Chapter 8

It had been almost a week, and still she had not spoken to him sans one-word answers, and only if it had been absolutely necessary, such as when he had told her Ben called that morning, and she acknowledged him with a cool "Ok," or perhaps when he had asked her how her day had been, and all she would say was a stoic "Fine." Any further attempts to extend the conversation were met with a wall of dead silence. She responded to his jokes with a naught but a straight face and his apologetic glances with a blank one. After the first few days, he was running out of ideas on how to reach out to her. It was starting to seem like an impossible task.

So now, while she was slumbering at home, he was hanging out at Miles's house in the middle of the night, unable to sleep, chugging a couple of beers with the man.

"Have you tried to placate her? Buy her flowers?" Miles suggested. "Or, well, pick flowers, in this case, seeing as that we don't have any flower shops here."

"Think I haven't already tried that, Enos?"

"Oh, wait. I guess you have. You did pick those wildflowers that day, didn't you?" He raised his brows. "Guess it didn't work, La Fleur."

He wrinkled his nose. "I'm a ladies' man. I know the tricks. None of 'em are workin'. At least, not with her," he mumbled before taking a swig from his Dharma beer.

"So you're going to give up, just like that?"

"Don't get your hopes up," he said. "I ain't throwin' in the towel." He dropped the back of his head on the couch, his limbs splayed out, a picture of dejection. "But she won't even talk to me."

"The cold shoulder, huh. That's some bad shit, man."

Like he needed the reminder.

He didn't mention how desperate he had been the night before. The first of her experiments had failed. Sabine had died. He had wanted to comfort her. His palm pressed flat against her door, he had called to her, but had heard no response. The muffled heart wrenching sobs nearly tore him to pieces.

"Anyway," he turned his face away from the television that was airing a football match. "Thanks for the dinner. Been a while since I've had anythin' besides Goldfish crackers and Oreos."

"You're joking."

He grimaced. "You can't be thinkin' Juliet's still cookin' for me. Never had to sleep on the couch before, have you?"

"No," Miles replied slowly with unnecessary precision. "What I really meant was, can you not make a sandwich? Surely you don't need her to make all your meals for you. You'd starve if you had to depend on a woman for food. You're giving her the upper hand."

He finished his beer, not bothering to mention that she already had the upper hand. "I ain't got use for cookin'."

"Not till now," Miles said wryly. "Well. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," he quoted sagaciously. "Consider it a belated birthday gift, man. Tomorrow, we get to go out on a joyride in the van. I hope you still remember we're bringing the scientists out to get supplies. They're looking for some kind of plant. Goodwin thinks it has some medicinal value and all that intellectual jabberish."

"Son of a bitch. I totally forgot." He ground his teeth in frustration. "He better keep his damn hands to himself tomorrow, or I'll do it for him."

"I told you, the chick's like a guy magnet. Didn't you know Ben invited her for dinner again last night?"

The sound he uttered resembled something like a cross between a squeak and a choke. How had he not known that?

Of course, he and Juliet hadn't been on speaking terms for a while.

At least, she hadn't.

"Haven't you heard the rumour? Everyone sees how Ben follows her like a little puppy."

"Well, I've been busy, Pokemon Boy," He snapped. "In case you haven't noticed."

"I did gather that there was a communication breakdown from our conversation," Miles replied, unperturbed by his ruffled feathers. "Keep your pants on. It's just a rumour."

"Ain't no smoke without a fire," he muttered. Hopefully, tomorrow would proceed without a hitch, but Mr. I-Look-So-Good-I-Win-At-Life would make things difficult for him. He glowered at the thought of that man riding with them.

He was going to need Miles to remind him that patience was a virtue.

Or better yet, bind him hand and foot. He was gonna need that rope.

Needless to say, the trip was rough, and filled with bumps in the road, in more ways than one. The minute Juliet and Goodwin clambered to the back, the atmosphere became so tense, he could've cut it with a knife.

In the driver's seat, Miles whistled the theme from Friends, tapping his fingers to the beat on the wheel. "Nice day, isn't it?"

The lack of answers was an answer in itself, and he had the good sense not to try harder.

He saw Goodwin grin at her in the rearview mirror, and when she returned it, he gripped the edge of his seat, nearly shredding the polyester.

"Patience, cowboy, patience," Miles whispered his support from under his breath, just loud enough for him to hear over the engine. "Don't lose it now."

Thankfully, they survived the trip there without any shedding of blood. Barely, because it was almost brutal sitting up front, witnessing Goodwin try to make small talk, also known as deploying his flirting tactics, with Juliet, whom didn't seem to be in a sociable mood. That was a small comfort to him.

As they unloaded from the van, Miles looked about the surroundings for a moment. "We'll try to cover as much area as we can in the shortest amount of time. That way, we don't have to spend too long out here." He turned back to them. "Sawyer, you and Juliet go down that way till you reach the—"

"I'll go with you, Miles," she interrupted before he could finish.

