CHAPTER ELEVEN
At least the glass was colored, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to see anything. Jonas is able to gather up most of the pieces of a now very broken plate with a broom and dustpan, dumping it into the trash before going to clean up the forgotten food. First the meat, then spices, then the… Well, Alex had called them 'fixin's' and he thought that was funny, so. Fixin's. It takes longer than he'd like, but eventually Jonas is padding his way back into his room to grab a pair of sweatpants and to check on her.
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Alex has had problems sleeping since… well, most of her life, really. At least since… since Michael died. The solution is, generally, to just run until she can't anymore, then pass out. These days she generally does that through work, going out, or - occasionally - a good hookup. If she can't get any of those things, it's binge-watching whatever trash reality show is new on Netflix, and then dying somewhere around 4 or 5am. After everything tonight, she would've expected to pass out and stay out for a solid several hours. But her internal clock is set for a 4am bedtime, and it's barely past midnight.
She's twisted herself under the covers and is dozing well enough, her mind in that twilight zone before full sleep takes hold, and it feels promising. Generally that bizarre limbo is an inoffensive place for Alex, with random images and ideas and snippets of overheard sounds leaking into her mind and swirling into useless nonsense. As they do. Tonight, though, as she drifts, things that started innocuous enough quickly go off-kilter. She's too disconnected, too aimless, a body drifting in the nothing. It doesn't make sense, that something so simple should make her feel so uncomfortable. Alex shifts, rolls over, tries to get cozy again.
She is nowhere, going nowhere.
Why does the idea shake her bones hollow? There's nothing wrong with being alone, but as soon as the thought comes into her head she's fixated. She's unmoored. Unanchored. Afloat. And on the thinnest raft she's ever imagined. Alone on the ocean and nothing but miles of bottomless sea.
Fuck. Her eyes drag open, frowning, heart hammering in her chest. She can't sleep like this. Not when her brain won't cooperate. The feeling isn't unfamiliar; she's had frustratingly abstract anxiety dreams before. Things that shouldn't be scary, yet unbalance her to the point that she just can't sleep. The weird dreams about an ice cream truck in fifth grade, those hadn't been scary but had haunted her enough that she still remembered them to this day. Dreams about visiting Edwards Island with Michael, those had popped up about a year after his death. Things that shouldn't strike the fear of God into her, and yet they do. At least enough to keep her from falling back asleep.
Again she shifts, kicking around a bit to loosen the sheets from their careful tucking, grinding her side into the mattress like she can carve out a den. Maybe she's too warm? Pushing the covers down again, she stretches out full, back bowing and toes pointing, hands flexing their fingers out wide. The twisting and turning has made his oversized shirt wrap up around her and she pulls at it, tugs where it's pinned under her hip, shuffles about until it's straight again, tugging at the shoulders to fix them as well. Alex lets out a sigh. It's not helping. She curls back into a ball with a frustrated groan, bunching the shirt up at her waist to give herself some breathing room.
Fucking shit, why. Why is this night the worst thing ever.
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Jonas has at least gotten a handful of things done while she's supposed to be asleep. Changed into sweatpants, cleaned up the bathroom (for the most part, there's some stains that might be there to stay), and started brushing his teeth. Though he can hear the shifting from his vantage point, poking his head out enough to glance over where he'd cracked open his bedroom door. Where Alex is trying to get some rest. Washing his mouth out with a handful of water, he pads his way back into the room, pushing the door open slowly so that he doesn't startle her. Just in case she's having a nightmare or something.
At least, that's what it seems like. Though as he glances over her further, he notices her shifting is more awake than asleep. His eyebrows furrow at that fact, head tipping to the side as he watches for a moment, trying to see whether or not he should intervene. Eventually, Jonas steps inside fully, closing the door behind himself and leaning over her enough to ask, "Alex, you okay?"
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Her brow is furrowed, something between pain and frustration, but it smooths out a bit as she rolls onto her back to look up at him, just looking weary, eyelids still heavy. "Sleep is…" she makes a noncommittal sort of noise. It's a pretty shit explanation. And she's suddenly far too distracted looking him over because okay now that's a topless Hot Jonas. She's not quite awake enough to stop her eyes traveling over his body, inspecting the tattoos she didn't get to really examine when he had her pinned to the gym mats. She hadn't noticed before, the way the knot on his chest is made of chain, how it loops down into what she assumes is the hook piece around under his arm, over his ribs.
