A/N: I originally wrote this back in 2013. It had been titled Afterword. It had 16 chapters and was just over halfway done. I lost interest because of life and rumours about Masterson; then those rumours became a reality. Now I've decided that not only do I want to finish this story, but I need to. I enjoy writing this fic. I like the characters, not the actors. I ship the characters, not the actors. 'Nuff said.
Each chapter is titled after a song from the '60s or '70s. If you're expecting big changes or edits to the OG story, you'll be disappointed. I'm too lazy for that. It is, however, on its way to being finished, so enjoy! Also, this is a slow-burn, so prepare yourself.
⋆ 𖤓 ⋆
The Girl She Was
.
Love conquered all—or at least that's what Jackie had once led herself to believe. Love was supposed to be immeasurable and immutable, invincible and insurmountable, and any other adjective she could think of that began with the letter 'I'.
Did Paris and Helen of Troy let anyone come between their love? No! Well, okay, there might have been the Greeks, and they may have started a war that destroyed an entire kingdom, but they followed their hearts, and that's all that mattered in the end.
Jackie Burkhart was certainly no Helen of Troy. She was vastly hotter than the ill-fated Trojan princess. She wasn't some hairy, half-naked hemp-smoker from some bygone era. Jackie came from a period of shaved legs and micro minis. She was beautiful and delicate like a porcelain doll. She was a princess in need of her own Prince Paris.
The real problem in Princess Jackie's life was that her current paramour wasn't shaping up to be a man willing to go to war for her. Their love certainly caused no riots between nations or launching of ships; no wooden horses would be sneaked past her impenetrable forces; no foundations would be razed to the ground over their kisses. It was a love that was all just so... ordinary.
Creepy and unnatural—was that to be the pinnacle of her love life? Creepy and unnatural abandoned her without so much as batting an eyelash in her direction. Screw creepy and unnatural.
Life just wasn't fair.
Over the past few years, she had learnt that life was anything but fair, even for beautiful people like herself. However, there was one consistency in her life, one idea that never abandoned her: the concept of love. For good or bad, love would always be the focal point of Jackie's existence. It was her obsession, that unattainable dream.
Love was supposed to be immeasurable, but even she wasn't deluded enough to believe that was entirely true. She could measure love quite well, thank you very much, with gifts, words of adoration and promises—promises of a future and a family together. This was the American dream—the Jackie Burkhart dream. Throw in a two-carat princess-cut diamond engagement ring, white doves and unicorns prancing on rainbows, and the dream would be complete.
Oh yes, she could dream and delude herself with her childish fantasies. If she were to dig deep inside herself, she could also admit (though never aloud) that love was more than materialistic things and Hallmark greetings. However, selling out to commercial propaganda just happened to be Jackie's bag and she would never pretend to be any different.
Despite all of this, or maybe because of it, Jackie still measured love—in quantity and quality. And, if you were to catch her in a circle, she might just admit to leaning favourably towards quality but vehemently denying the confession once sober.
She was well aware that there were all sorts of love, like the love for a pet or designer shoes or your crazy grandmother who smelled like Ben-Gay and used to call you Kathy but gave you twenty dollars every birthday, along with some of the best hugs you'd ever remember from your childhood. And then there were the loves of your lives: the men with whom you so foolishly handed over your fragile heart.
From her first love with Michael to the ego-boosting crush she shared with Fez, Jackie could count the worth and amount of love on the fingers of both her hands and tally the scores in her head. While both loves were sweet in their own ways, sadly, they were very quantifiable.
Michael was the easiest one to size up. He was her first boyfriend, who had first carved a niche in her heart. He was the one with whom she would grade all others against—at first, anyway. And he was the one she would never forget because he was her first and because she has always been a romantic at heart.
Fez, on the other hand, was someone who spent a bit more time opening up her heart rather than her legs. She discovered that some loves weren't necessarily about control, passion or heartache—or forgetting how to breathe. Fez had made her feel good about herself when she had been at her lowest. He worshipped the very ground she walked on and, for a while, she believed that was exactly what she needed. It was what she deserved: to be catered to and coddled, to never be challenged. However, it was a one-sided love affair that left a bitter taste on her tongue, if only because her heart refused to hold reasonable negotiations with her brain.
