par après avs yeux

- a jalex story-

a/n: I'm happy that people are reviewing this story and am very glad that you all like it so far. I apologize for the delay in this chapter. I started school today and obviously this is a long chapter (5,433 words to be precise) it took me awhile to write and be pleased with. Reviews are much appreciated and hopefully I will update very soon. Please be patient, lol (:


chapter two - alex

[eight years later]


Notre crainte la plus profonde n'est pas que nous sommes inadéquats. Notre crainte la plus profonde est que nous sommes puissants au-delà de la mesure. C'est notre Lumière, pas notre Obscurité, qui plus nous effraie.

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our Light, not our Darkness, that most frightens us. - Marianne Williamson


"You've reached the hopefully-but-not-likely permanent residence of Alex Russo. If it says this number has been disconnected, I most likely got evicted. Leave a message at the beep if you think I'd actually want to talk to you."

Beep!

"Hey Alex, it's Mason, your werewolf ex-boyfriend. Oh, uh, probably shouldn't have said that, but it's too late now, I guess. It's - um - well, it's been awhile, if you think three years is a long time. It's been five years since you became the family wizard. Man, time flies. I always knew you could do it, you know. That night I was trying a tactic called 'bruise your girlfriend's self confidence' and I guess it worked - haha. I know you said you wanted some space in our relationship because I, quote, 'made you want to dig a hole and become a hermit, and honestly, you already think you're a disgrace to society.' And, well - cough - I thought three years was maybe enough time for you to think things through. I planned to have raw steaks tonight for dinner and wondered if you wanted to join me. I swear I'll pay you at least three positive compliments throughout the course of the evening. Well - uh - I guess you're not home, since you're not picking up and I'm just kind of blabbering on, so I'll assume that you will get this and be over around 7ish. Cheers!"


"You should know who I am if you're calling me, but if you're one of those stupid delinquents I used to coach, then maybe you don't. Alex Russo here, for those brainiacs out there. Leave me a message and if you're lucky I'll get back to you. If not, don't cry about it. Kay, leave a messagey-thing-a-ma-jig at the beep."

Beep!

"Hey Russo, wanna smooch? Okay - haha - that was kind of lame. It's actually Mason, not that slimeball you used to date. What was his name? Duke? Dana? Who even cares, right? Bet you don't. Anyways, you never called me back that one time, but maybe you got a new number and all, so I'm not holding a grudge. Werewolves are very forgiving creatures, you know. But I'm getting off track - haha. I guess I just miss you. I mean, I do love you, and I know that I wasn't the best boyfriend, but you almost mean as much as those raw steaks. That's saying something - I think. Just - just call me back. It's been almost four years since we broke up and I still don't know why. Cheers."


"Hey, it's the kind-of-supposed-to-be-civil Alex Russo, but c'mon, I don't think that will ever fully happen. Anyways, leave a message at the beep, I guess. I'll try to be responsible and get back to you."

Beep!

"The steaks weren't better than you - cough, sniffle. I guess you've decided that we're done, but some part of me will always hang on. I meant it when I said that I loved you, Alex Russo, but I guess that's not enough. Eight years of silence is enough to get a point across. Love you."

Beep!

"I forgot to tell you that I'm not wishing your happiness with other men. I have stature amongst my British brothers and none of them will ever speak to you, so you can get that fantasy of British accents out of your pretty head. That's it, I guess. Cheers."


The damn phone machine is beeping again.

I ignore it as I shimmy the key from the lock and step into my dimly lit apartment. The grocery bags in my arms are loaded down with as much stuff as I could get without buying paper bags - I respect that people want to save the planet and all, but I'm already living paycheck to paycheck; I obviously can't afford a bunch of bags for my necessary-to-live groceries - and my hands feel like lead weights. It's kind of like that one time I tried to exercise, and everyone knows how that turned out.

Although, coincidentally, I now own one of those exercise machines, thanks to my slow metabolism. If I don't want to be the next Miss Chubby, then I have to spend a whole hour on that machine every day. I could make that a half hour if I ate healthier, but cheeseburgers and Coca-Cola are essential to my survival.

The phone machine beeps again - sometimes I think about taking a baseball bat to the thing - and I dump the bags on the counter in the kitchen with a sigh of relief. Thankfully I only make trips to the grocery store once a month, and while it does make the bags that much heavier, it saves gas money and chance encounters with my past. Encounters like accidentally running into Dean while grabbing a box of tampons - equaling much awkwardness - or seeing Mason crossing the street with his newest little girlfriend and either slinking through the back roads to avoid him or exchanging meaningless inquiries.

