I was just speechless…speechless…at the response to Chapter 21. I have 370 reviews for that chapter right now. Thank you all so much, from the bottom of my heart, for the love and support.
Unfortunately I had some major issues with writing Chapter 22, including scrapping the entire chapter 2600 words in and starting again from the beginning. The creative process is an inexact science, and I am grateful that 99% of readers can understand that.
I updated my blog and the thread on Twilighted letting people know the chapter was going to be delayed; as I will do in the future if there is going to be a longer (for me) period in between updates. Also, the anonymous review feature has now been disabled; and I apologize for that necessity.
-o-
Jasper
Sunday morning, I'm up early, as always. The sun isn't up yet, but the sky is completely cloudless. With the beginning of March, Seattle has been gifted with a mild spell. It beckons me to go out for a run instead of using the treadmill. After getting dressed, I grab my iPod and head out onto the open streets. My playlist includes my favorite songs, paced appropriately for running. Running through the streets of the Fremont district, I pass art galleries, ethnic restaurants and funky, colorful buildings. In truth, this neighborhood is a bit more bohemian than I can claim to be. When I was moving back from San Francisco, though, I knew I would miss the dynamic community I was leaving there. The vibrancy of the Fremont area drew me in, and now that I'm here, I already love it.
Dirty Vegas pounds in my ears, and the song reminds me of Edward.
You
Are still a whisper on my lips
A feeling in my fingertips
It's pulling at my skin
You
Leave me when I'm at my worst
Feeling as if I've been cursed
Bitter cold within
The Troll under the Fremont Bridge is one of my favorite pieces of scenery in the district, and I smirk at him as I pass. Jogging along North 34th Street, the sun peeks between the horizon and the underside of the Aurora Bridge.
Days go by and still I think of you
Days when I couldn't live my life without you
Without you
I loop around and head west, back towards my building.
Back at my apartment building, I stand quietly for a few moments before I go inside, letting the sun soak into me and listening to my breathing and heart rate return to normal. My heart pangs as I recall that first Sunday morning, standing in the sun's warmth with Edward outside the diner. I recall his face, his eyes closed as he stood in adulation of the weak rays. I remember kissing him, deep and sweet; I think of him kissing the backs of my fingers as he told me he wanted to see me again. And I recall him running after me down the street to tell me he would be thinking of me while he was away, and thinking about the things I had told him, shown him.
All I did was tell you what I saw about you, Edward, I had said. All of that was there already; I just tried to show it to you. But I was wrong, I guess; because now I'm alone.
Shaking my head, I remind myself with a sigh that I'm trying to move on. Edward has made his choice. As much as it hurts my heart; as long as I know it will take me, I have to try. Feeling sorry for myself won't improve the situation.
Inside, I strip off my sweaty clothes and toss them into the hamper. I debate for a moment between a bath and a shower, finally deciding that a bath would make my muscles feel great. I have a few hours still before I have to be at Macrina to meet Kathleen and her friends – plenty of time for a bath.
No bubbles.
The steam rolls off the hot water that fills the tub. I step in, testing the water; and then sink gingerly down until the water is most of the way up my arms. I sigh deeply and relax into the soothing warmth. For a long time I lie with my eyes closed, feeling the tension seep from my muscles. I focus on deep breathing, and I try not to remember that last time I had took a bath in this tub, I wasn't alone.
But an experience like that is difficult to forget, especially since I haven't gotten myself off since Edward broke up with me. Over a week is a long time for a healthy young man to abstain; and, well, I am trying to relax…just go with the visuals…you need this…
Hands squeezing a washcloth of hot water across my chest and shoulders…dragging the terry fabric over my nipples…the cloth swishing the water around my hardening cock…fingers stroking the underside of my shaft, teasing the frenulum and around the glans…then taking firm hold of my hard-on with one hand…tugging on my sac with the other…a smooth body with a hard prick behind me…sliding my ass up and down the length of that huge cock...arching…thrusting…so close...
"Augh!" I cry out as I come, my ass and thighs clenching tightly. My release is powerful, almost painful; and I shoot a huge load, each exquisite paroxysm sending another spate rushing out of me. For several moments my legs and my groin tremble, still holding tightly to the last waves of my climax. Finally, I take a deep breath, and let my body relax completely. Between the running, the hot water and the epic orgasm, I am almost weak.
And now I've got jizz in my bathwater.