And then there was Steven Hyde, the rebel without a cause: constantly defying the rules and scoffing in the face of convention, subscribing to nonsensical conspiracy theories more frequently than she set her hair (which happened to be quite often). Here was a man who never did or said precisely what she wanted but somehow opened her up to this totally different dimension of love that she couldn't possibly define—not even if she had a thousand monkeys working at a thousand typewriters.
Steven Hyde was like biting into tinfoil. It was a stupid idea and hurt like hell, but it was interesting and fun and her curiosity got the best of her because she would bite into him regardless of the consequences. But more than that, Steven made her laugh, made her think, made her cry and made her scream. Instead of carving himself into a small spot of her heart, he had taken the entirety of it in his hands and seared his fingerprints into it, making it as much his own heart as it was hers.
It was the kind of love that could never be measured or articulated. It was unpredictable and dangerous, an all-consuming need that left her breathless and twisted inside. It still left her twisted inside.
Jackie also knew that love was anything but immutable. Love changed things. It didn't just change how you felt or regarded someone one day or the next; love changed who you were. Love shifted your world to suit its needs. Sometimes, it made you a better person; sometimes, it made you worse. Sometimes, all love did was strip away your identity until nothing was left but an empty husk waiting to be discarded or rebuilt from the foundations up.
Sometimes love left you naked and exposed, clutching onto anything that would fill you with warmth again. But that was a dark and cruel path to travel down—one filled with brambles and thorns that sliced into your sides, carving twisted, unrecognisable patterns into vulnerable flesh. That kind of love sucked you down into a pit that you dug with your own bare hands, with the dirt still embedded beneath your fingernails.
Jackie had already dug her pit of self-loathing. She had dug so deeply and so blindly that she could no longer see the sky above and was too numb from the effort to crawl out of the hole she had so willingly fallen into. Or maybe she had been thrown into it. Perhaps she had dug the pit, but someone else had tossed her in. Now she was wallowing in the mud, unable to climb out.
But even at the bottom of her utmost despair, Jackie was an optimist, a foolish romantic. She still reasoned that all was not lost as long as there was love. And she was right in a way.
Sure, love could conquer many problems as long as you figured out what love was truly for. And sometimes, if you were lucky enough, a sliver of light would find its way through the darkness and light a path of escape. Only if you were strong enough, willing enough and had just enough luck on your side could you follow that light out of the darkness and into the light.
Into freedom.
And while Jackie didn't know it at the time, she would eventually see that light...
⋆ 𖤓 ⋆
14 February 1980
Point Place, Wisconsin
Fez and Jackie's Apartment
.
"Jackie, w-will you m-marry me?"
It had taken Fez three attempts to spit out the proposal, awkwardly thrusting the open blue velvet box into Jackie's hands.
The ring had a small diamond set in its centre, framed on either side by two smaller stones. It wasn't the kind of engagement ring she had been dreaming about since she was a little girl, but it was fashionable and charming in its own way.
Jackie sat frozen on the edge of her bed, her mouth working soundlessly, fruitlessly trying to produce some sort of response. To her dismay, her lips twisted into a frown and she glanced down at her hands, idly fingering the velvet box.
An agonising moment later, she looked up and met Fez's gaze, her answer finally tumbling out of her lips with a haphazard shake of her chestnut curls, "No."
There was a pregnant pause, followed by audible swallowing. By Fez or herself, Jackie didn't know.
Wait—what do you mean no? Hold on a second here. Maybe I didn't hear that right.
"Uh, Jackie." Fez ran his tongue along his upper lip, his eyes darting nervously about the room. "M-maybe you didn't hear me."
Maybe is right! I must have gone temporarily deaf. That's the only explanation.
"No, I heard you." Jackie ducked her head as she thrust the velvet box back into Fez's hands. "My answer is still no."
Oh my God, WHAT is happening?
Fez began to shift on his feet, his tongue doing a terrible job on his lips. "Ai! Is it because I am not down on bended knee?" He bent his body forwards as though he were about to do just that. "B-because I can do that."
Yes! It's because you're not proposing the proper way, down on bended knee! Obviously I want this to be perfect, but maybe I'm taking things a bit too far. I must have had Donna's Carnation Instant Bitch this morning. I plead momentary insanity. Now let's proceed, my darling Fez.
"No, please don't do that." Jackie's throat constricted painfully as she swallowed, shifting farther down the bed. "It doesn't matter if you get down on a bended knee, Fez. I can't marry you."