"I've got one of those," she muses in a murmur, raising the side of her shirt to show most of the image that's curved around her ribcage. "Hurt like a bitch." Alex runs her fingers over it, absently. "'s a towhee." Not that she'd have known what sort of bird it was if she hadn't grown up visiting the bird sanctuary in Edwards Forest. She's still not entirely sure she could pick one out of a lineup, though the white tail helps. A nice little floral bit and frame border on the tattoo, as well, though those had also been a pain in the ass. In the ribs.
With a long inhale that quickly slips into a yawn, Alex stretches again, back arching and joints popping as she extends as far as she can before letting her limbs flop back onto the mattress.
"Well, c'mon," she pats at the empty space beside her. "Said you'd stay. And if I'm gonna be awake anyway, might as well have someone to chat with." She tries to convince herself it's not just 'cause she wants a human blanket around her, but that's probably part of it, too. And he's got long arms, he'd be such a good blanket.
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Sleep is… what? Insomnia? Just in general hard? The noise she makes doesn't give him much of a clue, though he's distracted by the way she curves and twists to show off her tattoo, and then even more so as she stretches herself out. It's tempting, he's not going to lie, but what's done is done. Another time. Another place. If that whole situation hadn't been out of the sheer need to just be distracted.
Jonas takes in the image while he still feels like he can, whistling in a low tone at some of the line work. It's fitting for her, really. Free as a bird stuck in a cage. Even if the door to it is open. Though when Alex calls his attention to what he'd said before, he just nods, curving around the edge of the bed to take up it's other side; head still facing her when he lays on his stomach. She's bundled off nearly all the covers, but he isn't going to complain, because it's summer and he has a tendency to overheat.
"You're gonna fall asleep eventually. Gotta crash after all the dancing you did." Or maybe not, considering he's only halfway to unconsciousness— But then again, Alex had danced far more than he had, and with more fervor. Like she was trying to wear herself out.
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It's comforting to have him next to her, even if Jonas isn't in Ideal Human Blanket Position (spooning, duh). Alex rolls onto her side, facing away from him but hooking her uninjured foot back and over his leg as much to keep him from leaving as to have the physical contact. A small smile comes to her lips at his mention of the dancing. That had been nice, at least. It normally would've been enough to tire her out a bit. But then…
The pained expression that crosses her face is hidden from view as she stares at the blinds on the windows. Tonight's been a real roller coaster.
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His eyes trail lower, with the original intent of looking over her bandaged foot, though they pause at the sight of words above her hip. Jonas recites them out loud when he runs his thumb over them, unthinking and out of habit, "'I will become what I deserve.'"
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Alex's stomach dips for another peak as he brushes against her skin. The contact makes her shiver a bit, tightening her hold on his leg, but she tries to keep it casual, even if the hair on the back of her neck is standing on end in a way too pleasant way.
"Mm." It's a hum of confirmation at his read. "It's from a song. They kinda… spoke to me, I guess." It's a dumb explanation. Of course she chose them for a reason, why else would she have them tattooed? "You know, like… like I'll get what's coming to me, one way or another." Sometimes it reads hopeful. When she's feeling particularly self-confident. Other times… Well, it had been the third of her Michael-inspired tattoos for a reason.
Alex wants him to touch her again. She wants him to do a lot of things that he's way too gentlemanly to do. Chewing at the inside of her lip, she's left with two sides of her mind arguing over what should happen next. Mostly her id giving her horrible ideas and her superego reminding her why those are bad. Little fantasies she lets fizzle to nothing as she absently shifts her foot to rub against his calf. She holds her breath for a second, before her ego intervenes and deems it acceptable to shift herself back towards him, getting her once more within distance of his radiating heat. It may be summer, but she still - generally - sleeps with a blanket: human or otherwise. (Then again, her apartment has intense AC so she can be under a blanket year round.)
