TITLE: Scenes from an Unplanned Life
SPOILERS: Anything from the series is fair game here.
DISCLAIMER: I neither own nor claim to own anything relating to the show Drake & Josh. The powers that be from Nickelodeon and Schneider's Bakery own all. I am not making a profit except for the satisfaction of being able to play with words for a little while.
A/N: Josh speaks...(and he wouldn't shut up!). :o)
Chapter 4: Words of Love & Other Lies
POV: Josh, 19 years old
It was colder than he expected and he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, holding his arms close to his sides to stay warm. Puffs of warm breath clouded the air in front of him as he walked resolutely back towards campus, not looking back.
It had been nearing one in the morning when his cram session ended – he had a huge calculus exam in two days – and he had stepped out of the library into a cool night that held the promise of cold.
He should've gone straight to his dorm like the responsible young man his parents thought he was. But his route home had taken him right past the all-night bakery and the temptation that was a banana nut chocolate chip muffin had been too strong to resist.
He had only meant to drive her home.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
The bell on the door jingled cheerfully as he stepped in and his mouth curved into a smile as he started salivating like one of Pavlov's dogs. He loved bakeries – the warm, yeasty smell of fresh baked bread, the sharp and sweet aroma of chocolate. If he died, he wanted it to be in a bakery.
Amy worked the graveyard shift and she smiled when she saw him, using a napkin to hold her place in her sociology book. "Well if it isn't my favorite customer," she said, pushing a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear.
"More like your only customer," Josh said, smiling back. He was usually the only one in there that time of night. It was a slow time – the time between when normal people went to bed and when the nightclubs let out.
"Not tonight," she said, gesturing over her shoulder. A woman was sitting at a table in the very back, gazing out the window, cradling her cup of coffee in her palms.
It was an unusual occurrence for someone else to be there, but not unheard of, and he didn't give it much thought as he turned his attention to the brightly lit display case full of inviting confections. "Hmmm," he murmured, tapping his finger against his teeth. "What do I want?"
Amy rolled her eyes as she watched him. It was always the same ritual; and he always ordered the same thing.
"I think I'll have…" he started, a small smile of anticipation curving his lips, "…a banana nut chocolate chip muffin."
"…a banana nut chocolate chip muffin," she said along with him.
He looked at her. "I'm that predictable, huh?"
"Like the sun," she quipped. "Live a little. Have a cookie." She smiled, her eyes twinkling.
"But," he protested, "the cookies are unknown variables. The banana nut chocolate chip muffin is a known quantity. With the muffin, there is no uncertainty."
"Math test coming up?" she asked, laughing.
"Yeah. In two days. And I need my potassium. Bananas are brain food." He gave her his best puppy dog look. "I need my muffin, Muffin," he said, batting his eyelashes.
Amy rolled her eyes again. "Oh, please. Save that for someone who actually likes you," she gibed good-naturedly.
"Ouch," he replied, clutching his heart. "You wound me with your cruel words." He waggled his eyebrows. "But you know what would make me feel better?"
"Don't tell me," she replied, shaking her head. "A banana nut chocolate chip muffin?"
"Ding, ding, ding! The lady wins not only the new cookware, but a lifetime supply of soup to go with it!" He grinned.
Amy chuckled to herself as she snatched a piece of wax paper from the box on the counter. When she bent to retrieve the muffin, she said, "Uh-oh."
"Uh-oh? What uh-oh?"
She stood back up, gazing at him with a serious expression. "I'm afraid we're out."
"What? Out? What?" he asked, bending to look through the glass where his favorite treats usually resided. Sure enough, the tray marked "Banana Nut Chocolate Chip Muffins" stood empty; nary a crumb left.
She let him squirm for a few more seconds, just until his expression of mock desolation morphed into genuine disappointment. "There are some in the oven, you big baby. They'll be done in a couple minutes." She smiled at his smile. "Have a seat before you die of hunger right here on the floor."
"I wuv you," he said ingratiatingly.
She snorted. "I'll bet you say that to every girl that makes you muffins."
He laughed. "Yeah, but no one's muffins are as good as yours." He winked, delighted that she was blushing in spite of herself. Walking a few feet away, he sat down at the table nearest the door.
When Amy disappeared through the kitchen door, he looked around. The woman in the back was still there, staring out the window.
A white paper bag was plopped down on the table in front of him a couple minutes later. "Here you go," Amy said.
