is much longer; slightly past his shoulders. His eyes are sunken and rival hers in dark circles. He lost a bit of weight too – forget about Jack the Ripper; talk about Jack Skellington – not that he wasn't absurdly thin to begin with. He looks a bit older too. There were barely-there lines around the corner of his eyes, a crease between his eyebrows, and tiny, but long, furrows around the corners of his mouth. His sense of style remains unchanged though; still donning one hell of a suit, impeccable panache as always. "Can I come in?" he asked; his face showing small expectancy.
Lisa didn't reply him. She continues to stare at him wide eyed as she, almost robotically, steps away from the door; allowing him enough room to walk in. He steps through the threshold with his head tilted down somewhat. She closes the door behind him and turns around to face him. He quickly takes in his surroundings; nothing much has changed in the apartment except for some small items he left behind that seemed to have disappeared. He idly wonders if the few articles of clothing he didn't take with him are still here.
Lisa bites her lip as she crosses her arms. She stares at him a moment longer before she softly speaks, "It's been three years, Jackson."
He turns to her; his eyebrows scrunching together in a quick twitch before he replies, "Yea."
"Three years that I haven't seen or heard from you. Three years, you've never called or wrote to me. Three years, not a single word from you. Three. Years." Each word rolling out of her mouth grew in volume and conviction. Each word feeling like a cold blade striking him somewhere on his body; how ironic. Each word hitting home.
He swallowed thickly and clenched his jaws once, "I know."
Lisa gives him a skeptical look and snorts sarcastically, "So? What now? Did you think I'd fall into your arms in an overjoyed and teary mess?"
"No," he softly responds.
"Did you think that you can just show up after so long of me thinking if you've finally been caught? If you died slowly in some basement where maybe there wasn't enough left of you to identify? After all the nights I spent awake, crying; thinking about all the what-if's and maybe's?" her initial shock dissipates as her face starts to crumble in both anger and anguish.
He shook his head slowly, "No."
"Did you think you can just come back? Just like that?" her voice breaks and loses volume as she uncrosses her arms.
He whispers, "No."
"Then what?!" she shrieks; her voice shrill and piercing. Her hands are fisted at her side, arms tense, and she leans forward; screaming at him, "What, Jackson?!"
Jackson presses his lips together tightly before he struggles, "I…" he splays his hands out to his side, "I don't know."
Lisa's face fell and she huffs quietly as she closes her eyes. Her shoulders slump, she un-balls her fist and a few drops of tears roll slowly down her cheeks. Should have slammed the door in his face. This isn't fair. She gave him up already. She started to move on. She started to have some semblance of life again. Now what? She tries to swallow the lump in her throat and took a few steadying breaths before she opened her eyes again…to find him way too close to her.
Jackson brings his hand up to brush away her tears; she flinches away from him before he could touch her. His hand hovers over her face for a few seconds before he lets his arm drop to his side. "I didn't mean to stay away for so long."
She glares at him, "I find it hard to care for what you meant to do, Jack, it's what you've done that…concerns me." She hesitated for a split second when she said "concern." See, the word "upset" would have been the understatement of the century. "Pissed off" isn't enough to denote how enraged she became after the first year or so. "Confused" wouldn't even explain the chaos that was storming in her psyche through the whole ordeal. Best go with choice D. all of the above.
Jackson twitches from the old, and unappreciated, nickname, "I'm sorry."
Lisa blinks, "You're sorry," she repeats incredulously, "You're sorry?"
He clenches his jaws together, the rest of his face remaining painstakingly neutral. "Tell me, Jack," Lisa continues with a sneer, "what the hell are you sorry for?"
Jackson opens his mouth to answer but Lisa brushes pass him before he got a chance. She keeps her back to him and presses her hand to her forehead; then she runs it through her hair. "Are you sorry that you dropped off the face of the earth for three fucking years?" she twists to snarl at him, "Are you sorry that you've never even bothered to pick up the phone? Or even a pen for that matter?"
Jackson turns away from her. She continues, "Are you sorry that you've never bothered to leave behind a way of contacting you? Are you sorry that I spent years thinking you're either dead, dying, or just plain decided to ditch me? Are you sorry that I still find myself crying in my sleep for you, even after all these years? Are you sorry that you're a liar?"
Jackson veers towards her and said, a little louder than he meant to, "I've never lied!"
Lisa jumps faintly from his sudden outburst. He repeats, a little more calmly, "I didn't lie."
She gives him a cynical look, "'I'll be right back?' Are you kidding me?"
Jackson discreetly cleared his throat uncomfortably before replying, "I really meant it when I said I'd be right back. I didn't think it would have taken so long to do the job. I really thought I'd see you much sooner."
"You could have contacted me once in a while to let me know you weren't dead!" She starts to walk away from him.
"You don't understand," he follows her, "I was in deep, Leese; I couldn't take the chance. If a letter was intercepted or a call was traced...even looking through phone records could pose a very real danger to you."
Lisa stops and looks down to her feet, her back still towards him. He stands a few feet from her. She should kick him out of the apartment. He's been gone for a long time; too many things have changed. Or maybe nothing's changed at all? No, things did change. She was overcome with grief for...too long. He's back now, so what? Is he going to stay for good? Could she deal with the same pain all over again if he isn't? And what does it matter if he does stay? Could she even forgive him? I...don't know.
"Why are you here?" she asks him, almost inaudibly.
"...I don't know," he responds just as quietly, "I thought it would've been best to let you think I was dead. It's been...too long. You've most likely moved on, and I'd...I'd have come back to ruin your life...again. I don't know why I'm here; there isn't a good reason...only that...I had to see you."
Lisa sighs; she turns towards him and smirks sardonically. Ironic how that smirk looks so much like his. "Well, you've seen me. Now what? You like what you see?" She spread her arms out slightly and let them fall to her side, making a small slapping sound against her thighs.
Jackson's eyes soften and it sparks with an emotion that he has since chained up, neat and tidy, after he left her. "I love what I see."
The smirk fades from her face and she only looks at him sadly. "What do you want?" she whispers.
"...A chance," he quietly answers as he took a step closer to her.
Lisa looks away from him.
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