Speaking of the devil -

I press the play button on the machine, then turn to my grocery bags and start pulling out things.

"Hey Alex, I just thought I'd invite you to a little get together with me and my girlfriend Janelle. She's much more accepting of werewolves than you ever were-"

My hand slaps the delete button with more force than necessary. God, Mason. Doesn't he ever give up? He's probably lying when he says that his current girlfriend knows and loves werewolves. She probably doesn't even know and he's too much of a coward to tell her because he doesn't want to drive her away.

I just don't understand why he won't let go of me. I mean, it's not like we ended things in a bloody fight to the death or anything. I had tried to fight for our relationship as long as I possibly could, but eventually it wasn't enough anymore. I couldn't lie in the same bed as him without remembering the old Mason who had drawn pictures of me on the streets, who had kissed me in the rain, and wondering when that Mason disappeared. I couldn't hold his hand without realizing that I wasn't getting the same little tingles across my skin as I used to feel. I couldn't look Mason in the eye without remembering all of the times that he'd put me down without thinking about it, all the times he'd looked at other girls and all the times he spaced out on me and made me feel like I wasn't important enough to pay attention to. I couldn't bring myself to kiss him like I used to, because I couldn't fake it anymore.

And yes, I probably shouldn't have kicked him out of my apartment and onto the street, ignored him for six years because I couldn't do the brave thing and tell him that I didn't love him anymore. But, honestly, when have I ever given speeches like that? I usually leave the inspiring monologues to Justin - or Max, if I need to loosen up and have a laugh. I'm not perfect; the thought is laughable.

After shoving the remainder of my groceries in the nooks and crannies of my fridge, I shut the door and turn to tug the power out of the phone machine. I'm building up quite a bill with the never-ending calls from Mason. The most ironic part of the situation is that with every message he leaves, he tells me how much he doesn't miss me and how much happier he is now, yet he's making the calls in the first place. I'm single and you don't see me making that much of a fuss over it [that one time when I nearly broke down the down during one of my 'god I'm going to be alone forever' tirades excluded.]

My feet squeal against the hard-wood floors as I head down the hall to my bedroom. I really don't spend much time in the front of the apartment - unless I'm watching TV, and that's only like once a week; I usually crash on my parent's couch - not only because I can't afford to keep all the lights on at the same time, but because it's far too bare. As a tenant, I'm required to keep the walls white and people would surely notice if I used my magic to spruce up the place. My room is much cozier, with the light blue walls bleeding into beige with brown patterns - yeah, I used my magic for the temporary illusion of paint in the one room; sue me - and the queen sized bed which often feels too empty but wonderful all the same. I do most of my plotting and conniving in here and it's in the back of the house, so I don't have to hear the neighbors blasting Justin Bieber through the windows.

The familiar sound of Idioteque by Radiohead fills the silence of the room just as I plop onto the bed and I contemplate throwing my cell phone out the window before resigning myself to the fact that things probably aren't going to change. As much as I don't like being popular via technological devices or in general, it always seems to happen. Damn charismatic nature.

"What do you want?" I grumble as I answer.

"Hey Alex," Max practically shouts. I cover the ear not pressed against the phone and wince.

"Unless the world is about to spontaneously combust, you are not allowed to use that kind of tone. Inside voices, Maxie," I remind him, wondering how he manages to persuade the rest of the world that he's a successful, twenty-seven year old mortal when clearly he's still the same Max from my childhood.

He's the same Max who would accidentally levitate himself instead of a soda can, who would fall for his own booby trap. I'm not sure when he grew up and got the stubble on his chin; I don't remember when any of us grew up. I mean, Justin's middle-aged at thirty-one - the horror - and I'm just two years from the dreaded thirty. I have rolls. And no I'm not talking about the delicious pastries my Mom baked for us when we were younger. Those rolls were the ones that gave me these rolls, damn them.

"Sorry," Max apologizes, still sounded way too excited. "Mom wanted to know if you're still coming over for dinner."

I have to laugh. It's necessary. Mom always asks whether I'm coming over for dinner on Thursday night and my answer is always a sound yes. Others would wonder why she keeps asking, but I know she just craves the contact. She always hated the idea of having an "empty nest," though with the amount of time Max spends over there one can't really call the house empty, or silent.

"I'll be there around seven," I tell him, smiling.

"But," there are shuffling sounds from his end, "it's already ten past seven."

"Oh. Well, I'll get there when I get there." People still expect me to be on time; they never learn.