He picked up the bag and brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply and closing his eyes in pleasure. "Oh yeah, that's the stuff," he murmured.
Amy just laughed. "You should really see someone about your problem."
He opened his eyes and looked up at her. "It's only a problem if I can't control it. I could stop any time I want. I choose not to." He hefted the bag again, then raised one eyebrow. "Either these muffins have gotten bigger, or there's a surprise inside," he intoned, grinning at her.
"Just a little something for later," Amy said. "Something different."
"Sneaky," he said, then nodded knowingly. "It's always the quiet ones." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. "How much?" he asked.
Just then, the woman in the back pushed her chair out – a soft scuffing noise of metal over tile – and stood up. They stopped their conversation to look at her, watching as she fumbled in her purse for some bills and dropped them on the table. She looked in their direction and they looked away. Amy put up her hand when Josh opened his wallet. "Forget it," she said.
"But –" he protested, his attention being drawn once again to the woman as she walked behind them towards the door. He could see when she passed that she was older – just this side of forty, he would guess – nearly twice his age. She also seemed to be walking extra carefully, as if she was trying not to fall. The bell on the door jingled as she walked out. She paused to look around, then turned left, disappearing out of view.
He looked back at Amy, who had also been watching the woman leave. "Come on, how much?"
Amy just shook her head. "Nope." She walked to the back table and picked up the bills the woman had left behind, her eyes widening, and she brought them closer for a better look. She looked at him, a stunned smile creeping across her mouth. "How 'bout we let her pay for it?"
"What are you talking about?" he asked, coming closer.
She held out the money. "A hundred bucks. She left me a hundred bucks."
He looked at the bills. Two fifties. "Now that's what I call a good tip." He looked over his shoulder in the direction she had gone, then back to Amy. "Can I borrow fifty bucks?" he asked, laughing.
She smiled as she put the money in her pocket, leaning down to pick up the empty coffee cup. Dark-colored lipstick smeared the rim. A crumpled napkin stained with the same shade was on the table next to the cup. "No," she said, then bent to grab something from the floor. "But do you need a new car?"
"Huh?" he asked, confused.
Amy stood up, holding out a set of keys. "She left these." She looked at them more closely. "BMW. Huh. No wonder she left such a big tip. She can afford it." Then she shrugged. "She'll be back. She can't go far."
He held out his hand. "Give 'em to me."
"Why?"
"I'll take 'em to her. Like you said, she can't go far. Besides, she went the direction I'm going anyway." He held out his hand.
Amy rolled her eyes. "The perpetual Boy Scout," she quipped, dropping the keys into his palm.
"I can't help it," he explained. "It's genetic. I come from a long line of nice guys." He smiled.
"You have heard the one about nice guys always finishing last, haven't you?" she asked.
"It's not where you place, it's how you get there," he countered, winking.
She groaned. "Always the eternal optimist."
"That's me." He shook the bag. "Thanks again."
"Sure," she said. "Be careful walking home."
He was at the door. "Yes, Mom." He laughed. "See ya," he said as he pushed the door open with his shoulder and stepped into the cool night air. He looked to his left. Way up ahead, about two blocks, he saw her. She really hadn't gone far; he'd be able to catch up to her easily.
He started after her.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Josh shrugged his backpack back onto his shoulders. In his haste, it had started to slip. But he couldn't stop because stopping meant he'd have to think about it. As long as he kept moving, he could at least concentrate on the next step.
He balled his hands into fists deep inside his pockets. The temperature was dropping.
Maybe it was just his heart freezing him from the inside out.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
As he approached her, he could tell that something was not quite right with her. The careful walk he had noticed back at the bakery had slipped – outside the presence of prying eyes – into something more like a labored shuffle.
"Excuse me," he said.
She didn't turn around.
He reached out a hand to her, touched her shoulder gently. "Ma'am?"
She jerked beneath his hand, startled at his touch. When she turned to look at him, he could see that her eyes were red.
He held out her keys. "You left these at the bakery," he said gently.
Her eyes fell to the keys in his hand, then moved up to meet his again, full of confusion. "Excuse me?" she asked, the words slurring slightly.
Josh pinpointed the cause of the labored walk and the red eyes. She had been drinking – and she was trying to hide it.
"Your keys," he said again. "You accidentally left them back at the bakery." He held them out again.