What? Why the hell not?
"Why not?"
That's what I'm asking! God, why am I not listening to myself? Helllloooo?
"I'm just not ready for that yet." Jackie twisted the soft cotton sheets between her fingers. "We've only been dating a month and a half, Fez. Don't you, uh—don't you think it's a little too soon for marriage?"
Too soon? Too soon! WHO the hell are you and WHY have you taken over my vocal chords?
"Yes, I suppose you're right," he admitted with a sigh. Whether it was a sigh of relief or disappointment, Jackie couldn't tell. "I just assumed since it was Valentine's Day that maybe—" he gestured to the blue velvet box in his hands "—this was what you wanted."
Yes! You guessed right, Fez! Now tell him he's right, stupid brain! Or wait—if you're the brain talking, what am I? Am I the brain? This is all so confusing. I wish I had taken psychology in school or whatever -ology that has to do with the brain that makes people nutjobs for no reason.
God! Just take the damn ring already! This is what I've always wanted: security, the promise of a family, a nice shiny ring. Stop digging in your heels like a stupid Steven Hyde and just say yes!
Ugh! No, no, no! Now I'm thinking about Steven. Don't you dare mention Steven to Fez or I'll—I'll... Dammit, I can't threaten myself. I'm too beautiful!
"God! Does everyone really think I'm that wedding-hungry?" Jackie threw up her hands. "If you remember correctly, I turned down Michael's marriage proposal."
Come to think of it—why had I said no back then?
"Look, Fez—" Jackie's expression had shifted from sombre to severe "—I don't want men proposing to me because they think that's what I want." Fez opened his mouth to retort, but she quickly cut him off, "I'm only eighteen, and I don't even have a real job. I'm just—I'm just not ready for that kind of commitment... yet."
WHO THE HELL is saying these things? You're ready! I'm ready! Jackie Burkhart was born ready!
"I understand." Fez bowed his head, his chest sunken in defeat as he turned towards the door. "Maybe I should stay with Kelso for a while."
Jackie's eyes widened in panic and she jumped off the bed. "N-no, wait! I didn't mean for us to break up or anything. I still want to be with you, Fez. I just want to take things slow this time."
Oh, so suddenly you're no longer Miss Play-It-Cool? Can't take the ring but can't be alone either? Not so different from me, are you?
Fez snapped the box lid shut and slipped it into his pocket. "I knew this would happen. I told myself not to get involved with you, but I did." He glanced up at the ceiling, his dark brown eyes shining wetly in the fluorescent light. "Hyde was right: you make men stupid."
Jackie visibly flinched as though he had just struck her in the face.
Why did he have to mention him, of all people?
"Fez, I didn't say I wanted to break up. I'm just not ready for—"
"Jacqueline, enough!"
Fez was using his formal tone with her. It reminded her of arguments with her father, back when he actually gave a damn. She instinctively cowered, and his eyes softened at her demure position.
"Please, Jackie, be honest for once in your life." His jaw clenched stubbornly. "You do not wish to be with me."
"Fez, I—no, it's not like that. I mean, we haven't even, you know." Her cheeks heated with colour. "I'm just not ready for marriage yet."
"You were ready with Hyde."
"That was different. I was young and—"
"It was less than a year ago."
She brought a hand to her hair and began nervously twirling a lock around her finger. "It was different with Steven. I needed some assurances." She dropped her hand and huffed. "But this isn't about me and Steven."
"You're right." Fez curled his hands into fists and let them fall to his sides. "It's about me and you, Jackie, and how there is no longer a me and you."
Her body instantly froze. "Fez, don't—"
"I told you I wouldn't be sloppy thirds, Jackie." The look on his face was that of sad resignation, and her heart clenched painfully in her chest. She felt like she had just kicked a puppy.
"But you're not, Fez!"
That's it, reel him back in! Any man would be happy to be Jackie Burkhart's sloppy whatevers, but don't let him know you think that way. He might think you're vainglorious or something... Wait, where did I learn that word?
"Do you even want to get married?" she asked him.
No! What are you doing? Don't give him an out!
"Honestly? I don't know." He let out a protracted sigh before shaking his head. "All I know is that I do not like seeing you unhappy."
Small tears pooled at the corners of her eyes.
Then why are you breaking up with me?