I pull the plug and let the water go, finishing cleaning up under the shower spray. After toweling off, I walk to my closet and stand there for several moments, studying the clothes hanging from the rack. I finally decide on a pair of flat-front black slacks and a slim-fitting white pinstriped dress shirt, and lay them out on the bed. Back in the bathroom, I put some product in my hair so I don't end up looking like I've stuck my finger in a light socket. Damn curls…no such thing as wash-and-go.
Finally I am pressed, dressed and coiffed. I study my reflection in the mirror, from several angles. This shirt shows off my broad shoulders; and the pants make my ass look great. Not that I'm looking to meet anyone…but still. I'm going to be meeting new people, and I want to look good.
And my verdict is, I do. In fact, I think I look pretty fucking hot. Thank you for the genes, Mama and Dad.
I slip on my black wool jacket and grab my keys, then head downstairs. I'm driving to the restaurant – traffic will be light this morning, no reason to pay for a cab. I head across the Aurora Bridge, and since I'm running a bit early, I decide to take a drive through the neighborhood where I used to live. I pass Lake Union Prep, and it looks still just as austere as it did when I was a student there. A few blocks away is my old house, and I slow as I pass it. When I lived there, the shutters and trim were white, and the front door was red. Someone has painted the front door a sage green now, and the trim is a warm beige. It looks okay…different. It's definitely not my house anymore.
I know Carlisle and Esme's house isn't far from here – several streets over – but I manage to convince myself that passing it is unnecessary. I don't need to overindulge. Besides, my extra time is now used up and I should arrive at the restaurant at just the right time.
Indeed, I arrive at the front door of the restaurant just as Kathleen does, and she greets me with a warm smile and a big hug. "Hey, Jasper," she welcomes me enthusiastically. "Great to see you!"
"Hi, yourself," I return. "Thanks so much for inviting me."
"Wow," she says, winking, "look at you, all casual. You look hot!"
"Thanks!" I grin. "You look nice too!"
She rolls her eyes. "Fat lot of good it's doing me with you!" she chuckles. "Come on, let's get inside – there are some men in there who might actually appreciate a woman with a rockin' bod."
I am tremendously grateful for Kathleen – she is just so good-natured and genuine. Since my mother went back to Austin, Kathleen has done so much to help keep me from slipping into a funk over Edward.
Inside, she introduces me to her friends who have already assembled. Kathleen's best friends Eve, Liz and Rachel. Rachel has brought her friends Ashton and Jack. Eve's brother is there as well - Gareth and his wife Lily. Kathleen's face reddens a bit when she introduces me to Ashton, and I would lay money that this is the guy she's hoping to impress. And if my gaydar is at all accurate, I'm quite sure Jack is gay, and I'm betting Liz is too. Everyone is as pleasant and gracious as Kathleen is. I am seated between Kathleen and Gareth, and we soon settle into an easy conversation that includes everyone at the large round table.
Eve is Kathleen's oldest and dearest friend, as Kathleen told me earlier this week. They've been friends since kindergarten. She has long, straight-brown hair and blue eyes. She stands to shake my hand, and the top of her head comes no higher than my armpit – she is petite all over. Her eyes crinkle when she smiles at me, and she has an effervescent personality.
Rachel is Eve's polar opposite in almost every regard. She is tall and full-figured, with shoulder-length blonde hair and brown eyes. She seems much more reserved than either Kathleen or Eve; but she still gives me a shy, pleasant smile as we are introduced. Completing the quartet of close female friends is Liz. Liz is Asian, and closer to Eve's physical stature; her almond-shaped eyes are so dark that the iris is virtually indistinguishable from the pupil, giving her a rather striking look. She seems very laid-back and pleasant.
Gareth, Eve's brother, has the same long brown hair and blue eyes, though doesn't share her diminutive stature. He has a full beard, and looks as though he should be preaching on street corners or walking on water somewhere – the similarity is quite remarkable. He and his wife Lily are both professors at the University of Washington. Lily is African-American, and has a halo of soft ringlets held back from her face by a colorful scarf that encircles her head. She is sporting a burgeoning belly. Several times throughout the meal Gareth pauses to simply rest his large hand on her abdomen and gaze adoringly at her.
Finally, Ashton and Jack. Ashton has shaggy blonde hair and brown eyes; he looks like a California boy, and even manages to somehow be sporting a bit of a tan. I can very easily picture him with a surfboard under one arm. He seems quite shy, speaking very little. Jack has inky black hair; and his ice blue eyes snap in the middle of his pale, smooth face. His lips are almost rosy, and when he smiles, the corners of his mouth somehow seem to almost tuck in. He looks like a movie star from the old Hollywood glamour era.
