I kind of wanted to write sort of a farewell fic to the Jolex fandom. It's been a really incredible ride and I wanted a way to end that chapter of my fanfiction writing journey. So here it is. I went back to my roots and wrote entirely from Jo's point of view. Also ;; fuck Izzie, Alex and their kids.
So long, Jolex readers. It's been a real pleasure and a very wild ride with you.
I realize now that it is entirely my fault.
I didn't mean to forget, it's just that when I met him, it was a cool autumn day and the wind blew in, carrying a crisp gust and making the leaves on the trees rattle. He pulled on two gloves and fashioned a crooked grin in my direction, with chocolate brown hair and warm eyes that crinkled at the corners. There was a little bit of mystery to him; maybe even a little fun.
I didn't notice it at first, me falling for him , I mean. The pieces of me shifting, molding and adjusting so I could accommodate the space he started to take up inside of me. It was subtle; a flicker in his eye when he bit a donut, a snort in his laugh when we conned our way into a hotel room together. I started to notice after it was happening and while it was too late. We sat in front of a fireplace on top of a couch that I bought, and we clanked the bottles of beer together. The fire crackled and I was toasty from the outside in, and I started to realize that it was him who put that warmth in me.
The mattress creaks when I roll over, and I wake up before my eyes open. I stretch my fingers out in search of my phone, because I need to know exactly what time it is. I miss my alarm clock, by the way. It was ancient and I mostly just used my phone to wake me up anyway, but it added a little something to the loft, made it homey. I wonder if it could keep it from feeling like a foreign country to me now, wonder if maybe I shouldn't have thrown it the night I came home and it sank in that he was gone. The alarm clock was just one of the many things that became a casualty in this war with myself.
The mattress creaks with my movement, and I inhale. His pillow hasn't been washed, so his scent still remains. And I smell it hard; I smell it so hard that it should take up permanent residence in my nostrils.
He must've felt me move and realized that I'm awake, because the bed creaks again and the sheets on top of our naked, sticky bodies rustle. He shifts, turns his body so he's facing me, and his arms drape loosely around my bare shoulders. His lips are soft when they kiss the middle of my back, but I close my eyes and grit my teeth until it's over.
Winter came around and the shadows that made Alex who he was were back. They hung over his head like icicles waiting to fall, and when he talked to me, he did it from a distance. We didn't hang out as much as we used to, and his demeanor was cold. Winter was me being shut out, him being isolated. He didn't tell me what was wrong and he probably didn't think I cared. Winter was lonely, I finally thought whenever I sat in an empty room and cried at the idea of never seeing him again. Winter is known for being the time when things die, and it was the death of our friendship. It wasn't until things ended with Jason that I saw the wintertime for exactly what it was, a blizzard of emotions in his own head.
I held his cold hand, thanked him for being the one person I could tell the truth to about what happened between me and Jason. He told me that jealousy made him cold, and I told him it was okay. There were only a few more weeks left of winter and I could taste the burst of fresh air that springtime would bring.
"Good morning, beautiful." His voice is deep, throaty. It starts from the pit of his stomach and burbles out of his mouth. A glimpse of fuzzy brown hair from the corner of my eye, I make sure my hope melts away when I tell myself it's not him.
A few more kisses to the middle of my back, then I roll to the other side. The blankets covering me unravel and expose my bare legs, but it's too much energy to care. I clutch them to my chest, shrug a tuft of my sweaty hair out of my face. His icy blue eyes feel like blades that pierce my skin when he looks at me; blades that jab my eyes when they meet. I look away from him and recoil at the way he tries to brush my hair back with his fingers.
"I have to go to work."
He pulls his hand away from me as soon as I say that. His face melts into realization, he gets that I'm just trying to get rid of him and I'm glad. He's disappointed but prompt when he rolls out of my bed, and I don't watch him when he pulls his clothes back onto his naked body. I don't know that he leaves until after I hear the door slide open, then slide back shut.
I lie in my bed for a few more moments, soaking up the blunt humiliation over how irresponsible I'd been. He was the fourth guy this week and it's only Wednesday. I don't remember his name — I don't remember any of their names — but I keep going because maybe on Friday I'll finally find the one who feels exactly like him.
Alex started defrosting when spring was right around the corner. When he hugged me, I felt it. Warm around the edges but still cold in the core, especially when I touched him as we sat watching his father die. Warm around the edges, cold in the core… it was enough to make me love him through it because I knew that summer would be there soon and autumn would come next. I fell in love with the birds chirping over his head, the way he held me close in a tight blue dress and promised me that we'd be together forever. Back against the wood of a barnyard door, it was spring and I remembered how his autumn laugh felt and how his winter snow was pretty.