Miles shot him an apologetic glance, then shrugged. "Sure."

He stared at his partner dismally. Oh, joy. Not only did the possible opportunity of reconciliation with Juliet just sprout wings and fly, but he also had to spend time alone with this joker. He trudged off into the trees with Goodwin, getting a sense of dread that things were definitely not going to end well.

Of course, he had been determined to keep his mouth shut the entire time. Turned out the problem was that Mr. I-Love-To-Hear-Myself-Talk didn't.

"Had a tiff, huh." Goodwin's smile seemed more like a sneer. "A little conflict of interest?"

He gritted his teeth and reminded himself to just keep trampling the grass, but he wished he were trampling something else instead.

The man didn't get the hint from the blatantly one-sided conversation. He had no discernment at all, because he could not judge that the atmosphere was not the best for the pointed comments that he kept shooting from his damn mouth.

Or maybe he just enjoyed trying to push him over the edge.

"I have to admit, though, you two put up a good show. It's probably the best that she knows the truth. No point building a relationship on lies," Goodwin let out a sigh which grated on his nerves. Turning his head towards him, his lips formed a little smirk. "But really, she's a doll. Think I'll be able to have a turn with her?"

Before his mind registered what he was doing, his fist had connected with flesh in a satisfying thud, and all he was seeing was red. He wasn't sure which was the comment that threw him over the edge. Rage flowed through him, washing over the guilt and frustration that had tormented him the last couple of days.

It felt good to get it out of his system.

He fell on the man, and losing balance, they rolled onto the dirt. "Son of a bitch! It was you, wasn't it? You showed her the damn file. You were the bastard! What did you tell her?" He took a hit to the abdomen, but it only refueled the fire that burned through his veins. He went at him again until Goodwin flipped him over, knocking the air out of him. The physical pain stunted his anger for a second as he lay on the ground, trying to catch his breath.

The man spat blood on the ground. "I didn't do it, country boy. Don't come blaming me just because you can't keep a leash on your bitch."

Anger flared like a forest fire fanned by high winds. He pushed himself up off the ground, and like two stray dogs first encountering each other in the wilderness, they fought in abandonment, kicking, swinging, and punching.

Then, through the haze of fading red, he heard her call his name.

For the first time.

As the adrenaline wore off, he finally looked up, breathing heavily, and saw her staring before she turned her back on him.

Damn him if he was going to let her walk away just like that.

He ran after her, calling her name until he had caught up with her. When he grabbed her arm, she pulled away as if stung, placing distance between them.

Her eyes were dead, devoid of expression.

Unrecognizable.

"Juliet—"

"You can stop pretending now, James." Her voice was chilly. "Congratulations. You must be so proud of your conquest."

The lack of emotion sliced through him, hurting more than if her eyes had burned with fury and hatred. He looked down at the ground littered with fallen leaves and felt blood trickling down from a cut above his brow. "Juliet, I…"

I what? I'm sorry?

Should he apologize? Should he explain? Where should he even start?

From when he had decided to con the first woman? Or right from the beginning when he had hid under the bed, watching his dad shoot his mom?

Would she believe him if he told her that he no longer had intentions to hurt her?

The thoughts swarmed him, clouding his mind. He tried to grasp her hand, hoping that maybe she'd let him, but she stumbled back a step, away from him.

"Don't. Just…"

He saw the entire façade beginning to crumble as her eyes, filling with tears, lost their steely look.

She was turning out to be like him, learning to put on a show.

He felt the realization spear directly into his conscience.

"You know, James." The detached way she said his name made him blanch. "I used to think that there was still good in the world. I thought I could still believe the best in people." She pressed her lips together, looking away into the distance. "I was naïve. Focus on the positive things, and I'd be alright," she mocked her own words. The short laugh that she made bordered on self-disgust and derision. "Stupid, isn't it? Thinking if you treat people well, they would do the same to you." She blinked back the tears that had formed, shimmering in her eyes. "Rachel used to tell me that people would take advantage of it, and she was right. I was like a dumb sheep."

And she believed he was a wolf.

"I'm done, James. I've had enough of people stepping on me and lying to me." Her words, arrows laden with hurt and anger, struck him to the core. "What if …what if, for once, I get to be the one to do that?"

The tears that she could no longer hold back carved a fissure on his heart. "It don't work that way," he rasped out.

"It did for you."

His brows lowered. Was there really no way to reach her? He held on to her gaze like a lifeline. "Why are you doin' this, Juliet?"

"Because." The break in her voice betrayed her emotions. "If I don't…" She faltered, lips trembling.

She could put on a front as an emotionless warrior, mask all the thoughts she wanted, try to place shutters on the windows to her heart and soul, but she would never be like the man that he had been. All the facades in the world would never change who she was. Her heart was what made her the woman that he loved.