Several times during lunch, I notice Kathleen lean to Ashton on her other side and speak softly just to him. Each time she does, she lays her hand on his arm. Still he says very little, but the rapture on his face each time she pays him that bit of attention, says it all. He is smitten. I notice Jack, across the table, observing their interactions as well; each time, he looks pensive, almost wistful. Several times he catches my eye after we've both been watching them, and quickly smiles at me; but the smile doesn't reach his eyes.
The chatter around the table continues long after we've finished our meal. Gareth and Lily are the first to leave, heading off to a ballet recital for Lily's niece. Rachel and Eve have convinced a reluctant Liz to go shopping with them, and they leave, Liz rolling her eyes at me before she says a good-natured goodbye. Kathleen and Ashton are absorbed in conversation with each other, though it seems rather one-sided, Kathleen doing most of the talking for both of them. Ashton seems content to listen to her, nodding and occasionally speaking in a quiet, even voice.
Jack and I exchange several glances. Finally, I stand up from the table, pulling my jacket off the back of the chair, which draws Kathleen's attention. "Heading off?" she asks.
I nod, and she jumps up to give me a hug. Jack and Ashton stand as well. "Did you have fun?" she whispers as she hugs me.
"Definitely," I whisper back. "Thank you."
"I'm so glad you could come," she says, loudly enough that Jack and Ashton can hear her, and we turn back to the two men standing beside the table. Jack is putting his coat on as well.
"You're going too, Jackie?" she asks.
"Yeah," he says. "Busy week ahead of me; gotta go home and get ready to tackle it."
"Good to meet you, Jasper," Ashton says, shaking my hand solemnly.
"I'll walk you out," Jack offers, inclining his head toward the door. After we all say our goodbyes, we head for the exit. I look over my shoulder before we leave. Ashton and Kathleen have resumed their places beside each other at the table, Kathleen launching back into whatever she was telling him before we got up.
Outside, Jack asks me where I'm parked, and when I tell him he says, "Me too. I'll walk with you." As we head toward the parking lot, he takes a deep breath and says, "I'm glad you got up to leave when you did – it gave me an excuse to do the same."
"Something wrong?" I ask.
"I couldn't sit there any longer," he answers vaguely.
"Because…" I prompt, and at first I am met with stony silence.
"I couldn't watch him make eyes at Kathleen anymore," he finally admits.
"You don't like Kathleen," I murmur.
"No, I love Kathleen. I'm sure she's perfect for him," he mutters; then under his breath he adds, "Anyone would be lucky to have him."
It takes me a moment to catch on to his choice of words. Anyone – he didn't say any woman. Jack is in love with Ashton – his best friend – who is very definitely straight.
"Oh," is the best I can come up with; and then I tack on, "I'm sorry." This is why he looked wistful when watching Kathleen and Ashton chatting.
"Yeah," he nods.
"Well, I know how that feels – I mean, wanting someone who doesn't want you back," I sigh.
"Kathleen said you broke up with someone recently," he nods.
"We weren't together all that long," I concede, "but it was intense – I fell in love."
"He ended it?" he asks, and I nod. "Sorry," he answers gruffly, and we walk for a few moments in silence.
"Well, we're a rather depressing pair," I laugh humorlessly, to break the melancholy silence.
"Misery loves company," he grimaces.
"Maybe what we both need is to get out and have some fun – hit one of the clubs," I suggest.
"Like…dancing?" He screws up his face as though the thought is painful to him.
I can't help but chuckle at his less-than-enthusiastic response. "Some people find human interaction enjoyable. In fact, I may be one of them," I smile. I've reached my car, and I pause beside it. He stops as well.
"The clubs are always so crowded," he grouses. "And noisy. And guys are always hitting on me."
"Oh, woe is me! Cute boys think I'm hot!" I mock him gently, and he gives me a dirty look. "All things considered, Jack, there are worse problems to have."
He muses on this for a moment and finally concedes, grudgingly, "Yeah, I guess."
"So what do you say we go out one night this week? We can be there as moral support for each other," I suggest.
"Just as friends?" he hedges.
"Yeah," I confirm. "I'm not ready for a relationship. But I would like a friend."
"Okay, I'll go with you," he sighs. "But I can't really do it before Friday – I work pretty long hours and I don't like to be out late during the week."