Spring was the season of promises, the season I realized that he really was my forever. I'd loved lots of springs — men like Jason who were warm but came with little spurts of cold here and there. Lying on the ground struggling to see and tasting nothing but blood in the depths of my mouth, I knew when I saw Paul standing over me that he was winter. Alex was a little bit of everything wrapped up in one — an Indian summer, a snowstorm, a heatwave, a month of pouring rain. He was all of those things, all at the same time, and I was just trying to figure out how that could possibly be. I found him, and I knew the moment I saw him nodding off while I fastened his tie that I was never going to let him go.
Eventually, I climb out of my bed and walk my naked body to the bathroom. I make the shower water a little too hot, a little too burning. I step into it without mercy and it's the kind of pain that I need. The kind of pain that makes you remember that you are alive and you can feel something.
My skin is red when I sit down, back against the tile wall. I pull my knees up into my chest and stare at the gray bottle that his body wash is in. I stare at his washcloth, still hanging on the rack. I stare at the blue razor rusting on the shelf. I stare at the reminders that he was here once upon a time, and I wonder if I'll ever be strong enough to throw them out.
"I hope the sun shines, and it's a beautiful day, and something reminds you, you wish you had stayed…" I whisper to myself, a soft voice lost amongst the water beating down against my skin. "You can plan for a change in weather and time, but I never planned on you changing your mind…"
I close my eyes and put my head against my knees. It's quiet in here, I find my solitude when I'm in here. I can stay here as long as I want, I'm free to mouth the only lyrics of a Taylor Swift song that I remember. In here… there's no difference between the water droplets and my tears.
Summer was fire and hot flashes that made me walk around the house naked. He thought I didn't hear him when I ran to the next room because I didn't know he had friends over, but I did. I heard him clear as day when he grinned and said, "I'm gonna marry that girl." Summer was rage and heat, and it's only exit was through the fists that collided with Andrew's body. The days were blazing, scorchers that ended with fire rolling off my tongue when I rejected his proposals, flames sparking from his hands as he packed his things to stay at Meredith's and I begged him to stay.
As summer drew to a close, the nights grew longer and cooler. He looked at me, our bodies gently swaying and rocking to the motion of the waves carrying our boat. He looked at me with that crinkle in his eyes and that goofy smile, and I kissed him. My summer man. I kissed him and his warmth radiated off his lips, I drew it into mine. Summer was hot, I was reminded of that as I stood in front of him and threatened to leave him just for caring about me. He left me alone like I asked him to, but the whole time I thought about how grateful I was to say "I do" to a man like him. I couldn't wait for autumn to come back around so he could love me without the uncomfortable heat of summer.
When I step out of the shower, I don't wrap a towel around myself. Instead, I stand in front of the body mirror, dripping a puddle around me.
I stare at myself, head on first, then I turn to the side. I wonder if it's me. I wonder if maybe he got tired of the love handles on my hips, or the stretch marks on my breasts. I wonder if it's the weight I gained from the alcohol I drank or if it's the way tired, weary lines are permanently ingrained in my face now. I even wonder if it's my hair, you know? Maybe if I cut it short and dye it lighter like I did towards the end of spring, he'd love me with the fiery passion of summertime. I could've tried lingerie, different hair, new makeup, a diet plan. I could've stopped taking my birth control, started to tell him that he didn't have to pull out anymore. I could've lied on my back and given birth to a gorgeous baby — maybe even paid for a fertility specialist if it was twins that he wanted so badly.
I could've tried harder, but he didn't let me.
Maybe he could come back, but he won't ever look at me the same. Maybe he'll look at me the way I look at myself in this mirror, empty eyes that neither love me nor hate me. Empty eyes that are just neutral about the woman he promised he'd love forever.
Autumn rolled back around and I was excited, it was my favorite season. I was all taped up and glued — the best kind of mess — the mess that only intensive therapy could pull me out of. I had a newer outlook on life, a better one even. It was the typical autumn balance of hot and cold when he smiled at me with vampire fangs in his teeth.
You see, the thing I forgot about autumn is that it's not always warm. Sometimes, autumn is full of days with wind that chills you to your bones.
Autumn is me hugging him at the airport and telling him to have a safe trip home, already missing him before he even left. Autumn is him kissing me and telling me that he loves me, but using those same lips to tell me a lie. Cold are the days when I go back to the loft and look at the way my life has taken a turn for the absolute worst. I need a sweater for the nights when I cry so hard I'm sure I'll never breathe again, a space heater for the visions of children who look like him, running through green blades of grass with pigtails and cowboy boots. My teeth chatter when I hear him say, "You can trust me. I love you, Jo." My body is numb when I realize that I actually believed him.
I didn't mean to, it's just that when I met him, it was autumn and the wind blew in, carrying a crisp gust and making the leaves on the trees rattle. He pulled on two gloves and fashioned a crooked grin in my direction, with chocolate brown hair and warm eyes that crinkled at the corners. There was a little bit of mystery to him; a whole lot of fun. And I thought to myself, what a great time to fall?
It's my fault now.
Because I forgot that even autumn days can get cold.