title: taking away what i want to say
summary: he signs the papers with a flourish. / disjointed
author's note: i'm lost and i don't know what to say anymore. such a horrible mood. i'm kind of liking this story though so i guess i have something good.
the day that jade and beck get a divorce is a sunny day, and he's not very good at reading faces, but people look happy.
she wears sunglasses that cover her face and he signs the papers with a flourish.
"what happened to us?" she asks in the middle of the night.
she whispers, "we used to be fun. we used to be in love."
"good things end."
he loses himself at the third drink. he's never liked to drink but he wants to find a way out and this looks like it might be the only option.
he can't place the face, "i'm sorry, man."
he throws up in the bathroom of the bar and limps back to his empty flat.
he doesn't know why, but he can't remember the exact time she changed from a childish, emotion-filled self into a cold, secretive woman.
he doesn't know if he misses her, but he thinks he would miss himself too, if he did.
his father dies at an early age.
jade isn't with him and he's kind of happy – even though he really shouldn't be.
sometimes, he likes to go to clubs with his eyes closed and he likes to dance until he loses what he wants to do and he forgets about her blue eyes. he's happiest at these nights. he gets to play the boy who lived.
one day, he manages to find tori vega in the crowd. she looks at him sadly, her broken heart on display and her loneliness and fatigue radiating all the way to him. she turns away and orders a vodka straight up. it's her drink when she's upset – he knows her too well.
but he doesn't know her anymore and it makes him sad so he never goes back to that club again.
she likes to lie.
"i stayed the night at hannah's house."
well, she doesn't know that there was a woman in their bed last night, so.
he remembers better days when her smile could light up a room and he wanted her to kiss him against the warm air. he doesn't really know if he misses them but they make him remember when he was a better person instead of the person he is now.
maybe if he was lucky, he could catch her mumbling the words against his lips but. he's never really been lucky.
"stay with me," he says.
the words sound foreign but right. her blue eyes widen.
she shakes her head, exits out the backdoor.
he sees tori vega again, but this time she's under a canopy, smoking a cigarette because she's always been one for clichés. she presses her lips against his, her taste so familiar and her body feeling excruciatingly perfect against him.
she fits in all the right places, and by the time he asks her to come to his apartment, her fingers are burnt by the lit cigarette.
"sure," she says.
he realizes that she strokes her burnt fingers over his stubble with caution. maybe, she knows his heart is aching to be free.
"i saw you looking at her."
her shirt is falling off her frame as she holds a wine glass. she should look sexy, he thinks. maybe that was the whole point. but he doesn't like how she looks lately. she looks bitter and calculating, and she has a tighter hold on his arm.
he looks at her, his eyelids drooping from lack of sleep and he says slowly, "does it even matter to you, anymore?"
sometimes, she still lets herself come in. she still has a key and he can't help but let her come in and out.
she's always going to have a hold on him and he knows it.
when they were younger, she liked to call it fucking. and they would fuck too. they fucked each other into his rv sheets. they smelled like her lavender perfume and the sickly vanilla detergent his mother used. she would bite and pull and hurt and it was beautiful and awful and he never really knew anything else.
when they got married, she liked to call it making love. they were used to each other. they touched slowly and began to notice all the little things. the way his chest dipped in, the scar on her stomach that was jaggedly stretched across as if it was inflicted. it was familiar and strange but new.
he never can tell you which one he liked more.
(tori vega. scream it out. you know you always liked her more.)
jade never liked to smoke. she didn't like the way it curled in the air. it was too unpredictable and wild and she was already enough.
he always thought it would be nice of her to try, but she didn't and maybe that was a reason he loved her. that is, when he actually did unconditionally love her.
"can you ever love me again?"
it's raining and the lights outside are flashing into her blue eyes
he looks at her, "i could, but i can't."
he closes the door and maybe that's all there is to it. he climbs into his bed and she flicks her cigarette into the ash tray.
"thank you," she says as she cries.
they get married in a church on a rainy day, in the middle of august. it's muggy and sweat is dripping down well-dressed people's faces. she has to wear a poofy, white dress that she detests and they can't hold hands because it's too hot. she grimaces when the priest talks about god and he doesn't know what he feels at the moment because his head is still spinning from his bachelor party.
and he thinks, throughout high school, they advertised themselves as orginial, unpredictable people, but they never really could be anything but.
predictable, that is.