"No problem," I smile. "Friday works well for me."
We exchange numbers, each of us programming the other's number into our cell phones. Then we stand awkwardly for a moment, facing each other until I say, "Wanna hug it out?"
He finally grins at this, and we embrace in a "straight-guy hug" – quick, firm, thump on the back. When we pull back, I say, "I wish I could say maybe he'd come to his senses someday, Jack."
"I know," he nods. "I know it's a lost cause – I just need to convince myself to let go."
"Well, if you figure how, let me know," I grimace.
He rolls his eyes and turns in the direction of his car, calling over his shoulder, "I'll call you later this week."
I get in my car and start it up, waiting for it to warm up a bit and take the damp chill out of the air.
I think I just made a friend.
-o-
Edward
Sunday morning I wake up in my own bed – that is to say, my adult bed, at my apartment. I stretch luxuriously, enjoying the fact that I'm in a very generous king, as opposed to the cramped twin I've slept in the previous two nights, in my old room at my parents' house. I rub my eyes and relax back into my pillow, thinking back over the past couple of days.
My father's look of shock to find me at the door; my mother flying down the stairs upon hearing my voice. Standing with her hand extended to me, her eyes bright, almost wild that I might decline the offer to come in. And then falling into her arms on the floor – ensconced in the glow of her presence, her love. Grieving for my stunted heart, for the time wasted. Knowing I was still welcome in her arms, drinking in the scent that always accompanies her presence. Hearing her verbally hand my father's ass to him in the hall outside the bedroom door, as she informed him she would remain with me. And then falling asleep with my head on her lap as she struggled, through a breaking voice, to sing a childish lullaby to me.
When I woke up on Friday morning, she still held me in her arms; and I smelled that familiar scent…warmth, love, and Youth Dew. I opened my eyes, and she was half-lying, half-sitting, against the headboard, smiling down at me. "Good morning, my darling," she whispered, her face radiant in spite of her obvious concern for my emotional state.
"Good morning, Mother," I returned quietly, struggling to reflect some of her happiness back to her with a little smile. Despite the fact that I'd cried more in the last twelve hours than I did in the previous ten years, I didn't feel ashamed in front of my mother.
"Did you manage to get some sleep?" she asked with concern.
"I slept far better than I could have imagined I would," I admitted. "I don't suppose you were very comfortable, though, sitting up all night."
She laughed softly, her eyes crinkling. "I didn't sleep a great deal, dear; but not because I was uncomfortable. I just couldn't take my eyes off of you. I know you're going through something, darling; and I'm very sorry for whatever has upset you so. But my heart is singing this morning, because my boy is home in my arms."
I pulled my face back to her abdomen, hiding there as I used to do when I felt shy as a little boy. I remained there for a moment and then I pulled away a bit, propping myself on my elbow to address her. "I heard what you said to Dad last night. I hope he's not upset with me…"
"Don't you worry about that, Edward," she assured me. "He was feeling a bit out of his element and he wasn't thinking clearly; I just had to prioritize on his behalf." She paused and winked at me. "He's already downstairs making coffee. What do you say we go down and join him?"
I nodded, still unsure, but knowing she would take my part if necessary. "I'm going to use my bathroom and then we'll go downstairs together," she said, rising from the bed and giving me a last smile before she left the room.
The conversation with them at the dining room table was an emotional fucking roller coaster. When he told me that Jasper refused to discuss our relationship with him, I had to hide my face from them, hoping they wouldn't see my tears. Jasper wouldn't tell him – we weren't even together anymore and he still wouldn't give it up to my dad. I was so completely wrong about him.
I went from heartbreak, to anger at my father's attempt to rewrite history when he started to deny that they had been upset by finding out I was gay. Fortunately my mother stepped in; I had to silently thank her for being the strong woman she is, calling my dad on his bullshit so I didn't have to battle that out on my own. A moment later I was in shock and on the verge of busting up in laughter at hearing my sweet, soft-spoken mother admit that she and Dad "flipped their shit." The look on my father's face was fucking priceless, too.
And then, finally, love and acceptance from both of them; hearing I was important to them and that they could accept me and we could start to rebuild our relationship, gave me hope. It made me realize that I never had to apologize for being gay; but I certainly needed to apologize for the things I'd done to them. Those apologies poured forth from me, like a torrent; their love broke the dam and I couldn't stem the flow. Trying to talk through my outburst left me out of breath; so we sat in silence for a few moments as I took some deep breaths to calm down. The people who love you don't give up on you. Jasper loves me…is it possible? Could he forgive the awful things I've said, the horrible, childish way I've acted?
