Helloooo, it's me (again). I can't promise posting this frequently in the future, but for now, since I've written the next few chapters, it makes sense narratively to upload both Bella and Jasper's POVs together. It's hard to write a broody male POV without sounding like whining or male pain, so let me know how you think I did : )

Also disclaimer: I know nothing about what goes on at the Hill (if it wasn't obvious already...)

The Eventual Adjustment

Jasper

"Where is the report on the Agriculture bill? HR 1789?" I bark, watching the LAs scramble around. Christ, not even a month in and I already feel my blood pressure rising, putting me in the at-risk group for hypertension.

"I've emailed it to you," Seth says. "You also have a meeting with Paul Lahote from Congressman-"

"Yes, Congressman Denali's LA," I remember. "Let him in when he's here." I stare him down and he blinks at me, confused for a second, before he realizes he needs to get the hell out of my sight.

God I hope I wasn't this clueless when I was an intern.

I let out a sardonic laugh. Well of course I was.

Once upon a time, I was a doe-eyed intern, thinking that my impressive education from Boston would make me more realistic, more adult, and more likely to be taken seriously.

What a fucking delusion that was.

Instead I was treated like a typical idiot, tasked with performing simple functions and executing basic demands. It took me a month before the office manager assigned me to more important office tasks (handling the email account, for example). By then my version of reality, where I could easily climb up the congressional ladder, had disintegrated.

Like most interns, I too had succumbed to the poisonous and cynical atmosphere of Washington. I didn't want to play the family legacy card, but I pushed that self-destruct button with everything I had after realizing it was the most expedient way to get everything I wanted.

Correction: Everything I thought I wanted.

I sink into my chair and stretch my arms above my head, closing my eyes for a split second and recalling the meditation techniques that she had taught me so long ago.

"Stop laughing," I remember saying. Giggles erupted behind me and I felt her hands slide down to my eyes.

"Stop talking," she instructed. "Ok, create the most peaceful image you can see with your mind."

I snort, slowly opening my eyes. Peace is not a luxury I can afford right now.

"Sir, I have Lahote on line 2," Seth says.

Showtime.

I've been telling people for weeks since my return that I came back for the excitement and centralized action in D.C., but the truth is, I'm not sure how invested I am in the game anymore. Being campaign manager satisfied my itch to finally be of some use, to run something that was mostly my own, and to coordinate with people I trusted and respected.

But after the fallout, I feel more jaded than I'd ever been. Though I'm grateful to have this job, the everyday activities seem to tire me out rather than energize me. Waking up and getting out of bed is starting to feel like a chore rather than a privilege.

Jesus, and I also blast Adele in the morning while crying in the shower.

I need to get ahold of myself. Things move a bit more slowly, especially during the winter, and I haven't fully adjusted to the pace yet. Not to mention being in this town makes me feel on edge.

I pull up into my row-house and sit in my car, pondering my night ahead. Check ESPN, go through my voicemail (with an SOS from my dear old mother, no doubt), check email, watch an episode of some TV show, study the briefing notes, workout, and then sleep. I'd been following this precise schedule for the past month now, and for the first time I realize how sad it is.

I clench my fingers on the steering wheel, suddenly feeling an urge to do something different. Maybe find some friends? Right, like any of my close friends have time to spare when they either followed the same schedule religiously or had family and kids to deal with.

My breathing starts to quicken, so I force myself to calm down. Not going down that road tonight.

I sigh before grabbing my briefcase and exiting the car. As I pull up my phone and scroll through the contacts, I linger on Bella's phone number. We hadn't talked since the night at the bar, where we both reacted like two middle schoolers at a dance. I'm still fairly confused about her, but I can't help but wonder how horrible it would seem if I reached out.

Given what had happened, it's not like I can make it any worse, right?

After cooking dinner and having a drink, I sink down in my couch and write, "I know this is kind of sudden, but how do you feel about getting a drink sometime?"

There. I acknowledged the elephant in the room. The ambiguity hopefully suggested that it wouldn't be a big deal if we didn't meet up. The ball is clearly in her court. Putting my phone aside, I rub my eyes and turn my head towards whatever's on the TV.

I eye the crystal of my glass, watching the light scatter into a million different rays, and take another generous sip of my whiskey. At some point, I would stop moping around, get off my ass, and get back out there. But even when I first moved here, I didn't like to interact socially unless I absolutely had to. There were exceptions, but most of those exceptions are now happily married or bitterly divorced. I don't fall into either of those categories, but I can't continue to be the misanthropic cynic either. So I just sit on my couch, sulking like a goddamned teenager who just had his license revoked.

My phone vibrates and I lay my head on my couch before glancing up to see the culprit.

"Call me," it reads. Short, brief, with just the amount of pain-in-the-ass that only my mother could perfect.

Next. I check my voicemail, grateful that there's only four messages when usually it was in the double digits.

"Jasper, this is mom. We need to discuss your Thanksgiving plans-Dad wants to invite you to the annual company party, but I need you here for the awards ceremony. Call me back so we can work your schedule out."

I groan. Once again, I'm in the middle of a tug of war with my parents, with no way to step out of the crossfire. Perfect. It's barely October, so of course my parents are already planning the holidays. Delete.

"Hey Jazz, what's going on? I heard you're back in D.C.-welcome back, dick. What, you get tired of wiping Carpenter's ass? Anyway, hit me up if you want to grab a beer or something. Leah sends her love."

I grin, recognizing the no frills tone of my best friend from college, Jacob Black, who married his college sweetheart Leah Clearwater three years ago. Of all the best friends I've recycled through, Jake is probably the smartest and most dependable man I know. On the day of my breakup, he rented out a private golf course; we played a few holes, made great use of the bar and cigar room, and had a quick but deep chat:

Me: "It just sucks. Like, what happens now? We never see each other again after graduation?"

Him: "Hmmm."

Me: "What the fuck is a break anyway?"

Him: *shrugs*

Me: "I just don't know if I can do this anymore."

Him (squints at me): "Do you see a future with her? Are you willing to sacrifice things you care about to be with her and make her happy? Will that make you happy?"

Me: *speechless*

As it turned out, the answer was no-to all three questions.

Next message.

"H-hey," I hear. "I know you probably didn't expect to hear from me so soon...um, I just-I wanted you to know that I've missed you. And if you ever want to talk-if you ever want to see me or anything, I'm here. For you. Ok, talk soon."

I close my eyes before replaying the message again, listening to the uncertainty and nervousness in her tone, and throw my phone to the other side of the couch. I immediately sit up and scrub my hands over my face, making a note to shave tomorrow morning before work.

Whoever said time heals all wounds didn't know what the fuck he was talking about. The only way wounds can heal is if you stop cutting yourself. And yeah, maybe I thought I had healed over these past few years. It might have left an ugly scar, but I was able to repair most of the damage and make it stop.

It's only after I hear her voice that I realize I'm still bleeding.