And now because of what he did, she was trying to be like him.

"It ain't worth it," he stated, all the while trying to convince himself it was true. "I've used people. I ain't proud of it." Guilt pounced on him with glee. He had caused this agony. He had led her down this path. He felt his throat tighten, and he forced the words out. "Don't learn from me."

The gentle breeze dissipated into the thick of the woods. The trees ceased their rustling. Her tear-stained face gazed back at him, and she answered, voice thick with emotion, "I already have."

It stung, like salt in an open wound.

He took a step towards her with beseeching eyes, begging her to let him help, to soothe her hurt.

And she backed away. "Just…stay away from me, James," she began brokenly. "Please."

Her face crumpled. When she vanished into the thicket, leaving a trail of stifled cries, he thought he had never felt more wretched in his life.


His low bass filled the little kitchen area as they slow-danced in the midst of dinner preparations. She laid her head on his shoulder, smiling to herself as he gently rocked her to and fro, the lyrics running through her mind as he hummed one of their favourite songs.

I don't like to sleep alone
Stay with me, don't go
Talk with me for just a while
So much of you to get to know

Reaching out touching you
Leaving all the worries far behind
Loving you the way I do
My mouth on yours and yours on mine
Marry me, let me live with you
Nothing's wrong and love is right

The soothing sounds stopped suddenly. "Juliet?"

"Hm?" She murmured, smoothing her thumb against the fabric of his white tee.

She felt him rest his cheek against her head. His voice was hesitant. "If one day, you realize I ain't the person you think I am…" Here, he paused for a long time. "You'll still love me, won't ya?"

She stilled his rocking, gaze flitting up to meet his. His eyes were filled with uncertainty and a yearning, a hope that she would respond with what he wished to hear, much like a child eager to earn approval. She thought of all the sleepless nights that he had spent staying awake to chase her nightmares away, the times she had looked for comfort and he was right there, how he had dug her out of the rut she'd been in, and how many times her heart had swelled with love for the man holding her in his arms, so much that she had been unable to speak. She tenderly cupped his face with her hands and caressed his skin.

How could he even consider a question of that nature?

She kissed him, a quiver running through her at the softness of his lips, easing his doubts like how he had eased her pain that first night. Were not their lips shaped perfectly for each other? She broke away, her eyes clearly telling him that she had already determined her answer.

She thought she saw something misting over his eyes. He smiled at her, the insecurity having been chased away. He drew her closer to him, enfolding her in his arms, as he led her into the slow dance again.

"I love you, Juliet."

Her heart sang.

I love you too.


Was it not just that? All the days of ignoring him, the cold shoulder, wasn't it all a mere act? She thought that by wearing a mask, by learning how not to wear her heart on her sleeve, she could protect herself from getting hurt. She was only building those walls around her heart to keep herself safe.

He had seen through all of that.

She stood before the dresser as the minutes ticked by, willing the tears not to well up in her eyes, clenching her teeth together till her jaw hurt because that was the only way to prevent the sobs from escaping. She glanced in the mirror, and saw the tears gather and roll down her face, one by one.

And she was surprised to find herself crying.

Was it not possible for one to run out of tears?

He had said she shouldn't learn from him, but why shouldn't she? When all throughout her life, she had felt each and every stinging lash of the whip inflicted on her heart, surely she would wonder if there would be a day when she knew just how to shield herself from the pain.

She pulled a tissue from the box on the dresser, erasing the physical evidence of her pain.

The words she had spoken to him earlier, she had not planned to say them. She had only thought them. Out in the open, they seemed naked and raw. She had seen how they struck him like blows, landing with greater impact than the punches he had gotten from the scrape with Goodwin.

He had chased after her, battered and bleeding.

Broken. Contrite. Utterly downtrodden.

She had almost wanted to give in, but the not-so-subtle reminder of her own pain exceeded any intentions to forgive him. She had not forgotten how it felt like to have him take her heart and stomp on it without a second thought.

Maybe he had changed. After all, wasn't that what people did best?

She dropped the used tissue into the bin. But did she dare get her hopes up again? Every time she expected something from someone, all she stood to gain was disappointment.

Through the unblemished glass of the window, she saw him, sitting at one of the wooden tables in their community, illuminated by the moonlight. Her breath hitched.

He truly was beautiful.

She thought she had become an emotionless soul. She'd cried so much that it felt like all the tears had left just emptiness in her chest, a hole where her heart used to be. For the past few nights, she had stayed up late, wondering if it was all worth it.

She watched as he leaned his head wearily on hands that must be aching, and she knew the answer to the question that had been haunting her. She felt it as she stroked his face through the cool glass, yearning to tend to his cuts and bruises.

No matter how much hurt her heart had withstood, no matter how feeble the pulse was, it still beat for him.