As though reading my mind, my father softly asked, "Edward, do you love Jasper?"
I really do, I realized. "I love him." And I love my parents too, and I'd apologized but I hadn't told them I love them. "And I love you, too." So much. "But I don't know how to love." Because I'm cold and broken and frozen.
My mother murmured something, but I didn't hear what. I was looking out the window, to the backyard where I used to play as a child; when I was innocent and sure of myself and of my parents' love. When I was happy.
"I used to know," I murmured, thinking about that time. "I've forgotten how. I don't know how to be in a relationship with anyone." I shook my head gently. "Not as a son, not as a friend, not as a lover..." In the backyard I could see a shadow of the happy child I was, echoing back through the years, reminding me that I used to have love in my life. These people brought love to my life. "I want to remember," I whispered. "I want to learn. I want love."
I finally tore my eyes away from the window to gaze at my mother. Her cheeks were glistening. Looking at my father, his eyes, too, were filled with tears. It didn't escape me that he also cried the last time we had a serious conversation, ten years ago.
After Friday morning's chat with my parents, I returned to my apartment around midday on Friday to get some clothes, my laptop and my cell phone. My mother was reluctant for me to leave on Friday, perhaps worrying that I wouldn't come back if I left, so I suggested she come with me. She was impressed at the apartment and commented several times how neat I keep it. Though I had never before cared what someone thought of my place, hearing those words from her, knowing she approved of me, made me feel oddly proud; that maybe I wasn't a complete fuckup.
She walked along my bookcase, dragging her finger across the spines of the books as she looked at the titles. I wondered if she, too, noticed that I had no photos in my apartment.
After dinner that evening, my father spoke with me privately about seeing a therapist. I agreed, on the condition that we go together, the three of us. I asked whether Alice would go with us as well, and Dad looked very uncomfortable, mumbling something about not being able to speak for her. Honestly, I was looking forward to seeing her. We had gotten along better than most of my friends seemed to get along with their siblings, and I had missed Alice after I went to college.
When I expressed this to Dad, he sighed and replied, "Son, I don't want to be a wet blanket, but don't expect too much from Alice right away, okay?"
"What do you mean, 'expect too much'?" I asked, mystified.
"She has very strong…opinions, we'll say…on what the state of our relationship has been since you left for college," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully.
"Strong opinions?" I pressed.
Bringing his hand to his face, he pinched the bridge of his nose, a mannerism I recognized as something I do often.
"Alice is angry, Edward," he began. "She has been here, observing your mother and I as we tried to get through your absence from our lives – particularly your mother, who as you know wears her emotions on her sleeve. Alice lays the blame squarely at your feet. We have tried to explain to her, numerous times, that no relationship breaks down solely because of one party; but you know Alice…"
"No," I disagree. "I guess I don't know Alice."
It's true – I've barely seen or interacted with her since she was still a child. She's now a young woman, about to complete college and move into the real world. I have no idea who she is. I know she called a few times to speak to Mother and Dad while I was there on Saturday, but refused to speak to me.
I sigh, rolling onto my stomach and pulling open the bottom drawer of my night table. In a small frame is an old photo of Alice and me. It's Christmas morning, probably fifteen years ago. We are in our pajamas in front of the tree, surrounded by beautifully wrapped gifts. The radiant smiles on our faces portray the anticipation and excitement of what lies under the tree for us. I haven't looked at this photo since I unpacked it and put it into the drawer, the day I moved in here.
Sighing, I can't deny that I have work to do – even more than I realized. I knew my relationship with my parents was fucked up; and I haven't even begun to let myself think about what I need to do to make things right with Jasper, if he'll even let me. Now I have Alice to consider as well.
An idea occurs to me. Not a solution, but a step in the right direction. I don't have to go anywhere for a few days. I ended up passing on the Italy job, deciding that I shouldn't be heading out of the country for a week or longer right now. I have chosen instead to take the shorter job that was offered me in San Francisco. Wednesday afternoon I'll fly down there for a few days.
In the meantime, there's a personal project I'm going to tackle. And it starts with the photo I'm holding in my hand right now.
-o-
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Special thanks to Shannon and Val for talking me down off the ledge a couple of times during the writing of this chapter. xoxo