"Then why are you with me?"
What?
"What?"
"I mean—" she cleared her throat and gestured lamely with her hands "—why are you breaking up with me if you don't like seeing me unhappy?"
He offered her a sad smile. "My ego can only handle so much abuse."
Jackie bowed her head and nodded slowly. Fez tsked in half-part exasperation, half-part guilt. He stepped towards her and touched her hair, curling a lock around his finger.
"I care for you, Jackie, I truly do. You have this way of making the person you are with feel like he is the centre of your universe, which is a wonderful feeling, but—" He dropped her hair and sighed. "I have not felt that way in a long time... Maybe I never did."
"Fez, no—" She jumped towards him, but he stepped back and held up his hand to stop her.
"I cannot." His face was a mask of pain. "I cannot talk about this with you right now."
But what about me?
"But what about us?" Her voice was small, not entirely her own.
"It was a great seven weeks—until tonight," he said, adding the last part gravely.
Jackie lifted her chin to meet his gaze. "So this is it?"
He nodded regrettably.
Tell him how much you love him! Don't let him break up with you! Ask him to stay!
"Will you—will you still be my friend?" Her voice broke at the end, and his heart broke along with it. What she was worried about the most was losing his companionship.
He lifted her chin and gave her a look that said, I am not Hyde. "I will always be your friend, my dearest goddess Jackie. Always."
Her bottom lip began to tremble and she rushed into his arms. She hiccuped back a sob and clung tightly to her best friend like a lifeline. Then he kissed the top of her head and let go, walking away like every other man in Jackie Burkhart's life.
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Jackie sat mutely at the foot of her bed, trying to draw air out of a room that had plenty just a few minutes ago and now seemed to have none.
Fez was long gone, along with the voice that had taken over her—the voice that had decided to reject her one sure thing. The apartment was eerily silent, save the old Ariston on her dresser, quietly spinning vinyl. The needle ran smoothly for the most part, idly skipping the shallow grooves on the dated record as popping pockets of static signalled the ushering of a new track.
She would never say where she came from
Yesterday don't matter if it's gone
Jackie breathed in and out in a series of feverish gasps. She knew the air was going into her lungs, but that didn't change the fact that she felt like she couldn't breathe. She was alone, gasping at the foot of her bed while listening to the dulcet tones of The Rolling Stones croon about losing some girl or losing a dream. She wasn't exactly sure. All she could agree with was the sentiment that life was unkind.
Lose your dreams
And you will lose your mind
Ain't life unkind?
Groaning, Jackie took in another hitching gasp of air. She wasn't crying. No, she had cried all her tears months ago. She hadn't cried since she'd heard that Steven was going to stay with that hooker, Sam—his wife.
Back then the tears wouldn't stop; back then the pain was far too great for her to worry about such minor matters of respiration or how there seemed to be no air in the room. The pain then had swallowed her whole before slicing into her like a knife, a blade twisting into an open wound so that it would never fully heal.
The wound had never healed.
That may be why the room had so little air in it. Maybe she wasn't just hiccuping back tearless sobs for Fez. Maybe she was still mourning her previous love.
The realisation both startled and angered her. She didn't want to think about him again. She wasn't going to let him affect her when she was supposed to be grieving over the end of a relationship with another man. So Jackie closed her eyes and willed herself to breathe again.
After a few attempts, her breathing finally began to ease a little, returning to her in slow, even gasps. She turned to face the wall and her eyes connected with her own, a reflection of herself in a gilded mirror. Her eyes widened initially and then narrowed, taking in her flushed and pretty face. She didn't recognise herself at first. She always thought she was the type of beautiful girl who still looked pretty, even when she cried, but her eyes were as expressionless as shards of glass twinkling on summer pavement.
What's happened to me? Who am I?
The phone rang loudly and she jumped in her seat, her concentration shattering. A second ring, just as ear-splitting, sent her lunging across her bed and reaching towards her nightstand. Her hand found the phone in its cradle and picked it up before it rang a third time.
"Hello?" Her voice was shaky but clear.
What was it about answering the telephone when you were emotionally devastated? Did you subconsciously want the other person on the line to know you were upset? Were you seeking attention or only aggravating your own pain?
"Miss Jacqueline Burkhart?" It was a woman's voice, unfamiliar but crisp and professional.
"Yes?" She cleared her throat. "Speaking."