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Well. That's abstract. Jonas raises an eyebrow at the explanation, lifting his head up a bit to better see what she was talking about. They spoke to me. That's a story not being told completely. Then again, he does the exact same thing, so he can't really say anything without sounding like a complete hypocrite. Then Alex moves, and his train of thought is completely forgotten in favor of the warmth near his side. It's a nice feeling. She isn't pushing it, but from what he can tell she likes the comfort…
Ugh. Excuses excuses. Does he need one for everything? Maybe because he overthinks everything. Maybe he should just stop thinking. Sleep is poking at him, and all he offers up in return is a mildly amused hum, tossing an arm over her shoulders to tuck his head near hers. Though the cold touch of metal comes at the same time his breath heats up the skin of her neck.
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Alex practically sighs when he puts his arm around her— 'cause it's nice, having that pressure, that protection. His breath raises goosebumps she'll need to get used to, but the cool metal distracts her from that. With a confused curiosity, she holds onto his wrist, keeping him from pulling away as she squirms a little to roll over and face him. Whatever it was is caught under her shoulder for a moment, a hard lump that she quickly realizes is on a chain around his neck and she shifts again to let it free, reaching for it with curious fingers. A ring.
It really really shouldn't hurt so much. But it's a reminder of what she's been trying to forget, and it shoots a lance of pain straight through her chest, a feeling she can't even try to hide from her face, breath catching for a second before she tries to go blank. Eyes unfocus from the ring, dropping it back onto the bed, and she stares at his shoulder instead because she's a little scared to look at his face.
Her first instinct is to touch him, but that would be no good, so instead she plucks at her waistband like a guitar string, giving herself something to do. Thinking of some droning rhythm to strum along to, thinking of anything else. It's difficult, in silence, to redirect her thoughts. "Tell me about your tattoos." Distract me. Please. He's gotten the (half-assed) explanation on one of hers. And she needs something other than her own thoughts to listen to.
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He makes a grumbling kind of noise when she grabs onto his wrist, but he doesn't make any attempt to move, eyes still closed as Alex fiddles with the ring before her ministrations stop. One eye cracks open in confusion, only to spot her near petrified look, how she has to tear her gaze away from it and settle onto his shoulders. Jonas isn't going to force her into talking. Asking about the tattoos is a distraction, an obvious one, even if he still shifts enough to pull onto his side and fully face her.
A lot of them are self-explanatory. To him, at least. His voice is more mumbling, "Which ones do you wanna know about? I've got a bunch of pieces for the sleeves, but there are some stories behind 'em." If people were actually paying attention. He tugs her the littlest bit closer, the arm still wrapped around her shoulders squeezing softly. And this is where Jonas turns into a bunch of half-asleep mush. Because he's warm, he's comfortable, and she's warm which is only making this more enjoyable.
If only the circumstances weren't there.
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He probably has no idea how hard it is to not just wrap herself around him. Or, rather, bundle herself up next to him to get all wrapped up. Jonas's presence alone is comforting, and he's like a solid wall between her and… whatever is out there. Her hands come to rest between the two of them, eyes following the lines of ink, losing herself in that instead of the nagging criticisms singeing the corners of her mind.
For a long time she just looks, just examining his skin, the knot and its connected pieces. But then her gaze skirts to the other side of his chest. Alex doesn't know scripture. Never has, never will, probably. But she knows that's what that format means. A finger brushes over the text. "This one."
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Oh. That's right to the heart of that, then. Jonas sighs at himself, because it's been nearly ten years, he should be able to move on already. It shouldn't haunt him as much as it does. But it does. He can't deny the fact that the events are burned into his mind, and whenever he fucks up, they play like a broken record player. For now he tries to ignore that. Nothing's happened yet. At least, nothing warranting that kind of thinking. "Already told you my mom was Methodist, right? They're bible numbers— a bible verse. Which really shouldn't be surprising."
The terrible beeping of machines. Too many flowers, too little natural light, hues of sickly green and slate white. Hospitals still freak him out. She would lay in bed, and she'd read, or try to convince him to leave. Or she'd just sleep. Jonas always felt worse when he came in while she was sleeping. She'd needed the rest. The memories make him pause for a moment, his face near blank, if not for the notch to his lip as it twitches into a frown. "First tattoo I ever got, for her. Book of Joshua, chapter one, verse nine. 'Have I not commanded you? Be strong and be courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.'"
