A/N: You guys are awesome. I was ready to vomit, but your comments kept the nausea at bay. I guess I was afraid I'd get a lot of "So? This is the backstory we've been waiting for? This is why Alice is such a mess?" And I guess that's sort of the point I am trying to make, that there can be trauma in the ordinary. But thank you, again, for sticking with me and this story. And once again, Grace, you rock my socks. Thank you for another thud-inducing review and for alerting me to the rec for this story (along with the other In the Days of Auld Lang Syne stories) on the Lazy Yet Discerning Ficster. Ack. (Holy crap, did that just happen?) I think I can die now.

The usual love to Rav UUs and my Saturday night chat ladies.

If you want another Alice/Jasper fic, check out shalu's Down the Rabbit Hole in my favorites. She deserves some love. Clementines and e.e. jasper: life is complete.

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer is the secret, is the moment, when everything happens. Meyer ... let's make Meyer! 3-2-1 Meyer!

Chapter 14: It Just Takes Some Getting Used To

Winter breaks me at her start every time

Even though I'm prepared for the cold

In a while I'll be doing fine, I'm told

- The Paper Raincoat [1]

I woke up confused, sticky, and starving. What time was it? Where was I? Why did I feel so crusty? With a start, I realized I'd fallen asleep on the couch with Jasper. In my sleep haze I struggled to think of the last thing I could remember.

Oh no.

Oh no oh no oh no, what had I done? Why did I tell him everything? Or, very nearly everything? I'd never said any of that out loud before. Certainly I had relived it in my head again and again, flashes of it reaching through my subconscious and jolting me out of moments of peace, but I'd never told anyone. Obviously. At the time, it seemed like a good idea—I'd been feeling so guilty about misleading him when he'd been so forthcoming and wonderful and supportive and patient. It had just seemed wrong not to give him anything back. And it was hard to keep up the lies.

I didn't think I'd meant to tell him all of it, and I no longer was sure why it had been so important that he knew about the high school me. But it had all spilled out of me like soda out of a shaken bottle. There was something about Jasper that made it hard for me to keep secrets. When I told him what had happened to me, I felt something like relief, an unburdening. But away from the moment, I mostly felt shame, embarrassment. I was worried that he saw me as a child, or a victim, or worse yet, a child who deceived people into believing she was a victim. Because what had happened to me that was so horrible? Didn't I refuse to press charges because part of me didn't believe I had any right to, when I knew far worse things happened to women every day? What right had I to claim any part of their sympathy?

The room was dim; only a table lamp was on. What day was it? Shit, Saturday—and I had to go to work. Had I slept through? I reached for Jasper's wrist and waited for my eyes to focus. Half past seven. Okay, I wasn't officially late yet, but I had to get going. I tried to find my shoes and tripped over Jasper's feet. Which, of course, woke Jasper up.

"Baby? What's going on?"

"I shouldn't have fallen asleep! I'm going to be late, and Rose is going to kill me." I scrambled around, buckling my Mary Janes back up. I was having trouble making eye contact with Jasper. I looked everywhere in the room but at his face. Maybe if I acted super frazzled and fluttery, he wouldn't notice.

"Alice, are you all right?"

"Of course I am—why wouldn't I be?" I tried to laugh off while I struggled to find my phone.

Jasper caught my hand. "Darlin', you are acting like a cracked-out hummingbird."

"What?" His comment shocked me into stillness.

"Are you feeling bad about telling me?"

"Bad? About telling you what?" Alice, that was utterly pathetic.

Jasper gently tugged on my hand, pulling me next to him on the couch. "You told me some big, heavy stuff. Painful, awful stuff. And it would be a perfectly normal reaction if you're feeling strange about it now, maybe regretting it. But let me tell you, I don't regret it. I am honored that you trusted me enough to tell me. I'm proud of you. And you shouldn't feel ashamed."

I felt like I was teetering on the edge of something important. The easy thing to do would be to tell him he was wrong, that I didn't feel any of those things, that it was no big deal, shrug it off. And then dance around my feelings of awkwardness, not make eye contact, joke it away. Every cell in my body was screaming to do this. Pretend it never happened, pretend it never happened, you never told him anything, that wasn't you, it didn't happen, you were dreaming, he doesn't know, you didn't tell him. Nothing's changed. He won't look at you with pity or disgust.

