Disclaimer: I do not own Victorious or the song "Dorm Room." All rights belong to their respective owners.
Summary: She laughs at how sick she sounds - but try checking her in somewhere. Bet you'd lose./ Jade-centric, Beck&Jade
A/N: First short story I've managed to finish in a long while and it's a mess of odd thoughts going on in my head so I hope it makes sense! I'm awfully new to the Victorious fandom as well so excuse me for any mistakes in characterization.
"I think I left a piece of my heart, in your dresser, in case you want to start over."
- Gabe Bondoc, "DORM ROOM"
Jade West is only seven when she decides that fairy tales aren't real, destiny is for losers, and that she absolutely abhors clichés. She, instead, understands the fact that monsters are always hungry and that they're only a few steps behind her. She accepts that they are out there; finding the flaw, the poor weld, the place where she isn't stitched up quite right – the place they could almost slip right through if her skin wasn't trying to keep them out.
She's sixteen when she thinks that it's all broken glass and not enough chances for her, isn't it. There is no bitterness, though, she's far past it. Glitter doesn't bleed out of her veins when she cuts herself open – instead the skin turns pink, then red, back to pink, then white. She is scarred but somehow, she thinks it's beautiful.
She pushes everyone away and she's not sure why but god, it feels good. It feels good when she knows it shouldn't, when she knows she can't even afford to do it.
She laughs at how sick she sounds.
(Try checking her in somewhere. Bet you'd lose.)
Right after she graduates from Hollywood Arts, freshly-turned eighteen, she does what the unsung heroine seemed to always do: she runs away. Her goodbye is nothing more than a scribbled 'Tell me you love me,' and a red lip-stained kiss onto a napkin to Beck before she packs her bags, leaves the key to the RV on his nightstand, and takes the first flight to New York.
Looking back, she thinks it wasn't so much of a 'Goodbye,' as it was 'I'm sorry.'
It's not long before the calls start. Calls from a tired Andre, a frenzied Robbie (and still forever pervy Rex), a couple from a worried Tori, and many from an understanding Cat. She humors them, as much as she allows anyway; that is, until the ones' from Beck begin.
There aren't as many as Cat, or as few as Tori, but there are enough to make his point across. And while she never picks up, he sure as hell leaves plenty of messages. She listens to all of them, a form of self-torture on her part. He doesn't beg her to come back, or ask any questions – Beck always did know better. Instead, he does worse.
He tells her that he loves her,
... and that he'll wait.
It's after the tenth message – (or has it been more than that?) – that she stops listening to them altogether. And it's his words that are branded onto her skin like ink on paper, and not Cat's incessant scolding that she's making a mistake, that makes the hole in her chest already threatening to have her spontaneously combust larger.
She changes her number immediately.
Jade loves Beck, Beck loves Jade. It's never been a subject up for debate. She knows that she's a terrible person to love, though. That's also a subject, Jade believes deep down in the heart some don't believe she has, not up for debate.
She stares out her floor-to-ceiling window in her loft – (she always dreamed of living in a place like just like this) – when waves of nostalgia hit her. She takes a drag out of her umpteenth cigarette and thinks about the nights she spent with Beck in his RV, tracing patterns on his skin as he smiles against her lips.
It's after those moments they spent together where Jade thinks about all the ten-hundred ways she could possibly harm Beck with just a misshapen string of words and a bat of her thick eyelashes. He's smart, yes, but even after all this time she still doesn't think he quite knows at all what she's capable of. And, even if he did, he still decides to continue pressing his affection and love onto the ends of all her sharp parts, in hopes of dulling them down. He loves her much more than she knows she'll ever deserve.
It's when he's fast asleep with his arms around and she remains frozen in that place between asleep and awake where she hates herself most for being selfish and keeping him.
This fear she has, she wonders if it's heredity. She never knew her mother – (obviously she wasn't worthy of remembering if she didn't even bother to stay) – but she wonders sometimes if she was just like her. Broken and lost and so desperately afraid of feeling anything that she didn't feel at all. She wonders, perhaps, if her mother played the stupid card just as much as she did. Okay, not stupid, but maybe careless.
Because Jade knows that she, for a fact, has been playing that said card for such a long time simply because she always starts missing other places, other people. Places she's never been and people she has never met before, and baby, she's already surmised this long in enough in my head to know it's never going to change.
She finds solace in being reckless, in doing things that Jade West wouldn't normally do. She hooks up with guy after guy after guy, and goes to so many parties she loses count. She drinks and smokes and tries enough drugs to fill up a pharmacy – all to find something relatively close to what she needs.