"My keys…" she said softly, her voice trailing off. She looked back down at the keys in Josh's hand, then lifted a trembling hand and grabbed them, her fingertips brushing lightly against his palm. She squeezed them tightly, whispering, "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Josh replied, studying her closely. She looked fragile, like she could self-destruct at any moment, crumbling into a million tiny pieces at his feet.
She nodded and started to walk away, a bit unsteadily.
Josh watched her for a few moments in silence, a growing feeling of anxiety washing over him. He shouldn't get involved, but he couldn't help himself. The little voice of his conscience just wouldn't let him walk away.
He caught up with her again. She had stopped; she was leaning against the concrete base of a streetlamp, gazing distractedly down the dark street. A car passed, its headlights washing over her, and she turned away.
Josh stood in front of her and she focused her sad eyes on him.
"Hey," he began gently, meeting her gaze. "Are you okay?"
She just stared at him silently for a long moment, then let out a long, jagged sigh that carried the scent of alcohol. Josh could see her chin start to tremble and knew what was coming even before the first tears spilled over her cheeks. "No," she said hoarsely. "No, I'm not." She started sobbing, her entire body shaking with the force of her emotion.
Josh stood frozen. He reached out to her automatically, resting his hand on her shoulder. Her beige coat was soft and felt expensive. All the words he thought to say seemed inadequate, so he didn't say anything at all.
After a few awkward moments, she looked up, wiping her eyes. Her mascara was smudged a little beneath her right eye. "I'm sorry," she said. She tried to smile. "It's been a bad day."
"It's alright," he said, watching as she dug in her purse.
She pulled out a crumpled tissue and dabbed at her eyes. "My husband is divorcing me," she shared, "after seventeen years."
Josh shifted his weight uncomfortably, wondering why she was telling him this. She didn't know him from Adam. "I-I'm sorry," he said, feeling embarrassed.
She waved her hand absently. "It's not your fault he's an asshole." She straightened, pulling her body into a standing position with obvious difficulty. Dizziness seized her and she reached out to him.
Taking her arm, Josh helped steady her. "Maybe you should sit down," he suggested.
"I'm fine," she insisted, shaking her head.
"Just for a minute." She didn't resist when he led her to a bench next to a row of rusty newspaper boxes and helped her sit. He sat down beside her.
"I'm Jane," she said softly after a moment.
"Josh." He looked at her – she was beautiful in an elegant, out-of-reach sort of way. Her dark brown hair was pulled away from her face, held in place by a silver clip that reflected the yellow glow of the streetlight. Her skin was pale and smooth, the years residing in the creases around her eyes. A diamond sparkled on her earlobe.
"I never thought I'd end up alone," she said, her voice soft. She looked around the near-empty street. "But here I am."
Josh didn't know what to say. He was just about to open his mouth to spew forth some inane words of comfort when she interrupted him.
"You don't have to stay with me; I'll be fine." Her speech was more coherent, but her s's still hissed a little. She was starting to sober up, but she still had a ways to go.
"I'm sorry you're sad, Jane," he said. It felt strange calling her by her first name, but she hadn't told him her last name. He looked down at his hands and noticed that he still held the paper bakery bag. Looking back at her, he smiled a little. "Here," he said suddenly, reaching into the bag and pulling out his muffin. He held it out to her.
She looked at it, then at him. "What is it?"
"Only the best banana nut chocolate chip muffin you'll ever have in your life. It's guaranteed to bring a smile to your face." He wiggled the muffin between his fingers, trying to entice her.
She looked at him skeptically. "Thank you, but…"
"Come on," he wheedled, wiggling the muffin again. When she still hesitated, he said more seriously, "Look, I know I sound like a dumb kid trying to put a band aid on bullet wound. It's just a muffin. It won't change what happened. But for a couple minutes, it just might make you feel a little better." He smiled sympathetically. "Besides, it tastes really good."
She just looked at him, the hint of a smile appearing on her lips. "Thanks," she said very softly, taking the muffin. She pinched off a small piece between her thumb and forefinger and put it in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
"So?" Josh prodded.
Jane smiled despite herself – a sad smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "It's good."
"That's all?" he asked, feigning disappointment.
A brittle laugh escaped from her lips. "It's wonderful," she said, looking at him. "It's delicious. It's the best damn muffin I've ever tasted." She caught his eyes and held his gaze for a moment. "Thank you," she said.
"You're welcome," he replied. "Spreading cheer through muffins. It's my personal crusade." He smiled.
"No," she said. "Thank you for listening. For being here."
Josh felt a blush creeping up his neck. "Anyone would've done it," he said shyly.
