Encounter: Chapter 8

Can We Start Over?

Author's Note: Okay, so I'm sorry this took me like 3 months to put up. And I apologize if it sucks. There's a bit of shift in tone, and that's on purpose. It makes sense to me, but if it doesn't to you, feel free to throw things. I really hope it doesn't suck. Please let me know what you think, good or bad. And I sincerely hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Not Mine.

His basement room was dark, murky-thick-black-night dark, and he wouldn't have wanted it any other way. In the dark he could focus on the anger. In the dark he could allow the dry lips of Samantha to drag along his collarbone and not feel ill at the site of her. In the dark, he could get his revenge without hating himself.

But he knew in a few hours, it would be light.

His body was tense, all his muscles flexed, as he flipped Sam over with a grunt and took control of his situation.

He wanted a release. He wanted to relax. He wanted to forget, for just one merciful second, about Jackie.

But he knew that we can't always get what we want.

A buzzing filled his ears and a throbbing pain began to build in his head. This wasn't helping and he had to roughly swallow a few times to keep himself in check. Frustrated that his great plan to screw his wife until the echo of Jackie's parting words were gone was not working, he forcefully pried Sam's arms from his torso and ignored her gasp of surprise at the abrupt change of tides.

He could smell the stench of sweat and Sam's perfume so strongly; it was like the room was toxic. His eyes were beginning to adjust to the dark and yet he could not see a way out. And suddenly, the whole world felt too small for him and in a rush of revived anger he reached for the lamp on his night stand and threw it across the room with all his might, letting out an enraged growl of "Fuck!" as the bulb shattered with a clang and the heavy stand fell with a thud to the floor.


Sitting in the woods, watching the earliest grey light edge its way into being, Jackie's entire body was shaking violently from the cold dawn. Her teeth chattered loudly, the chills would not cease, and yet her eyes were vacantly unaware as they stared. It had been a long walk to this spot in the woods, a long walk through the latest of hours. But she couldn't remember a moment from the last sight of Jacob's retreating form until she'd arrived here. She thought to how naive they'd been, her and her Steven, the first time they'd been here together, alone. The memory was so vivid, so detailed, it was like she could reach out and touch it. She watched the movie of her life, 4 years prior. She reveled in the remembered feeling of what the first kiss had been. How hot his breath had felt upon her cheek as they leaned together. How knotted her insides had felt in anticipation of his lips. How much, already in that moment, months before they'd had their real chance, she'd wanted to burrow her way inside him and drink every last drop of his being. Even before she loved him, the mere anticipation of his touch could make her drunk.

And apparently, so could the memory. For as a pale yellow glow pushed through the trees, her vision blurred. Exhausted, she let her lids close over her eyes, and finally, the tears stopped.


Though she was undoubtedly one of the dumbest people he'd ever met, Samantha had taken his late night outburst as a sign. As he sat, eating his breakfast with Mrs. Forman, she was downstairs packing her bags.

He wasn't sorry to see her go. He really wasn't anything about it. His mind was too busy running between replays of the kiss, the hurt, the words, and zen mantras of "whatever", "I hate her," "I need no one."

He was thankful Kitty seemed to believe him for the first time in all the years he'd been here when he said he didn't want to talk about it. She sat quietly beside him, occasionally glancing at him lovingly and offering a sad smile.

Every part of his body was in pain. Every part of his conscience said he deserved it. And he couldn't wait for Sam to be gone so he could lie himself down and sleep.

Yet, at the same time, he was terrified of his dreams. He knew she'd be there. He knew he'd be happy there too. And it would make it that much worse when he woke up. Without her.

He heard the basement door open, but he saw no one as Sam ducked through the dining room and den. And it wasn't until the front door slammed that he got his confirmation that his marriage was over.

And finally, he could feel something good. The slightest hint of relief.


"Miss? Miss!...Are you okay?"

Jackie's mind told her eyes to open as she could feel eyes on her, bodies near her, and she had no idea who they belonged to.

The moment her body stirred, she registered the soreness. The aching in her feet from walking. The burning in her legs from being bent at weird angles through the night. The sting and rough pull in her chest from sobbing for hours. She winced as she struggled to pull herself up and meet the gaze of the inquisitors.

"Yes, I'm fine. Thanks" Her voice was gravel and hoarse and she swallowed forcefully to try and wet her throat. Looking to the faces of the couple in front of her, a man and a woman about her parents' age, she tried to pull out a convincing smile as her legs reacted weakly to her mental request to walk.

Withering under their intense and worried gaze, she finally conceded and agreed to take up their offer of a ride home. The drive back to town was a blur of browns and greys and greens as her eyes remained steadily locked out her window.

Finally, the fog of her daze began to thin and clear, just in time to give the last few directions to her home.

Thanking the couple genuinely, all the while ignoring their still worried expressions, Jackie slowly made her way out of the car and up to her apartment.

The anger had drained, the passion had faded. She'd spent two days completely on edge, alive and electrified, for better or worse, all instigated by him.

Steven.

She'd burned bright, and then burned out with a flash and a slam.

And she was a zombie now, without him.


He couldn't stay in the basement. He couldn't sit still.

He was tired, wary. He felt as if he'd aged 10 years in two days, and his body was hating him for his many abuses.

But he couldn't rest. He'd tried, and her face dancing in the black of his mind snapped his eyes open wide. He couldn't stop. And staring at the TV, for once, allowed him no escape.

He opened a beer and took a sip, expecting the satisfaction that always came. But for the first time in his life, his face contorted in disgust. And he slammed the can back down in desperate disappointment.

He lit a joint. But he couldn't get high.

He couldn't stay, so he wandered. Wandered without thinking, passed the Hub, passed the school, until he found himself in front of her door.

He didn't knock. He just wandered. And in the instant he saw her, pale and sunken on the couch, he realized where he was and thought, "My God, she looks as lost as I feel. As gone."

She looked to him, and his breath caught as he saw color return to her cheeks and an ember of light, however small, ignite in her eyes.

His pulse seemed to quicken, back to a normal speed, and he gasped a violent breath as their stare shook life back through him.

The slow motion stopped.

"Jackie."

"Steven."

"We need to talk..."