"Miss Burkhart, this is Gloria West calling on behalf of Mr Thompson, the general production manager for News 4 at WTMJ-TV."
Oh my God!
"Mr Thompson received your audition tape and application letter the other day and would like you to come in for an interview for the internship position here at WTMJ-TV in Milwaukee, if you're interested."
"I—of course! I'd love to come in for an interview!"
She didn't even bother to ask what type of internship it was—if it was paid or non-paid, production or broadcast. It didn't matter. WTMJ-TV was the flagship station of the Journal Broadcast Group and an affiliate of NBC. If she could make a name for herself there, no matter how insignificant, then there was no telling how high up the corporate broadcasting ladder she could climb.
"That's great, Miss Burkhart. Mr Thompson is away on business next week and is heavily scheduled all Friday afternoon." There was a brief pause. "Is it possible for you to come in tomorrow morning at nine? I know it's short notice—"
"I'll be there! Bright and early!"
"Good." Jackie could practically hear the woman smiling on the other end of the line, and she was faintly aware that she was smiling herself. "Just let me give you the directions to Radio City. Do you have a pen and paper handy, dear?"
Jackie was already skidding across to the other side of the room and rifling through her small desk drawer before pulling out a pad of paper and a pen. She returned to the phone and began scribbling down the address, making noises in the affirmative as Ms West gave her detailed directions.
Once off the phone, Jackie allowed herself a triumphant squeal of delight before dancing wildly about her bedroom. This was her first break in God only knew how long. This may be the fresh start she needed. Maybe some of that lesbian-feminist self-awareness crap Donna had been jabbering on about all these years had finally got through. She didn't need a man to make her feel good about herself; she just needed herself.
Suddenly, Jackie didn't feel like crying anymore. She could finally breathe again.
⋆ 𖤓 ⋆
The floorboards creaked as she walked down the stairs into the basement. Jackie wasn't even sure why she was even here. Her hopes in telling Donna and Eric the good news were dashed when she remembered that it was Valentine's Day and the two were out for dinner, as were the Formans.
It deflated her ego a bit, knowing she wouldn't be celebrating the romantic holiday with her significant other. Fez was probably already in Chicago, hanging out with Michael, his one true love. There was no reason for her to be here.
Lost in thought, Jackie stood at the bottom of the landing and paused when she saw the back of Steven's head. He sat slumped in his usual seat, a beer nestled in his hand as he casually watched whatever was playing on the television. He didn't even bother to glance back over his shoulder to acknowledge her presence.
Deliberately brushing past him, she sank into the yellow sofa and slipped her hands into the pockets of her navy peacoat. It was too hot inside to wear a jacket, but she kept it on anyway. She had decided to leave for Milwaukee that night and stay at a motel, which would allow her to be refreshed and ready for her early morning interview.
Her bags were already packed, stuffed in the back of the ugly blue Gremlin she had bought cheap last week. She hoped no one at the station would assume the car was hers. If the interview went well, she figured she'd make a day trip out of it and go shopping. After her break-up with Fez, she could do with some shallow pick-me-up consumerism.
"Hey," she said casually, stealing an innocent glance at her ex.
He was wearing one of his Led Zeppelin t-shirts. She wasn't sure which one as they all tended to bleed together in her mind. But the dirty, worn tee fit him perfectly, accentuating the broad span of his chest and the long, hard line of his stomach. If it wasn't for the porn 'stache, she'd be drooling right now.
Dammit, why the hell couldn't he be ugly?
Finally, he stirred, probably more so out of having felt her eyes on him than her formal greeting. He grunted his hello before setting down his beer and returning to his program. Then, as though suddenly realising who he had somewhat politely acknowledged, his entire body went rigid. Folding his muscled arms across his chest, he easily shifted back into Zen, his eyebrows slightly raised above his thin-framed aviators.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, directing a half-hearted glare in her direction.
"I came to see if Donna and Eric were here."
"Well—" he shrugged, elbows pointing outwards "—as you can see, they're not."
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I figured that out on my own."
"Really, now?" He leaned forwards, reaching across her knee to grab his beer from the table. "Good work, Columbo."
His arm barely grazed her jeans when he settled back into his seat, and she let out a short burst of air. She hadn't even realised she had been holding her breath until she expelled it. Feeling frustrated and slightly embarrassed, she turned and tried to inch away from him inconspicuously.