"No they wouldn't've," she said evenly. "You're a good person, Josh."
Josh didn't know how to respond.
After a moment, she stood up, wobbled unsteadily on her feet, then sank back onto the bench. "I think I'm still drunk," she announced. "I've never been drunk before." She thought about it for a second. "It's not entirely bad." She smiled, looking at him.
"Let me drive you home," he said, the words exiting his mouth before he could stop them.
She waved her hand in the air, shaking her head. "No, no. You've done enough. Above and beyond enough. I'll just call a cab."
"Where do you live?" he asked her, insistent.
"Just about a mile north of here. At the foot of the hills." She dug in her purse again with one hand and pulled out a tiny red cell phone. "But really, a cab is fine."
"Don't be silly. In the time it would take them to get here, I could drive you home and back twice. Come on," he said, giving her his best Boy Scout look. "I'm an excellent driver."
"What about you? How will you get home?" She was at least beginning to think more clearly.
"I'll walk," he said. "I live near there." It was a lie, of course, but a small one. His dorm was actually only two blocks from where they now sat.
She thought about it for a moment, her eyes – Josh could see now that they were blue – scanning his face for a sign of danger or insincerity. He looked back at her completely guileless. "If you're sure," she said, then yawned as if on cue. "I am tired. I could use about twelve hours of sleep."
"Then it's settled," Josh said, standing and holding out his hand.
Ten minutes later, he was behind the wheel of the most expensive car he had ever driven and was, admittedly, a little giddy about it. Leather seats, satellite radio, in-dash GPS – she laughed when he couldn't figure out how to adjust the seat to fit his height. She reached over and pressed a switch on the console; the seat slid almost soundlessly back.
"You like it?" she asked.
"Yeah I do!" he proclaimed. "Does it have a sister?" He grinned.
Jane laughed. "My husband gave it to me for our anniversary."
"Well," Josh said, gripping the steering wheel in his hands. "I hope you get to keep it. When you take him to the cleaners, I mean."
"Damn straight," she said, with more confidence than she had spoken with all night. "And the house. And the diamonds. And the credit cards." She laughed again, almost carelessly.
Josh looked over at her across the expanse of the front seat. "Where to, my lady?"
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
He was all-out shivering now. He'd heard somewhere that it was always the coldest right before dawn. Looking east, he supposed now that it was true. The dark sky was just the faintest shade of gray and he knew that in less than an hour, the first embryonic rays of the sun would begin to turn the sky pink.
He had turned down the wrong street about a half-mile back and had had to retrace his steps. With his mind racing and his breath burning in his lungs, he hadn't been paying attention.
All he wanted to do was go home, crawl into bed, and sleep away the self-disgust that was building up inside of him.
He didn't think he would ever forgive himself.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
He walked her up the elaborate front walk and to the front door, unlocking the deadbolt with the only other key on the key ring. "Home sweet home," he said, opening the door. The sound echoed off the glass and marble in the huge foyer. He held the keys out to her, dangling them between his fingers.
She took the keys from him for the second time in an hour and looked up at him, a strange look on her face. She was nearly six inches shorter than him, even in heels, and she had to crane her neck to look at him.
"Thank you," she whispered, moving a half-step closer. Josh could feel her warm breath against his face. "For everything."
"You're welcome," he said, taking a step back. He was now standing on the step below her; they were eye level. "I really hope everything works out for you," he added sincerely.
She kissed him suddenly and the surprise of it stole his breath. It took him a second to get his bearings, but then he gripped her by the shoulders and gently pushed her away. She looked at him, wide-eyed.
"Jane."
"Don't," she whispered. "Don't say anything."
But he had to. He wasn't good with awkward silences. "I think –" he began.
"Then don't," she interrupted, inching closer. "Don't think." And before he could anticipate it, she was kissing him again.
Her hand found his cheek and her tongue found his bottom lip. He opened his lips involuntarily, fireworks exploding inside his brain at the sensation of her tongue sliding against his. His fingers gripped the soft folds of her coat.
Her lips were soft; she tasted like wine and sadness.
When he followed her inside, he knew there was no going back.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
The dorm lobby was empty when he pushed through the glass doors, his sneakers squeaking on the recently waxed floor. Suddenly, he was exhausted and he shuffled heavily to the stairwell. He lived on the fourth floor and the dorm had no elevators.