Or I could look at it square in the face. Accept that he knew. That I had told him. That it all happened. And move on. (Move on? Did I even know how to do that?) Was this how adults behaved?

He was looking at me, waiting for me to say something. I was weighing my options. I'd try one and then the other in my head, but it was hard to make any progress with my heart racing and my mind screaming, He knows, he knows, he knows, he knows, he knows, he knows, he knows, he knows, he knows, he knows, he knows, he knows, he knows.

If I could have pulled out my hair and somehow unraveled myself, I would have done it.

"Alice?"

He fucking knows.

"Baby? You're scaring me a little."

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to quiet my fluttering heart enough to figure out what I wanted to do. What I wanted to do, not the frightened animal inside. He wants to help you, I tried to reason. Just talk to him. The animal inside crouched down, ready to bolt, ready to bite and scratch to get away.

"What's going on in there?" he murmured, brushing his fingers against my cheek.

My eyes flew open. "Don't look at me like that," I was surprised to hear myself snap. It was like I had no control over my mouth. I felt like I'd been locked inside my head and was watching Jasper through the windows of my eyes.

"How … how am I looking at you?" Jasper seemed confused, hurt. I thought he'd look away from me, but his eyes stayed focused on my face.

"Like you fucking pity me. Like you think you know exactly what I'm all about." I felt as paralyzed as I did the night the dark almost took me. Jasper, I didn't mean it, I tried to say through my eyes. Can you hear me?

"I don't pity you. I ache for you. I wish I could feel your pain for you, if it meant you could feel less."

He was saying all the right things. It should have been enough. It would have been enough, if I had been any sort of normal. But I wasn't. So it wasn't.

"Words, words, words, just pretty words," I said, standing up again and grabbing my coat, keys, and purse. "Do you think they'll fix me?"

I stormed out of the apartment and ran to catch the bus. I heard Jasper scramble to follow me. What the fuck was I doing? Stop it! Talk to him! I commanded myself. No good. My body kept running until it reached the bus stop.

I paced inside the same panel of sidewalk, three steps one way, three steps back. Staying within the perimeter of the little rectangle was both constricting and comforting. I could feel Jasper standing near. Suddenly the wind shifted, and I could smell him. For an instant, my body remembered the feel of his body nestled against it in my bed, and the moment was enough to make the barrier in my mind shimmer and weaken. I gritted my teeth and pushed through the barrier in my head. I gasped, "Jasper!" and reached tiny hands out to clutch at his shirt, still damp from my tears.

His eyes searched my face. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," I said, dropping my gaze. "I … I don't know what happened."

"Ain't no thing, peanut," he said, gently pulling my hands off his shirt and bringing my hands up to his mouth. He rubbed my fingertips back and forth across his lower lip. "Are you all right?"

I laughed humorlessly. "It's all relative, right?" I couldn't stop shivering, even though I wasn't cold. "Listen, I didn't mean what I said back there."

Jasper nodded.

I traced a small circle with my foot. "The truth is, I don't really know how to act around you right now. Actually, I would really like to dig a hole and hide inside it."

"But why? You have nothing to be ashamed of."

"You can say that as many times as you want. It won't make me believe it," I said, shaking my head and scrunching up my face. "I don't even know what I've done to make me ashamed. I just have this overwhelming feeling that I've done something wrong. That I've done everything wrong. And I feel like I did something wrong by telling you. Part of me wishes I'd never told you. Part of me is furious, like you tricked me into telling you." I really couldn't look at him.

"I'm sorry, Alice. I was just trying to make you comfortable, but I hope you didn't feel pressured somehow."

I buried my face in his shirt. "No. It's just easier to blame you. I know it's not your fault. But I can't control this urge to hide. I don't want you to look at me. I want to disappear inside myself." Fuck. I wasn't making any sense.

Squeaky brakes announced the arrival of the bus. I pried myself from Jasper's shirt. "I need to go to work," I sighed. I hated to leave things like this.

My edges felt jagged, like I would cut him if he touched me.

"Can I come with you?" asked Jasper.

I nodded, turning and climbing up the steep stairs. After paying my fare, I walked to the very back, slumping into a seat and staring out of the smudged window. I felt Jasper sit next to me. Cautiously he took my hand in his. I didn't pull away.