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Christ. She should maybe be more concerned that he has this shit memorized, 'cause god she feels like such a sinner next to him. Never something she'd considered before, but it feels too apparent now. Comparing herself to her guardian angel. Her brow is furrowed a little as her finger traces the lines of the lettering. Some part of her wonders if that's what she needs, if religion is the key to escaping this aimlessness, but she can't even take that seriously. It's not for her. She knows it isn't. Could never belong somewhere like that, anyway.
"My first was numbers, too." Not a bible verse, though. She pulls her hand from his chest, rotating to show the dates on the inside of her wrist. Birth and death. Truth for truth. A little of his history, a little of hers. "…How did she die?" Maybe it's too personal. Briefly Alex's eyes flick up to read his face, the slightly stubborn look there, and wonders if she's made a mistake.
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For a while, he has to consider both his answer and her question. Not because he doesn't understand, not because he doesn't know, but because he needs to let it sink in. Of course he knows. Of course he does, even if he wasn't able to be there, even if he—
The fabric of the sheets rustle, and Jonas turns his head up enough to watch her wrist rotate, glancing over the dates with a soft sound of acceptance. He isn't going to ask her about them yet. Alex had been the one to ask first. And he still has to answer.
It shouldn't be this hard to talk about her. It shouldn't. "Cancer. They caught it pretty late in the game, but there was still a chance… Then she started refusing treatment. It cost too much for us, and she was tired, and— Now she's gone."
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Alex sighs. She knows there isn't much she can say. He'll have heard it all before. She's heard 'I'm sorry for your loss' enough times that it's just empty words to her. But still. No one should have to go through that. They still do, every day. Shuffling a little closer, she cranes her neck to nudge her head against his chest, pressing lips to skin for a brief moment, words a whispered, "I'm sorry, angel," before pulling back again. It's not a come-on. Just a little comfort. Not much, but something. About all she knows how to do.
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"It's alright." He hears himself saying the words, and he knows they're not true, but now it's all Jonas can think of before he starts something he doesn't want to go through again. Which means there's been enough horrible memories tonight. Enough breakdowns and confusing moments that just end up bundled together again. So instead of trying to wave it off, he takes what he can get, shifting enough to push his face into her hair and just breathe for a little while. Alex smells like his soap, but that's fine. She still has the undercurrent of whatever perfume she uses. If it's even perfume, there are a lot of ways to— He's on a tangent. A thought tangent.
Muffled, but still there; "The ring was hers, too."
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This is what Alex needed tonight. She might not have known it before, but this is what feels right. It feels safe. Which is probably why, with his revelation, her finger starts playing with the ring again. One deep breath in, and then—
"Ren's getting married." The stupid stupid reason she was so upset to begin with.
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Honestly, Jonas isn't quite sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn't that. She didn't give off I'm-in-love-with-my-best-friend vibes, nor does he think she was trying to get with his girlfriend - now fiancée - which means he's left scrambling for an explanation as to why Alex is so off. They're young. Maybe that's it? They're the same age as her, and already tying the knot.
Holy shit. they're a couple years younger than he is and they're getting married. Jesus Christ. That feels like whiplash.
Her fingers toying with the ring are a bit of a comfort, though he isn't sure why. "This is gonna sound crass as hell, and I'm sorry for it, but— you're not in love with him. Kind of obvious. You're not in love with the girlfriend, either, so… what happened? What disconnect was that?"
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Alex shakes her head, 'cause he's right but also— well, he doesn't get it.
"He proposed to her tonight and she said yes and—" Her throat is tight, mind beginning that downward spiral, but at least she's saying the words out loud this time. "And—" The words come too steadily, an acceleration of thought. "-they're doing something, and they're going somewhere, and I'm—" Hands have curled into nervous fists as her feet point and flex anxiously. "I'm going nowhere and doing nothing and—" It's one continuous never-ending thought that seems to go on and on, teeth pinching at her cheek as she speaks. "And he said he has a 401k, that's like— he has a life, and a job that isn't just a holdover from college, and I—" She chokes, shaking her head in tiny too-tired-to-be-frantic movements. "Fuck, I'm 25 and I can't even feed myself, what the hell am I doing?"
