Encounter: Chapter 11
Can I Trust Us?
Author's Note: I love That 70's Show, minus season 8 of course, with all of my TV-watching-heart, so I sincerely hope that this isn't complete and total crap and an insult to the characters we all know and cherish. But I think it just might be, 'cause I freaking hate this chapter. But I had to post, it'd been too long. So please forgive me. And let me know what I can do to write better. Thanks a bunch for reading, if anyone still is, and please take a quick second and review.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
The dull but persistent pounding at her temples pulled Jackie Burkhart from her stupor, only to increase in volume and intensity as it matched the forceful and persistent pounding at her door. Her eyes opened, blurring and doubling the small checkerboard tiles that layed out before her, and under her, pressing cooly against her skin. It took her moments to register where she was, who she was, and what she could do to make the knocking stop. Pushing herself up off the floor was difficult, sweaty palms slipping on the slick ceramic, and the dry-fuzz feeling in her mouth making her gag, disrupting her balance. By the time she stumbled into the small living room she'd finally pieced together what the empty glass and empty bottle that had been lying beside her on the kitchen floor were all about, but it wasn't until she opened the door to a very frantic looking Donna that she remembered just why she'd been drinking herself into oblivion.
Her mind was warm and tired and hazed as her friend pushed passed her, calling out words she was too drunk to understand.
When Donna finally slowed her speech down enough to make any sense to her, Jackie realized she was being asked about Steven. And Michael. Her eyes, which she was having trouble on focusing on just one of the former redheads, darted around the room as her friend paced.
"What makes you think I have any idea what either one of those losers are up to?" Jackie spat her words out with all the vehemence she could between hiccups.
Donna finally stilled, folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. "Because Hyde came to the basement looking for Kelso, and looking for a fight. I've known both of them since they were six years old and while they've bruised and burned eachother more times than I can count, they've only ever fought over one thing...and that's you. Now what the hell is going on? I've been looking for them for hours and cannot find either one."
Hours? Jackie wondered how long she'd been passed out on her floor. And how long she'd been drinking before that. But the one thing that she was certain of was that she could still feel pain and rage bubbling through her, so she obviously had neither slept nor drank enough. Marching, with only a few trips and sways, back into the kitchen, she kept her voice sharp, feeling Donna was as good as anyone else for directing her anger on.
"Well, I haven't seen Michael in days." Jackie began rummaging through the cabinets in search of more liquor, only half aware that that comment wasn't entirely true. "And as for Steven, well I could not care any less where the hell he is, or what the hell he is doing. Or who he is doing." Finally finding a bottle with what she needed still inside, she made her way back to the sink and with a shaking hand filled a new glass. "I hope he found Michael and that the two cheating bastards fought and fucked eachother up and are left there to rought and die for the wretched wastes of space they are." More hiccups aside, her voice had taken on a dangerously low quality and it was with a new caution that Donna followed her best friend to the sink. She'd never seen Jackie so drunk before, or so hateful. Her voice had changed, and was quiet now when she spoke, prodding.
"Don't say that. You don't mean it, Jackie. Tell me what happened." Donna reached a hand forward, to gently touch the smaller girl's shoulder, when something in Jackie snapped and she spun around.
"Don't touch me!" Her voice was shrill and desperate, and she could feel the fog lifting and sobriety returning with harsh new pain. She needed to drink, to numb it, and fast. And Donna wasn't helping, she hadn't helped in months. And Jackie could feel herself spinning and sinking, yet she felt like she was growing taller all at the same time. "Don't you dare tell me that I don't mean it. I hate him, loathe him, and he's made it so that's the only feeling I've got left. That's the only thing I have left in me to mean. He thinks by merely showing up he can make it all better? He thinks I'm still waiting, the same girl he broke. But he's wrong. Somewhere the hurt became anger, and then the anger became hate. And he kisses me and he holds me and he whispers want and love and he thinks that I'll fall for it, he thinks I care. But he's wrong. I don't. I won't. I can't. And I mean it when I say I hope he's dead. If he's dead, he'll finally understand what he did. He'll finally stop doing it. Killing me, piece by piece. And maybe he'll finally feel a bit of remorse for it all. Because I want it finished, Donna. At any cost. And so I meant it, I mean it, I-" Somehow her tiny fists had began to beat against her own chest to emphasize her words. Then somewhere in her fury she'd found a way to crumble to the floor, thrashing her hands so hard against it she felt them bruise. And then she was just sobbing, choking on her words, curled up into a ball. Donna, shocked and heartbroken for the intense pain she'd been too thoughtless to truly notice until now, when it was staring at her, glaring and raw and bleeding and naked, finally kneeled down to gather Jackie up, and rubbed her back as she gasped for air, only to turn it into more sobs. Cries of absolute unapologetic agony, wails and moans and so many tears. More than Donna thought anyone was capable of, and she thought that this must be what dying sounds like. Neither knew how much time had passed, but before Jackie slipped back out of consciousness, she whispered hoarsly, "I don't mean it. I want to mean it, but I don't."