More static sounds follow, then Max says, "Awesome. Joce can't make it, but she told me to tell you hi. So, um, hi!"

Joce...Joce...oh yeah, Max's girlfriend, Jocelyn. I keep wanting to say fiance, because we're all expecting him to pop the question soon. It's an odd thought, Max, the youngest of the siblings, getting married first.

I laugh again, "Tell Jocelyn I say hi back."

There are mumbling sounds from his end and I assume he's passing along the message to Jocelyn.

"Well, hurry up Alex. Justin flew all the way from Washington and he wants some quality family time with all of us."

Justin's there? Something like an ache reverberates in my chest and I exhale.

"See you soon, Maxie." I hang up, staring into space.


I nearly run into the neighbor's trash can as I pull out of my little driveway and turn into the cross-street that leads to the main road, but I'm not paying enough attention to care whether I left a dent in their recycling or not. My thoughts are focused on my left hand - the fourth finger, to be precise - and I wonder how Juliet's hand looks with the shiny engagement ring Justin bought her a few months ago. Yes, engaged. After much quivering and whining, my brother finally did the right thing and proposed to the girl of his dreams, the one he's in love with. I helped him pick out the ring and encouraged him to propose, because he was practically a quivering puddle of indecision.

Not like I was trying to push him away from me. Hardly.

It's just, you know, well -

I sigh as I turn the car again, pressing down on the gas as I approach the ramp to the freeway.

For once in my life I had to do something sacrificial, not selfish, and he so happened to be conviniently worrying about his future with Juliet. So I told him that he needed to either get rid of her and find someone else or get her the damn ring already. I was surprised Juliet hadn't already proposed herself, with how long my brother had taken to develop the courage. I'd been completely unselfish, even ignoring the look in his eyes when he turned to me, telling me everything I didn't want to know and yet had to.

But I love you, the look in his beautiful gray eyes had said.

I know that I used to have that look, but I'd banished it long ago. Because while I may do many stupid things, I'm smart enough never to indulge in the idea of being in love with my brother. I let myself fear - perhaps hate - the feelings, because that's all I can do. It's been years and I hope they go away before I'm on death's door [at like sixty or whatever] but it's not like there's many books on the subject. Even if there is a shelf of books for those involved in incest, I'm not an idiot. People stare and they talk; they scorn you faster than you can open your mouth to explain.

How the hell does a twenty-eight year old woman with no job manage to talk her way out of I'm in love with my brother?


I try the door of the apartment before entering without knocking - it's not like anyone important lives here - and am right away swept into familiar arms. Ugh, hugging. I've never gotten used to them and will probably never like them, but other people don't seem to understand that.

"It's good to see you, mija," Mom whispers in my ear, kissing my cheek and tugging me closer like she hasn't seen me in months.

"Good to see you too," I mumble, pulling away as I feel the need to breathe. "How have you been?"

My mom is doing pretty well for her age. She hasn't put on too much weight and there are only a few gray hairs intersperced with dark brown - but that's probably because she has her hair dyed every few months to look younger - and she must have had her teeth whitened recently because they're nice and shiny. There's a little shimmer in her brown eyes, happiness at seeing the entire family together for once, I presume. I do miss being here around my parents occassionally, but not enough to move back. So long as I drop in for dinner once in awhile then I'm fine.

"A bit lonely," Mom says, batting her eyelashes at Jerry and wrapping an arm around his waist. "It's hard being empty-nesters."

"Well, Max is still around," I console her, patting her arm awkwardly. Then I reach in to give my dad a hug. He still smells like the sub-shop and a hint of cologne, proof he's shaved for us.

"Not for long," Mom says with a fake sniff. "Maxie's been saving up for a ring, isn't that right?" She looks across the room towards the bathroom and I turn in time to see Max heading towards us. After finally reaching that growth spurt he'd been chomping at the bit for, Max hit six foot no problem and I now have to look up to say hello.

"There he is," I announce to no one in particular, throwing my arms around my little brother. I can't bury my head into his shoulder like I used to when he was younger and shorter, but I can still give him hugs. My hand rubs absent-mindedly through his straight hair and I wonder when he got rid of the curls. I almost miss them. "Did Joce tell you that you had to cut the afro?" I ask Max half-jokingly.

Max chuckles, "Yeah. She said she was getting tired of her fingernails getting stuck in my hair and told me that our shampoo bill couldn't go up anymore, so I just had it cut off. Feels weird, though, like I've lost who I am." His eyes get wide and I ruffle his hair again as I laugh.

"I'm sure you'll re-discover yourself," I tell him. "So, when are you going to pop the big question?"