She's holding on too tight to the chain around his neck, desperately, like a lifeline. She's not going to cry. Not gonna do it. Or she was so set on it, anyway, but there's a sting and it might be too late for that. Her desperation is tinged with frustration as she shakes her head again, rolling up tighter and curling against him. "So fucking stupid, this is— I'm— god, I'm so sorry, this is so stupid."
.
He has to crane down so that the chain isn't digging into his skin, though Jonas had plans to duck back down anyways, free hand moving enough to cradle her cheek and swipe tears off of Alex's skin. So that's what this was about. Her friends are moving on, while she's stuck on the sidelines, trying her best to keep up with people that are more fit to be doing what they're doing than she is. But that's impossible. Jonas knows it is, because he'd been trying to do the same thing, years upon years ago. When he'd just gotten out of juvie and felt like he needed to repent more than he needed to grow. When he'd followed a path he couldn't go back from— for the crew, for a group of friends that just made him worse and worse, for everything. For mistakes he still regrets. So he shakes his head a bit at her, hushing with crooned words.
"It's not stupid. It's a concern; one that's louder in your head than all the other ones right now. I've been through this. Told you I had a record, right? Long time ago, and it isn't the same, but I lost… a lot, because of it. I got left behind." Jonas manages a small, sad smile. "Just like you're afraid of. Or at least, something like that. Can't speak on your behalf. What I can say is that you shouldn't be trying to race people for life skills when you're doing enough where you are. Sometimes, you just stay where you are, because that's what clicked."
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It's not the time for life advice. Not right now. Nothing can get through to her, not where Alex is now, shaking her head over and over.
She isn't where she should be. Even her dad's new kid has more promising prospects, and he's still in med school. In fucking med school, oh god. And she's bartending. Has been bartending for five years. Three of those waking up past noon and not sleeping until the sky is getting light again. No one lives like this. No one her age should live like this. (She conveniently forgets every older bartender she's ever worked with. This isn't about them. This is about her, and her friends, and how she can never measure up.)
"Fuck—" She's cursing more at herself than him, holding her breath a second in an attempt to keep from hyperventilating. Still, her words are practically hiccoughed. "God I'm so— I'm so sorry, this is— it's just panic, I'll be— I'll be fine, I'm just—" Fuck fuck fuck oh god. She's definitely crying, even if it's just a few tears. "Shit." It's practically a squeak, and she quickly lets go of the ring around his neck, "Oh god, I'm choking you, shit—" She ducks her face to wipe her cheek on her shoulder, holding her breath again. Breathing is important. She was taught this, however many years ago. She just needs to fucking remember and actually practice it.
Her eyes are closed, face pained, as she takes in a long shuddering breath. Fuck, he smells good, too. "I'm so sorry. You—" Breathe, again. Calm down. "I'm a mess, and you never signed up for this."
.
"No. This is exactly what I signed up for." Jonas isn't going to let her run from this. He isn't going to let her turn away, and hey: she's the one that keeps calling him an angel. As soon as she lets go of the ring, once he's sure Alex is trying to curl up into herself, he takes a different approach. It's still gentle, because he doesn't want to hurt her, but it's firm when he curls himself up around her and tips her face back up toward him. Because she's going to deal with this. Even if he has to pry it out of her.
Okay. That thought is new. But he doesn't know what else he can do to help. Even then, Jonas keeps his voice low, jaw set in a way that makes his expression turn from concerned to commanding in a heartbeat. "Things happen for a reason, Alex, even if you don't believe in God or fate or anything else. Hell, I don't blame you. But when you walked into the Kanaloa for the second time, I signed on for this, because I offered you that drink. I walked you home. I bought you groceries— I mean seriously, why else would I do that? You're calling me a guardian angel. So it's high time I start acting like one."
Be better than what he is. Better than what he was. Jonas is still warmer than her, despite how she'd bundled herself up under the covers before, but he doesn't care. If anything it might be pleasant, if Alex wasn't currently going through a mental breakdown. So he just holds her, wrapped as tight as he can get without the fear of crushing, and stays there.