The sun was coming up.
Steven Hyde hated the sun.
He looked down at his fist. Black splaying across his knuckles, the middle one swollen about the bone, dried blood lining the crevices of his skin. He couldn't feel it. He poked it with his other hand, aware that he winced, knowing he flinched, and yet he felt absolutely nothing. Well, nothing because of his hand. He'd dropped Kelso off hours ago. Before the rain had stopped. Before the night had fallen. And then he just drove. Drove while his heart rejoiced in relief. She had lied. Drove while his heart collapsed with pain again. She had lied. Drove while the heart he once was convinced he didn't have broke and re-broke and re-broke again. Finally, he'd stopped. Parked the car in front of the house he'd grown up in. Still dirty and rusty, windows shattered and steps broken. Someone else lived there now, someone else's misery called it home. And he wondered if he'd ever had a chance. Coming from something so ugly, so torn. And then he berated himself for wanting the easy way out. Bud and Edna couldn't be blamed for this. All he could blame was himself.
But he didn't know where to go from here. What to do. God, how he wanted, so badly to crawl back to that apartment. He hoped he'd find her asleep. And being so quiet, so gentle, he'd crawl in beside her. Maybe she'd wake up and hell would be unleashed all over again. But laying there, even for a moment, would be his last chance at heaven.
But no matter how many times the thought entered his brain, he couldn't do it. He look at the bruised hand and it wouldn't turn the ignition. The hand reminded him that he was still angry, and it reminded him of how destructive that anger could be. Could he go back when it was still in him so fiercly? Would it ever be completely gone?
The sun was coming up. And Steven Hyde had no where to hide from it.
This time when Jackie woke, late morning light was steadily filling her bedroom, scorching her eyes and she fought to open them, all the while sucking in her breath at the intense pain blazing through her head, her hands, her back. She sat up slowly, hating intstantly the sticky feeling that comes with sleeping in your clothes, and while she still felt a bit dizzy, she persisted in her efforts to get up, wanting nothing more than to brush her teeth and wash the remnants of the day before off of her. She paused though, when she heard voices coming from the rest of the apartment. Again, she found herself an unintentional, yet eager, eavesdropper.
"You should have seen her, she was an absolute mess."
"Well, yes, Donna. She's been a mess. If you had not been so wrapped up in your "BooHoo Eric is in Africa" pity party, you might have noticed much sooner." Jackie felt her pain subside ever so slightly to hear Fez defend her so passionately.
"Alright, I get it, Fez. I've sucked lately. But I'm here now. And we still don't know where Hyde is, he's nursing a black eye, Jackie's a hysteric, drunken, shell, and I just don't know what to do about it."
"Are you sure you don't know where he was going, Kelso? He didn't mention anything when he dropped you off?"
"No. He just said he was sorry. And the he really didn't mean for any of this to happen. Then he just left. But he didn't look good. Maybe it's best if they just stay away from each other. Maybe we were wrong to try and help them get back together. They just make each other miserable."
"They only make each other miserable when they are resisting being together. They can fix this. They have to. Ugh. But I hate it when he just disappears. He should know by now that doesn't help anything." Jackie could hear the impatience, and concern, in Donna's voice and knew she was back to pacing again. She was about to open the door to join them, hand firmly wrapped around the knob, prepared to explain, to discuss, maybe even to process, when she heard another door open and close, and then the voice that made her heart just stop.
"I didn't disappear. I was thinking. And I agree, we can fix this. So, where is she?"
AN2: Alright, please please please review, so I know how to make the next part not suck so bad. Thanks a bunch!