Title: Love 'Till You Hate (4/5)
Rating: T
Pairing: Justin/Rebecca
Summary: When Rebecca decided to visit her father David, she couldn't foresee the change she would be swept up in. Justin's step back, her extended stay with her father, and the reappearance of an ex-girlfriend, all of which tears a fabric once thought unbreakable--her bond with Justin.
Note: Now, I don't like to play favorites, but this installment? He, yeah...So I hope you Enjoy.
The water cools her, feels nice and pure as it goes down her throat. Her eyes close, and she mutes the murmuring sounds of the refrigerator, and breathes in intensely. Forgetting, remembering nothing. It's always better that way.
Some beer would be nice then, a wine of glass sounds perfect, but she shouldn't. She has sleep to catch, although it's being wildly elusive at the moment. Things keep coming to mind, things like old dinner conversations, old fundraisers, old dramas that involved the Walkers. A certain Walker keeps coming to mind, and her body falls into a complete state of relaxation at the thought of him, and she finds herself inhaling really deeply, as though she's trying to recall, recapture that exclusive scent that was just him.
The feel of his hands at the base of her hips, the burn of his lips against hers, her name murmured from those lips against her neck, whispering--
"Rebecca?"
She almost falls out of the stool on which she is perched when he speaks, breaking her from her reverie. Her eyes fly open, find him staring at her as she does the same with wide eyes and a caught off guard expression.
"Justin," she manages to say," wha-what are you doing here?"
His mouth twitches and he crosses his arms over his chest, while his eyes bounce the question back to her.
She sets her glass of water down on the counter and pulls her hands into her lap, and she goes on talking when he doesn't say anything.
"I was just getting a glass of water--thirsty," she raises her eyebrows and smirks," but I'm done, so…"
She fumbles to get out of the stool, then reaches for her cup and heads towards the sink to rinse the cup.
She doesn't meet his eyes, just makes a beeline to the sink, and nervously turns the faucet on. She brings the glass to the water, wincing at the cold droplets that softly splash onto her hand. She should've turned the hot water on, but too many should haves are running through her mind for her to keep track of, and suddenly she feels his presence next to her.
Her throat tightens, and she can hear her own heart beating, almost jumping out of its ribcage, when his hand reaches out to turn the faucet off. In the process, his arm brushes against hers, and she suppresses a compulsive shiver--not an easy feat.
She sets the glass aside slowly, beside the sink where it tinkers on the edge, but there's only one thing her body is finely attuned to in this moment.
He turns his body to her, and when she eyes him, it becomes too painfully clear how close in proximity they are.
"You need something, Justin?" she pretends this isn't affecting her, that she isn't itching to reach out to him.
"Yes," he says firmly, in that voice that tells her he's going to get it no matter what.
She falls back a step, and rests a hand on the kitchen sink
"Well, what is it?" a sharp sound of irritation breaks from her voice without meaning, and she sees how this only serves to flare some already existing temper in him.
"I don't know."
His voice comes clearly, his gaze is pointed, and all the questions and accusations he doesn't know how to express reverberate around them, echoing off the white walls that appear to say nothing.
Until he steps forward, his arms uncross, and he points a finger at her," You left me, Rebecca."
Her eyes close involuntarily, and suddenly she is inhaling again, inhaling him against her will and she feels constrained all over again. As constrained as when she told him that she had lied, that her father was not his father, and this nightmare rushes into her and she feels unable to handle this.
"Rebecca!" he cuts across her after she's failed to speak for a few moments.
"I don't know what to tell you, Justin. Things just happened and…" she shrugs and looks to the floor.
"You don't know what to tell me? Fuck, Becca, I get into rehab, Kitty finds her son, Saul moves half-way around the world, and Sarah has a nervous breakdown, all while you're off with your dad bonding and not once do you skip on over to check on any of us? And you don't know what to say!"
"Justin, your mom--"
"She can't hear us," he grits his teeth, and it's too much. All of it. She doesn't know how to be there for everyone. At most she knew how to be there for one person, her mom, but even those attempts were half-assed because her own mother didn't make for the best example.
Her hand slides over the counter as her body weight shifts due to her trying to compose herself, and that's enough to send the glass over, enough to bring the cup down to its jagged, asymmetrical anatomy, breaking.