The heavy metal door seemed even heavier as he pushed his weight against it. By the time he reached his floor, his knees were ready to give out. He walked to his door, shoulders slumping under the weight of his guilt. With trembling fingers, he unlocked his door. The slice of light from the hallway illuminated his roommate, Brian's, side of the room. Brian wasn't there – he spent most nights at his girlfriend's apartment.
Josh sighed heavily and dropped his backpack on the floor with a thud. Closing the door behind him, he took the three long steps to his bed and collapsed onto it, face down.
"I've never done this before," he confessed, feeling a blush creep up his neck, grateful for the darkness.
"That's okay," she whispered against his neck, and he could feel her smile.
He didn't want to think about it, but the thoughts came uninvited, crowding his mind like clowns in a tiny car. Rolling on his left side, he drew his knees up, burying his face in the pillow.
He could still smell her; she clung to his clothes, his hair, his skin – a mixture of expensive perfume and sweat, of despair and sex. His stomach started to hurt.
"Do you think I'm beautiful?" she asked in a fragile voice.
"Yes," he whispered.
The phone rang and Josh jumped, startled by the sound in the early morning quiet. He reached for the phone automatically, pressing the receiver to his ear.
"Hello?"
"Hey, did I wake you?" It was Brian.
"No," Josh replied. He looked at the clock; it was almost five in the morning. "I wasn't sleeping."
"Oh," Brian said nonchalantly. "Listen, I need you to do me a huge favor. I need you to bring my Chemistry notebook to class for me. I'm on my way to work and I won't be able to stop by and get it before class."
Josh pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine," he said wearily.
"Thanks." Brian was quiet for a second. He seemed to be waiting for the smart comment Josh always gave him when he asked Josh for a favor. When he didn't comment, Brian asked, "You okay?"
Josh shut his eyes. "Yeah. I'm just tired. I was studying until late last night." It wasn't a complete lie.
"Okay, then. And thanks for bringing my notebook. See you later." He hung up.
"Bye," Josh muttered into the empty room, pushing the TALK button with a beep.
He sat up, his feet resting on the floor. Cradling his head in his hands, elbows propped on his knees, he let out a shaky breath. After a moment, he stood and started removing his shirt.
Her hands were soft, he noticed, as she laid her palms flat against his chest. "So young," she whispered, her voice so low he barely heard her. He shivered as she slowly drew her hands down across his stomach, where they came to rest at his belt. Her dexterous fingers made quick work of the buckle, then the button and the zipper.
He didn't know what to do with his own hands.
He stood naked in the middle of his room, trembling from head to toe, her voice in his head. It was her voice he would remember the most.
He was inside her and it suddenly occurred to him that time was spinning out of control; he couldn't for the life of him figure out how he had gotten to this place. But then her nails were digging into his back and her legs were around his waist and her breath was hot against his ear and he really couldn't think at all.
"Josh," she whispered, her voice urgent. "Josh."
The sound of his own name sounded foreign to him.
The hot water stung his skin and he inhaled sharply through his teeth. He reached over his shoulder and ran his fingers lightly over his shoulder blade. Four raised scratches ran parallel over his skin. He repeated the procedure with the other side – an identical set of scratches.
Then the tears came, unbidden, mixing with the water on his face. He leaned against the wall of the shower stall, the tile cool against his cheek. His body shook with sobs, his cries reverberating off the tile like a broken song.
It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
"Tell me you love me," she said after her breathing had slowed, her fingers woven through his sweaty hair.
He had his head buried in the curve of her shoulder and the sound of his own ragged breathing was loud in his ears. He pushed himself up on his elbows and looked down at her. "What?"
She was crying, the tears rolling down her temples as she looked up at him. "Tell me you love me," she whispered again, touching his face.
"But…I…" Josh managed.
"You don't have to mean it."
Josh opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.
"Please," she said. "Just lie to me."
So he did. And he hated himself for it.
A year ago, there would've been one person he could talk to, one person who would've listened and would've known what to say. He might've made a joke or two, but he would've understood.
Josh stared up at the ceiling and thought – for the millionth time – about the day that Drake had walked out of his life. It still made him angry, but his brother had always been impulsive and stubborn. Those traits had never failed to get Drake into trouble, but Josh had always been there to smooth the waters.
The problem this time was that Josh couldn't make it better – Drake hadn't told them where he was going; he hadn't even known himself at the time. He had simply left.
And he hadn't even said goodbye.
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And thanks again to all the people who have reviewed so far. I REALLY appreciate it.