"To you?" Max asks, confused, and I choke on air.

"That's illegal, Max," a voice echoes from the stairwell and I turn to meet Justin's eyes with cool indifference on my face. My older brother takes a few steps forward until he's in the family room on the other side of the couch and I swivel back to look at Max, feeling my heart pound in my chest.

"God, I love you, Maxie," I say with a smile, pinching his cheek. "I meant, when are you going to propose to Jocelyn?"

"Oh." Max's eyebrows furrow inward and he says, "Well, I'm not sure anymore."

"Why?" I ask with a frown. Our parents creep up behind me and I see Justin moving towards us in the corner of my left eye.

"Well, um," Max begins, looking kind of uncomfortable; unusual for him. "She's kind of the full wizard in her family. Her older brother Freddie failed out of Wiztech and that left just her in the running."

A soft hand lands on my left shoulder and I turn to meet Justin's horrified gaze, knowing that we're thinking the same thing. Out of all the kids in Wiztech, what are the chances that one boy would land in Justin's office, lie and say that he had no siblings, then be transferred to my delinquent class where he soon failed due to lack of effort? He must have wanted his sister to win, is my next thought. What a sacrifice.

"But then - isn't there anyone who she can transfer her powers to?" Dad asks Max, crossing his arms as he always does when he gets stressed.

Max shrugs, looking very calm about the whole matter. "She might not want to give up being a wizard for me," he says. "It's all she has, really, you know?"

"But she has you," I reply angrily. "She's willing to just give you up if it will save her powers?" Justin's fingers squeeze my shoulder - his way of silently telling me to calm down - but I ignore him.

"Try to understand," Max responds, sounding more mature than I've ever heard him. "She lost her parents when she was young and Freddie homeschooled her. I was the first ex-wizard she met, someone she could trust with her secret, but there's a whole world out there. If she thinks she'll find someone better for her out there then who am I to stop her?"

"But - but what will that do to you?" I wonder, stepping closer to Max and feeling the ache in my chest as Justin's fingers fall from my shoulder. I know all too well how much it hurts to lose someone you love and I don't want my little brother going through that. There isn't a malicious bone in his body and he doesn't deserve to be dumped on the side of the road like this.

Max shrugs, lets Mom bustle forward and pull him into a hug. It's only when he looks at me that I see the sadness there, the feelings he's trying to hide from the rest of us. Oh Maxie, I think, frustrated. If I could change it I would.

Without a word, I turn and fling myself towards the stairs, leaving our parents to deal with Max. Suddenly my appetite is gone and I'm all too aware of the fact that Justin's feet are pounding against the stairs, heading towards me. I realize yet again that I haven't seen my older brother since he moved to New York with Juliet, and the yearning to spend time with him battles with the fear of actually speaking to him.

"Are you okay?" Justin asks as he approaches me and I instinctively reach for the door to my room.

"Just checking out the old place," I respond, crossing my arms and stepping into my room. "Not much has changed." The bed is still wrinkled and unmade - considering I refused to clean up before I left and Mom wouldn't dare come in here. No one visited me in here when I still lived here either, except Justin on occassion, and Dad when I was younger.

"Except dustier," Justin says, slapping a hand over his nose as his face scrunches up.

I smirk, ask, "Allergies?"

He rolls his eyes and then we just stare at each other for a minute, drinking in the sight of the person we were never allowed to miss so much. He looks somewhat good - but dorky, always dorky - in his dark jeans and long sleeved, pressed shirt with a gray tie, and while he's trimmed his hair over the years it doesn't look much different. There is some stubble on his jaw that I wish he would shave off, but I snap my mouth shut resolutely.

"So, how's the job?" Justin asks conversationally after a moment, following me to the other side of the room. My eyes roam around the shelves filled with old treasures and the nightstand with clothes shoved until the point that they're bursting to escape; anywhere but Justin's eyes, I tell myself.

"Fired myself last year," I say, "but you would know."

I see Justin shrug from my peripherals and he responds, "Well, yes, but you make it sound as though I'm stalking you."

"Maybe you are," I mutter with a little chuckle. "Go ahead. Ask already."

After a minute of hesitation, Justin asks, "Why did you fire yourself? I thought you enjoyed teaching the A-7 delinquents?"

"B-2," I correct him without thinking. "And I thought we shouldn't call them delinquents. They are after all, 'human beings in a bit of a rough patch.' Those are your words, by the way." Justin glares at me and I smile, knowing that he's not really mad. "I guess I just got tired of it after awhile. Admittedly, I thought I would enjoy teaching the students that are just like I was, but it just reminds me how much I failed and how much they've failed. It gets tiring and I don't know how to encourage them to do otherwise."