We sat in silence until I couldn't stand it anymore. "Hi," I finally said.

"Hi."

"Are you mad at me?" I asked in a small voice. I flinched when I heard him draw in a breath.

"Mad? Oh, Alice, I'm just worried about you."

"I just don't understand why I'm such a mess."

"You never told anyone else that stuff, did you?"

I shook my head, ashamed.

"Well, it's pretty natural that you might be reliving it, feeling all the emotions you had back then. If we bottle up memories, they stay potent."

Potent. That was an understatement.

"Do you mind if I just, you know, if we just are for tonight? I … my brain is tired." I collapsed against his side.

Jasper wrapped his arms around me and kissed the top of my head. "Of course. Alice, you don't have to be anything around me except yourself. Or not even that, if you want to be someone else."

Why did he always know the right thing to say? It was unnerving. Comforting, but unnerving at the same time. I nodded once, biting my lip. I settled against him for the rest of the ride, his body diffusing the bumps and shocks as the bus trundled over potholes and joins in the road.

When we got to the Unicorn, I silently led him off the bus, my hand clasped in his. We stopped for a moment outside. Jasper cleared his throat. "Do you want to be alone?"

I didn't know what to tell him. I shrugged.

He nodded and turned to leave. As he took a step or two away, I thought about the evening ahead of me and tried to imagine it without him. Unbearable.

"Wait!" I called after him.

He turned immediately.

"Don't go," I begged, reaching for him.

"I won't. If that's what you want. Oh, and I don't mean to sound like an asshole," he added, "but do you think you'll want me to come over again tonight? After work?"

I looked around, embarrassed and hoping no one was within earshot. "Yeah," I mumbled. "If that's okay with you."

"All right," he nodded. "But I'm going to need to go home and change."

Now I was the asshole for not thinking about these things. Had I even offered him a towel? What kind of hoopy frood am I?[2] I wondered.

"Of course," I said. "I'm sorry; I wasn't thinking."

"Please," he said, waving off my apology, "I don't expect you to be the HoJo or anything. Plus, you fed me cake. And cookies."

"That was a long time ago," I pointed out.

"Still. The deliciousness is remembered long after the sugar has been converted into energy."

I knew we were okay when we fell into our typical trivial conversation. This lightness felt earned. It wasn't an avoidance tactic now. I ran to him and squeezed him as hard as I could. "Don't be long," I said.

"Two shakes of a lamb's tail," he said, picking me up in another signature bear hug before leaving me.

I strode past the bar, avoiding Rosalie and heading straight for the women's room. I'd run out of my apartment in such a hurry that I hadn't taken in the damage from my embarrassing crying jag. My eyes were puffy and definitely crusty. I splashed some cold water on my face, dabbing myself dry with the rough paper towels. Definitely not a hoopy frood who knows where her towel is. I dug in my purse for concealer and did my best to hide the damage.

About two hours into my shift, I was starving. The cookies and tea at Mrs. Fitzsimmons' seemed like a lifetime ago. When I thought about all that had transpired since her tea, it felt even longer. Who was I now? Did I still feel like a ghost? I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to picture myself. Black hair, blonde hair, Alice Prynne, Mary Alice Brandon. Like a Tarot card: me, and me reversed. But which one was right? What is the meaning of my card?

The best answer I had for now was: the me when I was with Jasper.

Even with my eyes still closed, I knew Jasper had returned. I felt a smile curl the edges of my mouth, and my hands moved to get him a Dr Pepper. Huh, not boozing tonight, I thought, as I saw the soda label in my head.

"Damn, I was trying to trick you this time," he said, as he eyed the soda.

"Amateur," I teased.

"Wait, I have something for you," he said, handing me a paper bag.

Puzzled, I reached for the bag. I peered into it. Oh. Oh my.

"Pad thai," he said. "I thought you might be hungry."

I groaned in anticipation. "I was this close to gnawing off my own arm. Or drinking a whole bottle of Bloody Mary mix. Either way, it would have been a bad dietary choice."

"I don't know," Jasper said, taking a long pull of Dr Pepper. "I'm pretty sure the Bloody Mary mix would have been considered a vegetable in the Reagan years."