It's never successful.
Jade likes the city more than she thought she would. The atmosphere, bleak as it can be at times, suits her. Suits her skin and her hair and her attitude. She tells herself it's all just temporary – right? She'll go back home, eventually – to LA, to her friends, to Beck. But then days turn into nights and nights turn into, well, whatever she wanted them to be.
She doesn't believe in luck because she knows she doesn't need it. She goes to plenty of auditions, does Broadway, even dabbles in some modeling. It's only after she finishes up a musical one night when she gets a call from her agent telling her she's been cast into a movie that's sure to make millions. Endorsements and magazines and television interviews follow shortly after – she becomes a star. Jade West is a household name.
She decides to never go back.
So she's sitting on the floor in her hotel room after filming her new movie in Italy on her birthday – (it's the Big 21. Yay.) – when she finds herself crying without reason. And sweet Jesus, since when has Jade West ever cried, let alone for nothing? She wishes for a second that she agreed to the offer Cat had proposed of flying out and spending her birthday with her, but shakes it out of her head immediately.
Cat may be the closest thing she'll ever have to a best friend, but Jade isn't looking for a stroll down memory lane.
She plays with the many rings she wears around her fingers and all she knows is that she shouldn't be feeling the way she does because, to be frank, she's too young for this shit. She's too young for the mascara tears and the hollow aches in her chest and the constant, selfish need to want more. Since when did good times become so few and far in-between? She should be out, painting the town reckless and shining like a star the way she was born to.
These are, after all, the years she'll never get back.
But, instead, she's here instead of there with an old water-bottle filled with vodka pressed to her lips and some stored information in her head that her manager hid her many pills somewhere in this place, if she could just figure out where. Then, there's her phone. Filled with messages from men she'll never answer back to simply because they served their purpose and she's bored of the games, bored of them. And, she thinks -(read: she knows)- that there is probably a much better way to handle all of this, but she really doesn't give a damn in trying to find out what it is.
That's the thing, though, that no one seems to get. Tape isn't gonna fix her, it isn't going to stick. And you could try using eight different kind of glues on her - (well, aren't you dedicated.)- and it won't ever hold, it won't last.
But even after all the drinks and the drugs and the kisses she leaves in her wake, she believes that there still has to be something bigger and better out there for her.
So all she does is sit, let the night overtake her, and wait for the sun to rise.
Jade doesn't know what it is that possesses her to do it, really, but she ends up at going back. She prays, perhaps borderline psychotically, that her plane will crash or that her car will stop, as a sign that maybe – just maybe – it wasn't meant to be.
He lives in a fancy mansion in Beverly Hills because Beck is, like her, a star now too. It's funny, however, she thinks wryly, that despite the million and one dollars he has made, the first thing she sees when she pulls up in his driveway is the RV.
It tears an invisible stitch in her heart and the monsters she's always known about since she was a little girl creep into her system like parasites.
She parks haphazardly and seems to have ill-timing though in doing so – (or perfect-timing if you prefer to see it in that silly, cliché way) – because Beck steps out of said, beaten-up RV and sees her. Jade feels sick and almost wants to throw up because no matter how confident she is, he still had a way of making her unbearably self-conscious. Her perfectly curled hair feels limp, her red lips feel dry and, even though she never does it, she swears she can feel sweat forming from all the fucking black she's wearing.
He, however, is more handsome than she remembered him ever being.
Beck walks up to her slowly, and it's only when he's less than a couple of feet away that she realizes that she hasn't moved and that she doesn't know at all what to say, for once. Her lines won't work because it's Beck and anything she says will sound like a lie – (which it is) – and she knows that while she's always been the better actress, he's still the best.
His voice is different and the same and she's taken back to all the separate spaces with all the rooms and doors and lights between the two of them and she can't take it. She wants tell him that she loves him. That she didn't want to run away but she had to because that's what girls like Jade West do. She wants to say sorry. Sorry for all the bullshit and the nonsense and how she hates so much and hopes one day she'll hate less because it's making her sick inside.
"Tell me you love me," is what comes out instead.
Beck stares. And stares and stares and stares and Jade thinks that well, this isn't going to end well, now is it. But then he steps closer until she can swear she feels his breath against her skin and while he's not at all touching her, he might as well be.
He smiles. "Who said I stopped?"
Jade smiles for the first time in three years and, this time, she's not pretending.
A/N: Weakest ending ever. I'm not particularly pleased with this but I do hope you enjoyed. Reviews are always appreciated.