Why had she sat so close in the first place?
He was leaning forwards again, setting the beer back down on the table, and she closed her eyes, catching his scent. She was trying hard not to look at or even think about him. With them being so close and alone together, she couldn't help but remember how it had been that summer in the basement. How he always knew where to touch her, how his mouth would always find her lips, jaw, throat—any uncovered flesh. How his beard would tickle her skin or how his large hands would roam her body or delicately cup her cheeks. His fingers would tangle in her hair and hers would tangle in his, and they'd kiss long, hot and languid, always desperate for more.
"What are you still doing here?"
She jumped slightly in her seat before recovering, summoning her pride. "I'm allowed to be here, Hyde."
He stiffened slightly. It was a subtle movement, the way his shoulders lowered and tilted back and his jaw worked like he was trying hard not to grind his teeth. It was almost like a facial tick. She felt a little smug about it. It was the small things she noticed about him, minuscule details she had trained herself to watch and wait for.
Yeah, she still knew him.
"Well, I guess once your kind is officially invited in, you can enter any time you like." A cruel smirk curved onto his lips before he blanked his expression entirely and turned back to the television. "But I wouldn't go around saying you're allowed to be here, Jackie." He folded his arms across his chest. "You've just worn out your welcome."
"I've worn out my welcome?" She snorted indelicately, mimicking his movements. "At least I'm not living rent-free in Mommy and Daddy's basement while getting stoned and shit-faced twenty-four-seven."
She watched as his arms unlocked and fell to his sides, his large hands clenched into fists. She felt a sliver of satisfaction then, though it was only fleeting.
"No, you've got Prince Charming to mooch offa," he said, turning slightly towards her. "At least I don't have to put out for my meals."
She held his contemptuous gaze and smirked. So she had struck a nerve.
"Jealous?"
He scoffed and moved forwards, invading her personal space with scornful derision. "Tell me, Jackie—do you ever put that big mouth of yours to good use?"
"All. The. Time." She leaned in close. "You should ask Fez."
His chair made a squeaking noise as he shifted back, pulling out of her gravity. His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched in anger. She noted, with barely concealed smugness, that there was a slight flex in his chest as he folded his arms and tried to close himself off to her. She couldn't quite make out his eyes behind the aviators, but she could tell his baby blues were just smouldering with ire, questioning whether she had really done that for Fez.
"Bullshit!" he barked. "Fez would have been parading that information around here like he won the fucking Kentucky Derby!" He inched in close again, his hot breath whispering against her neck. "And I know for a fact that you two haven't fucked yet."
"Oh, you know, do you?" Her voice was pure venom and she shuffled back until their eyes met and locked.
Her chest was heaving; she was trying her best to slow everything down, to will away the blush that was quickly creeping from her chest up to her neck and blossoming on her cheeks. How could he still do this so easily to her: unravel her resolve with well-placed and well-pitched words while he remained his precious Zen? She wanted to rip those goddamn sunglasses off his face and pitch them across the room.
"What's the matter, princess?" His mouth was dangerously close to her neck again, his voice a husky baritone warmly undulating against her skin. "He not doin' it for you?"
Some place deep inside Jackie had snapped, and she suddenly reared back. He was too close, too hot, too Steven. She balled her hands into fists and dug them into the spaces between the cushions to keep herself from throttling him. Her gaze lifted to his face and she saw the look of triumph flash in his eyes, carefully concealed behind his aviators, but perhaps not carefully enough.
She decided to switch tactics, her tight scowl morphing into a predatory grin. He could out-Zen her all he liked, but she was the better actor and the better liar.
"Oh, you have no idea what Fez can do for me, Steven." She purred his name, slowly dragging her tongue across her upper lip. "The things he does to me." Her fingers went to her mouth and his gaze angrily followed. "The things I do to him." She let the tip of her middle finger slip past her plump lips, touching her teeth. "They could make a sailor blush with shame."
His entire body tensed then, his muscles straining against the fabric of his cheap concert tee. He exhaled hotly through his nose and lowered his shades, exposing those vulnerable cerulean blues of his that were now flashing with unmasked contempt. His Zen veneer hadn't just cracked but shattered.
"What are you doing here, Jackie?" he growled, and the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up.