"I think my arm is a protein," I said, ducking under the bar with the bag. "I'm sorry to be rude, but this pad thai needs to be injected into my belly now."

I hurried into the break room and opened the takeout container, shoveling plastic forkfuls into my mouth without bothering to sit down. I gave myself five minutes to gorge, since I wasn't technically due for a break. Even the five minutes of speed-feeding quieted my complaining stomach.

"You're a lifesaver," I said to Jasper when I had returned. "I would have wilted like a Victorian anemic."

"Does this mean I get to see your ankles now?"

"No. Yes. Maybe. I mean, what kind of Victorian do you take me for?"

I was dragging my feet by the end of my shift. This day had taken a lot out of me, and if I'd been in my right mind when I stormed out of my apartment, I would have chosen different shoes. Of course, if I'd been in my right mind, I never would have stormed out of my apartment. By the time I met Jasper outside the pub after closing, my feet were throbbing.

"How cold do you think the sidewalk in Seattle in January is?" I asked.

"That's kind of an odd question," he said.

"I'm trying to figure out what would hurt more: walking home in these shoes or going barefoot home."

Without a word, Jasper hoisted me onto his back.

"The fuck?" I sputtered. "I can't let you carry me home."

"I am your Sherpa," he said, shuffling merrily along. "Honestly, I've worn coats heavier than you."

"You feed me, you carry me home—pretty soon you'll be dressing me and pre-chewing my food, won't you?" I said, rolling my eyes at my ineptitude.

"Do you mean I'd get all the flavor and none of the calories? Sign me up!"

"You are a goofball," I said. "But you are my goofball. My best egg goofball." I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my face in his damp hair. He'd showered while he was home, and he smelled like Jasper and mint shampoo.

Jasper wasn't even breathing hard by the time we got back to the Convent. "I can handle this part," I said, hopping off his back and starting up the stairs.

I was yawning even before I got the front door open. "I'm beat," I said, unbuckling my shoes. "Can we just go to bed?"

"I have to head out early tomorrow anyway," he said vaguely. "School. Work. Schoolwork." I nodded, too tired to process.

With heavy limbs, I brushed my teeth and changed into the decidedly unsexy flannel. Jasper was waiting under the covers when I returned. I flipped off the lights and crawled into his arms, falling almost instantly asleep. "You can see my ankles if you want," I mumbled before I slipped completely under.

[1] The Paper Raincoat, "Motion Sickness," Safe in the Sound (2008). Seriously, check these guys out. I love them so very much.

[2] I added this footnote since I had a few inquiries about this reference. See: Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (New York: Harmony Books, 1980), Chapter 3.

A towel, it says, is about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can have. Partly it has great practical value. You can wrap it around you for warmth as you bound across the cold moons of Jaglan Beta; you can lie on it on the brilliant marble-sanded beaches of Santraginus V, inhaling the heady sea vapors; you can sleep under it beneath the stars which shine so redly on the desert world of Kakrafoon; use it to sail a miniraft down the slow heavy River Moth; wet it for use in hand-to-hand-combat; wrap it round your head to ward off noxious fumes or avoid the gaze of the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal (such a mind-boggingly stupid animal, it assumes that if you can't see it, it can't see you); you can wave your towel in emergencies as a distress signal, and of course dry yourself off with it if it still seems to be clean enough.

More importantly, a towel has immense psychological value. For some reason, if a strag (strag: nonhitchhiker) discovers that a hitchhiker has his towel with him, he will automatically assume that he is also in possession of a toothbrush, washcloth, soap, tin of biscuits, flask, compass, map, ball of string, gnat spray, wet-weather gear, space suit etc., etc. Furthermore, the strag will then happily lend the hitchhiker any of these or a dozen other items that the hitchhiker might accidentally have "lost". What the strag will think is that any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through, and still knows where his towel is, is clearly a man to be reckoned with.

Hence a phrase that has passed into hitchhiking slang, as in "Hey, you sass that hoopy Ford Prefect? There's a frood who really knows where his towel is." (Sass: know, be aware of, meet, have sex with; hoopy: really together guy; frood: really amazingly together guy.)

A/N: Reviews are like surprise pad thai and piggyback rides from Sherpa Jasper. And I'll send you a teaser as soon as I start writing the next chapter.