A/N: I am absolutely floored with last chapter's response. I appreciate every single one of my readers and reviewers. Thanks. And to Becka, who I adore so much.
Chapter Fifteen: You are secondhand smoke
She walks in at half past seven, nervous but exuberant, a walking contradiction of nerves. She pauses at the bottom of the steps that lead to the bar, the strap of her purse twisted in her hands. A fit of desperation seizes her as she watches Jess mix drinks, serving a pair of females. The girls flirt, touch his arm, but his expression doesn't change from its usual stoic quality. Disappointed, the girls depart, and Rory approaches.
"Hi," she says because it's the only thing she can. Their three week separation has only intensified the violence of emotion within her. The butterflies grow wild as they collide in her stomach, their flimsy wings ripping apart.
"What'll you have?"
His tone is strictly professional, and she looks away, uncomfortable with the impersonality. "A shot," she says. "You know what I like."
He nods and turns. She sits on a stool and takes a deep breath, working up the courage to speak. The adrenaline running through her is electric; blue and red sparks of confidence.
"You're the best thing that ever happened to me." It's strange, the relief that comes with saying this out loud. The statement is like an old-age truth that was killing her to keep secret.
"More than Chilton or Yale or the New York Times picking up those articles I wrote."
She doesn't notice the slight hesitation as he pauses, the muscles in his back twitching beneath his shirt.
"More than any plan I've ever made, more than every place I've ever traveled…" She bites her lip as he places the shot in front of her. She doesn't drink, but she doesn't speak either, as she stares up into his unforgiving face, begging him to say something.
"Jess," she tries. God, she tries. "I miss you. More than I could have ever imagined. Do you know how happy you make me?"
He doesn't have a clue. He's pretty sure that whatever emotion she has come to associate him is transient. She shouldn't even be here now.
"I hate it when you're not around. I hate it. All I've wanted for the past couple of weeks is to crawl into your bed and hide because I knew you could make everything better." She reaches across the bar and grazes his face, leaning toward him. "I'm sorry."
His fingers trail across her hand, and she takes this as an invitation to close the space between them. The kiss tastes like sex, intense and intimate and so good. Her lips linger for as long as possible, savoring the familiar sensation of his mouth.
When he pulls away, he thoughtfully tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. She smiles and moves to kiss him once more.
"I never want to see you again."
She jerks away from him, bumping into her stool. Her eyes glaze over with the glassy beginning of tears. "What?" The word is barely a whisper.
"I never want to see you again," he repeats, slower this time.
"Jess." She starts to reach for him but her hand freezes mid-way, clutching empty air.
"I don't need you in my life, Rory. I don't want you in it."
"Jess, I told Blake. I – I told him about us." She grips the bar in desperation.
He gestures to her shot glass, unaffected. "Are you going to drink that?"
"Jess." Her voice cracks and the tears begin to fall. "I told him!"
"Are you at least going to pay for it? Because I can't have my register short at the end of the night."
Her lips quiver as she tries so hard to stay calm. A broken sob escapes her throat as she rips several bills from her purse and throws them at him.
"You forgot your change," he calls after her retreating form. The bells smash against the door as she flies out into the parking lot.
He bends down to pick up the money but finds it difficult; his fingers are heavy and clumsy. He brushes a dollar off his shoulder and watches it fall to the ground with passing interest. In a fit of anger, he downs the shot Rory left behind, slamming the empty glass back into place. The burn is oddly comforting; a reassurance all will be well soon.
But it's false hope; a hollow chest; a carved out heart. He resists the urge to pour himself another drink. He is not going to do this. Not over her.
"You like fucking my girlfriend?"
Jess looks up from the glass and casually studies Blake's disheveled appearance: mussed hair, loose tie, wild eyes. It's rare to see the definition of sophistication so completely undone. "When the mood strikes."
"I saw that kiss. It was sweet. Kind of hot." Blake shrugs as if he is only a casual observer. "Did you ask her to meet up later? Or maybe you're planning another weekend getaway."