"Shit," she mutters and she bends over to begin picking up the pieces, but he bends down too and flicks her hand away.
"What, you wanna get cut now too?"
She tilts her head up at him, a quizzical face overtakes her and he rolls his eyes.
"I'll get the broom," he says and stands up hastily. She watches him stand and her eyes follow him as he walks by her to get the broom. She stands upright and moves her hair, distracting herself. She watches his every movement, sketches how skillfully he maneuvers around her and averts their eyes from locking.
He begins gathering the broken glass, and she spots the dustpan and decides to help.
"I've got it," he mutters.
"It's my fault, I should…" she kneels in front of the small mount of glass, with the dustpan awaiting to pick it up.
"It's your fault when it's simple," he murmurs, pushing the broom to the dustpan's mouth.
"What?"
It drops in her hand, leaving some pieces to be scattered again, and he drops the broom aside in frustration.
"You heard me," he places his hands on his hips and her face contorts, furious at his implications.
"You really think it's my fault?"
When he neither confirms nor negates her, she scoffs, and rushes to move past him. But he catches her arm and pulls her back in front of him.
"Leave me alone, Justin."
"Is that why you didn't come back? Because you wanted to be alone?" he loosens his grip from her bicep and moves his hand to her wrist.
She mutters incomprehensible words, something that becomes even blurrier when she whispers 'I loved you' with a tear that coincides with that one truth. It's his undoing, because he's not just angry anymore. Not just irritated, not just frustrated. He's all of the above, and something else he can't pinpoint, and the mixture proves lethal because his memory is abruptly blemished. And logic lies in the rummage of glass two inches from his and her feet.
His hand that had laid limply now grabs for her waist, and the hand wrapped around her wrist grasps it firmer as he pulls her into him.
Flush against one another, he crashes his mouth over hers, threading a kiss she protests with a muffled yelp, but that is silenced with his tongue that lines her lips.
His hands move to her face, cradling her, thumbs running over her cheeks as their mouths become familiar again.
When she grinds into him, with her hands rubbing up and down his torso, he groans and lifts her onto the kitchen counter.
His mouth begins trailing down her chin, skims over her jaw line, and nips at her neck.
And he murmurs her name on her shoulder blade, where he's pushed down her strap from the tank top she's wearing, and she remembers her name. Remembers this is Justin, Justin who has a girlfriend.
"Justin," she tries saying his name, but it's as breathy as his whisper, so she presses her fingers into his ribs, right where he's ticklish which draws his attention back to her face.
He meets her eyes, and suddenly he remembers too. His hands leave her and he rubs his face, mentally cursing at himself. He moves wayside, making his right foot meet with piece of glace.
"Shit," he curses outwardly.
She jumps down and squints to make out where the glass has intruded. She then takes Justin's hand, and leads him to the living room, as he does his best to not step down on his big toe, where the glass lacerates his skin.
He sits on the couch as Rebecca flips on a light and kneels in front of him, fingers poised to take out the stubborn little glass.
He takes her in right there, watches how her shoulder muscles flex, from being determined, to being defeated when she misses the glass. From irritation, to accomplishment when she gets the sucker out.
He watches her as she places the piece carefully in her palm, and walks in long strides to the kitchen to throw it away. She remains there awhile, and from the sounds of a swift broom and clanging dustpan, infers that she has cleaned up the glass.
She walks back to him wearily, unsure of what to do or say next, everything he had feared when he began dating her. He never wanted things to be awkward with her. Things were not supposed to be strange between them. They were J and R. They were the brother and sister duo that turned out not to be siblings, but in the process forged a friendship people would usually kill for. A friendship that led to a relationship. And through each step, they retained their bond, because that was all that mattered ultimately. That ability to know and understand each other. If it were up to him, they'd be fighting for that bond right now, not fighting over who was to be blamed. Technicalities and discussions to sort things out, yeah, they were necessary. But first he needed to know they could repair that bond.
"I want to fix this," he says when she stays in the entrance to the kitchen a bit too long.
The hint of a smile crosses her lips, the closest thing he's had all night to seeing the real her.
"Me, too," she admits.
She cracks her fingers and tucks her hair behind her ears, and crosses the room to sit beside him.
He extends his hand to her, and softly places his hand over hers. Their eyes lock and a genuine smile finally graces her face. To her satisfaction, he projects a similar smile to her as well.