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It doesn't make sense. He'll never make sense to her. Too good for this world. How the hell does he survive, giving so much away? Her eyelashes are still wet, but the tears have stopped when he wraps himself around her. Perfect human blanket, really.
Jonas's finger under her chin makes her throat catch 'cause oh no she's having Bad Thoughts again, eyes flicking to his lips over and over, but she tries so hard to listen to him. He sounds assured enough, and Alex tries to figure out how much of her attraction is a weakness to him and how much is just her general weakness. Her small smile is maybe a little sheepish. When she finally says something, her voice is softer than usual, and apologetic. "If you keep talking like that I'm gonna want to kiss you again," she admits, with the crooked smile that softens the blow of what isn't really a joke.
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Her words get him to roll his eyes, but at least she's trying to crack wise. Or— not even crack wise, to just… be honest. It earns Alex an almost huffing bout of laughter, short lived and quiet, before Jonas does something he knows he's going to regret. But she's right there, and she was the one that said it, and— Excuses. Fuck it, he's made mistakes. He's made ones far worse than this, if it can even be viewed as one. So he leans forward and presses their lips together, only for a moment, slightly chaste and not quite something more. Then, Jonas settles his chin on top of her head, and does his best to act like he's under control. Even a little bit.
"There. Now you owe me three. Two hoists, one kiss."
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Alex leans into him for all of half a second before even she feels a little shame, knowing this is Not Ideal - Christ, now she's guilted him into kissing her, that was just manipulative - and might actually be the first to break away. Either way, she makes no complaint when he does. Just accepts it, tells herself it's not that bad, kisses are hardly anything in the grand scheme of things, and he chose to do it knowing full well she's extra clingy right now. Physical comfort, and all that. Everything feels like a bigger deal with Mr. I-Know-Scripture-By-Heart. Like she's out here with her devil woman ways, corrupting him. Which is stupid.
Beautiful cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure. She huffs a soft laugh, snickering to herself. Okay, that's too much. She's kissed friends when she's upset before. It means nothing. A little comfort, that's all.
Right. Nothing. With a determined little breath she pecks a quick (friendly! she tells herself) kiss on his collarbone before shifting back over to put her back to his chest, settling into the curve of him easily.
Like a friend. 'Cause they're friends. This is normal.
And if she lays awake a little longer convincing herself of that fact, well hey; better than thinking about other things. He's just the distraction she needed him to be.
.
Once she's settled back into place, Jonas is more than content to turn off the light and tug the covers up over them both (though it's kind of a struggle because Alex kicked them nearly all the way off the bed, Jesus Christ), rubbing a thumb over the tattoo of framed flowers and the towhee bird. He hadn't really complimented them, but they're good work, and most of them have clear meaning. The dates have to have been for something, probably a family member, but there had been enough of depressing topics in the past hour. So he closes his eyes again, squeezes Alex, and tries to get to bed.
Sleep doesn't come particularly easy. Talking had dredged up some less than happy memories, especially of his mother, but the dreams don't help at all. The courtroom again, the first time. Waiting in silence while people file in, file out, give testimony. The verdict. His sentence. Jonas doesn't fumble around as much as Alex does in her sleep, though every so often his face twists, baring teeth at nothing; or his head will flick back into a new position. Other than that, he's completely silent. Not much of a contrast to his usual 'cool bartender' facade, a forgotten habit by now, even if this version is off. Wrong.
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Weirdly enough, even though sleep is (as usual) not the most restful thing in the world, Alex manages to actually get a few solid hours. After a few instances of reminding herself that this is a friend thing - that his hand under her shirt is friendly as a way to comfort her and not anything else, and that the ideas of him straight up ravishing her are just desires of an unstable and needy subconscious - of course. With enough convincing, and her trademark denial, she might actually believe that. There are a couple times she rouses a bit, finding his hands a little too tight around her, or feeling movements at her back, and she sleepily rubs a hand in comforting strokes over his forearm, a soft shhh under her breath as she shifts a little in his hold.
All in all, not a bad night, somehow.
Well, apart from the earlier bits, but that's still a bit too mortifying to think about.
By the time morning comes around, she's out cold. Too used to sleeping until noon.
Notes: Ah yes, friendship. Drop us a review, my dudes, I'd love to hear a reaction to this chapter xD