"You want a drink? Because we have a strict 'no loitering' policy and I'd absolutely hate to have to ask you to leave."
"Vodka tonic."
"Great. One moment, sir." The last word bubbles over with sarcasm.
After Jess sets the drink down, Blake goes to pick it up, but instead sends it crashing to the floor.
"Clean that up," Blake barks.
A sly smirk appears on Jess's face as he stares the man down. "I'd be happy to," Jess finally says. "You think shit like this bothers me? This is my job. I clean up after assholes like you all the time."
"Do you enjoy that? Cleaning up after people?"
"Hey, it puts food on the table." Jess slings a rag over his shoulder, his body loose as if he hasn't a care in the world.
"I'm glad you enjoy it so much because you're right, this is your job. That's how the world works. There are people like me who succeed, who mean something. Then there are people like you; the hired help."
Jess nods, thoroughly entertained. He leans over the bar, closer to Blake. "I know what you're trying to do, and it's not working. You're trying to degrade me, make me feel worthless? Frankly, you're just pissing me off."
"What have you been doing with my girlfriend?"
Jess leans back, aggravated that this is not finished. It seems that Blake is simply going for a new tactic. Fine. "I thought that was fairly obvious from your opening question."
"You think you're funny?" Blake snarls, grabbing a fistful of Jess's shirt. "You think it's okay to put your hands all over what's mine?"
Jess knocks his arm away, his eyes ablaze. "You're just pissed because Rory's not into you for your money, and that's all you have to offer."
"And what do you have to offer? Minimum wage and a prime spot in the trailer park?"
Jess shakes his head, wishing he had poured himself a second shot. The anger is flying through him, an uncaged agitation he is dying to release.
"I think instead of hurtling 'white trash' insults at me, you need to stop and think about why the hell Rory was running to me in the first place. This goes back to what's wrong with you and your relationship. Leave me out of this."
"You think you're special because Rory chose you?" Blake demands through gritted teeth. "What, did she tell you that she loves you? That you're the only one for her?" He pauses, waiting for Jess to confirm or deny. "Did she pull that damsel-in-distress bullshit with you? Did you think you were saving her from me?" he asks with an amused laugh.
"I think you need to leave now."
"God, you're blind," Blake snaps. "She was slumming it with you. She was getting you out of her system before she settled down with me."
"Blake, leave. Now."
"She doesn't love you. She was using you. Crying to you about our latest fight, hiding herself in your apartment… I bet she made you feel real special." Blake casts a sidelong glance around the bar to confirm that they are alone. "Did you fantasize about her?" he asks quietly. "Make up a future between you two? At night, when you were alone, and she was with me, did you pretend she was there, crying on your shoulder?"
Jess steps out from behind the bar and stomps up to him, getting right into his face. "No matter what you say, no matter how you spin it, for the past four months, I was sleeping with Rory and you had no idea. She wouldn't even touch you, Blake. Didn't you ever wonder why? Didn't you ever wonder if she was getting it from somewhere else?"
"Fuck you."
"You either leave by yourself or I will get someone to escort you out."
Jess sees it coming. He notices the twitch of Blake's upper lip, the muscle spasm in his arm. His fist flies toward him, but Jess ducks, feeling the whiz of air as Blake misses. As soon as he pulls back, Jess swings, connecting with the center of his face. He hears the sickening crunch of Blake's nose beneath his hand, and it's the greatest release.
"You son of a bitch," Blake spits out before diving for him. Jess sidesteps him, twists his arm behind his back, and slams his head onto the bar.
Blake slips to the ground with an agonizing groan. He cradles his face as a crowd gathers, a rumble of concern rising among them. Jess opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out but a tired and defeated sigh. From where he stands, he can plainly see the broken glass, the filmy streaks of red.
Far away, he hears someone call out that an ambulance is on the way.
>
Rory sits on her childhood bed with her knees drawn to her chest, her face buried into the soft material of her graduation dress. Another sob twists itself out of her body and she gives into it, curling into a ball.