"So you fired yourself," Justin finishes for me, cocking an eyebrow questioningly.

I nod, uncrossing my arms and swinging them from side to side. "I'll find something else," I reply matter-of-factly. "I always do."

"You never knew what you wanted, Alex," Justin murmers, meeting my gaze and holding it for a second too long. "You still don't."

My head tilts to the side and I refuse to let my lips waver as our eyes meet again, brown on gray, and we begin to lose ourselves within each other. I did, I want to say, but the words won't ever come out. We both knew what we wanted, and somehow we lost ourselves.

"So, how are you making the payments on your apartment?" Justin asks, taking another swing at the chinks in my armor without realizing it.

I shrug, tell him, "I'm scraping by, will probably be evicted soon. But that's not a surprise. This is me we're talking about." I gesture to myself and try to laugh, but it sounds funny. "I'm surprised I lasted this long to begin with." I imagine him flying back to Washington to be with Juliet and something groans deep within me.

"And Mason?" Justin's voice sounds funny too, now. "Can't he provide for you?"

I thought so. But I was wrong, and I never told you because I was too proud.

"He's gone." I barely hear myself speak.

"Gone?"

"I broke up with him. Didn't love him anymore." The room spins.

I get a picture of a wedding train, of Juliet's perfect face beaming behind the veil, and suddenly I'm crying without my own permission. Justin's face softens immediately and he crosses the space separating us to pull me into his arms. He's mumbling beautiful nonsense in my ear and I blur the world away, focusing on his barely-there scent and the way his hands are gripping my back a little too tight. He probably thinks I'm crying about losing Mason, but I'm not. Or, at least, I don't think I am. It's all smushed together into one ball of horribly intense emotion I can't banish. I love you. I love you. I love you. And I can't tell you, and I don't know what I'm going to do when you marry Juliet.

"Alex -" Justin pulls away just far enough to look at me, and there is the burning in his beautiful eyes again, the terrified look that means something is about to happen between us.

"Please," I beg for the first time in my life. "Just once, before I lose you to her."

He looks horribly torn, but the moment my fingers brush his cheek something flames in the pit of his gray irises, something feral and lacking thought. His lips crash down on mine, more desperate than they've ever felt. I wrap my arms around his neck, feel him press into me. The heat is nearly unbearable and addictive at the same time and something curls in my stomach as our tongues dance.

Something in his eyes: a question. I nod just barely, kiss him again, then reach back and lock the door.

"I love you," I whisper as he lies me down gently on my old bed, his lips nipping at my neck, bringing something to life in the essence of my bones. "I love you so much. I love you." I probably sound pathetic, but I can't bring myself to care.

Justin is smiling radiantly as he leans down to kiss my cheek, nose, lips. His fingers curl around the hem of my tank-top and he breathes, "I love you."

I wrap my feet around his waist, head tipping back in ecstasy as his fingers slip down the grooves of my skin, lighting me on fire from the inside out. Hopefully I've learned to quiet down in bed, or we're going to have to answer some horribly awkward questions when our parents find us.

But right now, I don't care.

Justin is just a boy and I'm just a girl, with no cares in the world except each other.


My toes curl and I sigh happily as I press myself closer to him. I'm aching from head to foot but I'm happier than I've ever been, lying here in Justin's arms, listening to him breathe as he sleeps. My lips brush his cheek and I snuggle closer, preparing to go back to sleep. In a few hours we'll have to hide our feelings away again, play the game we've been playing since before the wizard competition and I don't know how I'm going to cope. Probably I'll get fat from eating so many gallons of ice cream, but I don't want to think about that right now. I don't want to think about how disappointed and horror-struck my parents and Max would be if they found us here together. I don't want to think about the expression on Juliet's face if she found out that her fiance slept with his sister.

I just want to forget the world for awhile and just allow myself to be happy for a few hours longer.

Suddenly, the fingers of my right hand brush a piece of paper on the bed. I open my eyes just wide enough to see the blue post it note with something scribbled on it and wonder when I left that there. Cupping the note in my hand I pull it closer until I can make out the words.

The world stops and I freeze with my mouth and eyes wide open. Disbelieving tears build in my eyes but I force them back, reading the note again with something along the lines of terror. This is a joke, right?

Get dressed and go downstairs or Justin dies.


..::.:.:::être continué:::.:.::..

..:.:..::...to be continued..::..:.:::.:..