That damn voice of his, those damn eyes. She was supposed to be over him. That was what this whole act of trading barbs was supposed to be about: to show him that he didn't affect her and that she could not only play his game but beat him at it. But she just didn't have it in her anymore. She was tired.
"You know what, I don't even know anymore." She stood to her feet and grabbed her purse before turning towards him. "Why would I want to be alone in here with a dirty burnout loser like you anyway?"
"Beats me," he said with a shrug, his tone equally vitriolic.
Once he pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose, reverting to his carefully crafted indifference, she knew any hope of her scoring points in this argument had gone out the window. As good as she had become at burning people over the years, largely thanks to his tutelage, Jackie could never out-burn the burn master. It was time to cut her losses and run before she started kicking shins or shoving pointed heels up burnouts' asses.
"I'm leaving!" she announced with a snarl, heading for the door.
"Good."
"Great!"
"Bye, Jackie." He mock-saluted her, making a point not to shift from the television. "Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out."
"You're an asshole!" she screeched, throwing the door wide open. "And goodbye!"
Doing her best rendition of a flounce out of the basement, she slammed the door shut behind her and tore up the stairs and out of the Formans' driveway. She would get as fast and far away from Steven Hyde as her tank of gas could afford.
⋆ 𖤓 ⋆
The rain was coming down hard, making it difficult to see let alone drive. The forecast had called for freezing rain in the greater Kenosha area but said that Highway 41 North to Milwaukee would be relatively clear. Jackie glanced out the windshield and winced as the rain began to hail down harder, battering her poor blue Gremlin.
Relatively clear, her ass!
She placed both hands at ten and two on the wheel and took a deep, calming breath before exhaling. She really didn't like to drive, especially at night and even more so during bad weather. And nothing screamed bad driving weather conditions like freezing rain, except for maybe tornadoes. However, this was Wisconsin and that wasn't likely to happen this time of the year—at least she hoped not. But anything was possible with her luck these past few months.
Putting her faith in her old hunk of junk Gremlin, she continued driving. The car, though a dreadful eyesore, functioned well enough. It could be a gas guzzler, but it got her from point A to point B in one piece and that was all she needed. For God's sake, she worked as a hair sweeper at a run-of-the-mill salon in Point Place. This piece of shit was all she could afford after selling the Lincoln. At least it had the two most essential luxuries that her now-poor Wisconsin heart could hope to afford: a working heater and a radio.
Deciding that music might help distract her from the lonely, dark and scary highway, she switched on the dial. Ruby Tuesday immediately started blaring through the small, tinny speakers.
She just can't be chained
To a life where nothing's gained
And nothing's lost
At such a cost
"You again, huh?" She smiled, remembering how the song had played earlier when she got the call for the interview. "I wonder if this is a sign."
She turned her head for just a moment and a rush of twin beams veered towards her in the darkness. Swerving to avoid the out-of-control car, she tried to keep her own vehicle on the road. However, the pavement was too slick and the highway was too dark, and she wasn't entirely familiar with it.
Icy strokes of moonlight filtered through the rain, gleaming on the windshield as she threw herself into each turn, trying to balance out the small car that had now become a trundling behemoth veering wildly on the ice-slicked road. Her attention flickered for just an instant to her rear-view mirror, catching the terrified look in her own eyes and the stressful grimace twisting on her lips.
The car pulled a sharp right to the shoulder, spinning her towards a small grove of trees. She wasn't going to even it out, she realised. She wasn't going to make it—
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Jackie jerked awake in her seat with a gasp. Her forehead was damp with sweat. She must have been breathing hard for some time because the windows were humid with condescension, almost completely fogged in.
Her head was throbbing, like someone had taken an anvil to it. She tried to lift her hand to touch it, but her arm wouldn't move. Something wet and warm trickled down her left temple and spilt over her eye, pooling on the bottom of her lip. Hitching in a wheezy gasp, she inadvertently tasted the salty copper liquid on her tongue and realised it wasn't sweat streaming down her face but blood.
Her vision began to swim then and her pulse pounded loudly in her ears. The radio was still churning out its last chorus, although weak and jangly now, as a truck horn blared in the distance. She struggled to keep her eyes open, but it was a losing battle. The greying fog of unconsciousness had already found her, curling its cold, damp fingers into her brain.
Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday
Who could hang a name on you?
When you change with every new day
Still I'm gonna miss you
Everything went black.
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