It's over. The story ends with cracked ribs, broken bones, and rose red tears from rubbing her eyes too hard. She's left with a rag doll body, and cold dread of what it is to come.
But then she realizes that there's nothing. There's nothing left to come, nothing left to wait for. He is no longer hers no matter how badly she wants him back. She digs her fingernails into the tender skin of her thighs as she relives every moment she has ever shared with him.
A hollow knock echoes throughout the house, but she ignores it. The sound comes again, harder this time, and she drags herself out of her room, not caring what she looks like. She plans to tell whoever this is exactly where they can shove it, but then it's Blake standing on her doorstep, a white bandage covering the left side of his face.
"Oh my god," she gasps. "What happened?"
She leads him to the couch and sits across from him. Reaching out, she traces the edge of the bandage, concern written all over her face.
"Is your eye… is it okay?"
"It'll be fine. A few shards of glass got in, but there's no permanent damage."
"Glass!" She's floored.
"I have seventeen stitches going up the left side of my face. Jess smashed my head into a shot glass, and it's going to leave a scar."
"I'm so sorry," Rory says quietly. "What exactly…" She leaves him to fill in the blanks.
"I was mad. I went to see Jess. Things were said, punches were thrown…"
"Did you – " Rory pauses and swallows despite the dryness of her mouth. "Did you press charges?"
"Why? Would you be pissed if I did? He put me in the hospital, Rory!"
She winces at his tone and immediately, he looks apologetic.
"I didn't," he assures her, his tone surprisingly soft. He grabs her hand and brings it to his lips. "I didn't and I won't if you don't want me to."
The remaining butterflies shudder at the intimacy of his touch. She wishes it wasn't him. She wishes it was never him. "Blake, what are you doing?"
"Are you and Jess done?"
"What?" The room is spinning, a merry-go-round of confusion.
"You and Jess. Are you done? Can you and I finally put this back together?"
"You still want this?" Rory asks in surprise. The resulting emotion is too big for her, too much.
"I want to fix this, Rory. I want to marry you." He kisses her palm, holds it to his cheek. "This is what I want."
"But what about – "
"We can work it all out," he promises. "We both made mistakes, and we both let things fall apart." He produces the ring from his pants' pocket and holds it out to her. "But we can make this work, Rory. I know we can."
She watches as he slides the ring onto her finger. The diamond is heavy and extravagant; it feels like a death sentence.
Blake smiles. "It's a perfect fit."
>
He is numb. He is dull and drained, shades of gray against the backdrop of too many colors. Even the brown wood of his apartment door looks vibrant beneath the dreary pallor of his hand.
The apartment is quiet as usual. He has no one to greet him when he comes home, no one to ask how his day was. Rory used to come over after his late shifts. Sometimes, he found her waiting for him.
There is one new message on the machine. He wonders if it's his boss, calling to remind him once more how much he screwed up and how fired he is. Dejectedly, Jess presses play.
"Hi, Jess? Yeah, it's Ted. Look, the police said I only get one phone call, but I don't know how much time I have." He lowers his voice conspiratorially. "But I'm calling long distance, so fuck them, right? Man, they dragged me in here on 'drunk and disorderly' charges, whatever the hell that means. I wasn't even aware disorder was a crime!"
He sighs. "So. Guess who went to the bank today and got his request for a loan rejected?" He pauses dramatically. "Me! That's right! So I have no purpose in life. Again. My dreams of money and my own company are dashed. Again. And to top it all off, I'm in jail. Again! I hope you and that girlfriend of yours have a nice life full of lots of sex and laughing at my expense."
Another sigh. "Look, don't worry about me. I could use a night in jail. I don't know who said that originally, but whoever it was… I agree with 'em. So, call me. Just, you know, not tonight. Because I'll be doing the jail thing."
A static silence fills the apartment. Jess ignores it and trudges over to the fridge where he pulls out a can of beer. He slumps onto the couch and places the drink on the coffee table in front of him. He stares at the can for a long time before finally opening it. Instead of taking a sip, he buries his face in his hands and succumbs to the desolation he feels.
He has nothing left.