Rest assured that I know I have absolutely no business starting ANOTHER story while I haven't updated my other stories in FOREVER. However, I just can't help myself. This chapter is exceedingly sad, but I promise you they will get happier :) I'll be trying out some new POVs (Tori, Andre, Cat, maybe Robbie). So I hope you enjoy Beck's mental breakdown :) PLEASE REVIEW!
Italics are flashbacks, btw :)
Disclaimer: I swear I don't even own the shirt I'm wearing
I played three rounds of Poker at Tori's. I told myself it was because I was free to do whatever I wanted now that I was single, but I knew the truth was that I can just barely stand to be in the RV anymore. Every single fucking thing in it reminds me of Jade. It's deafening. Suffocating.
There are pictures of her-of us- everywhere. On the walls, the bookshelf, the mirror. But it's not just pictures of Jade that decorate, oh no. The walls contain the dents and blemishes of various beatings Jade's given them in the past. The shelves hold books of hers. Edgar Allan Poe, Jack Ketchum, Stephen King, Peter Straub. And then the surprising ones, like W.H. Auden ("He shares my love of sarcasm, Beckett, don't judge."), Sylvia Plath ("Are you kidding me? She killed herself! She's morbid in ways I love."), and all the other spines that have become familiar.
The bathroom drawers still hold things of hers, and I know that some of her clothes are still around too. In the dresser, under the bed (who the hell even knows?), strewn around the parts of the RV I haven't bothered to clean up since before she dumped me.
And her essence- oh God the way she smells- is hanging in the air, suffocating me. Coffee and vanilla, slowly killing me. Everything seems to be congregating and deciding to torture me.
I look briefly at the bed before closing my eyes, letting myself remember at least a little.
The two of us together in bed. My sweat and not hers. Every part of our bodies intertwined, both of us experiencing that feeling of 'sosoclose' and I hope this lasts as long as possible'. It's a mystery how the torture and the ecstasy are both present, creating this new, unnamed feeling.
Her sharp nails dig long red lines down my back, and damn if her half-lidded eyes and stifled moan aren't mind-blowingly sexy. She bites into her lower lip, so I ease down to kiss her, quieting the moans for her because I can't stand to see the blood spring under the pressure of her teeth like it has before. We finish each other off- Jade with a loud scream I want to hear so badly I don't muffle. I don't care who hears us.
"You okay, Jadey?" I ask after I've pulled out and collapsed beside her, pulling her to me.
This is all kind of new to us, and I'm still afraid of hurting her.
"Sex makes me sleepy." She says in reply.
I chuckle and kiss her hair. "Fall asleep, babe. I'll be right here."
She snuggles closer, even thought I never thought I'd use the word 'snuggle' in relation to Jade. She nestles her head in the crook of my neck and sighs contentedly. "Well yeah. You aren't planning on leaving me ever, right?"
There's only the slightest hint of sarcasm in it, because she really does believe that nothing lasts forever. But I want to quell her fears. I want to prove her wrong.
"Hell no. I'm all yours."
I'm all yours. I'm all yours. I'm all yours.
I hadn't realized I'd fallen asleep until I opened my eyes, glancing at the clock to see two hours had passed. But the words still haunt me.
Hell no. I'm all yours.
I'm not leaving.
Jade, would you relax? I love you, we're not breaking up.
Seriously, Jade, when will you get it through your head that I not leaving?
I'm a liar.
I can't believe I said all those things just to go back on them. I've proved to her what she'd believed all along. I'd always said she was wrong, that I was different. But I guess I wasn't.
"All men are dicks at least sometimes."
"Yeah? What about me?"
Jade stops walking to scrutinize me. "I just haven't seen enough of you yet."
If there's one thing I've learned through all the divorces in my family, it's that you should always stick around. "Slamming the door," My grandma always told me when I told her about the fights Jade and I had. "Or letting her, is never going to make anything better. Stick around. Everything will look better in the morning."
And now I get it. I did exactly the opposite. I let her slam the door. Granted, it wasn't ours, but the principle is the same.
Why didn't I open the door?
All the emotion builds up, and all I can do now is hurl things at the walls, breaking glass and everything else in my path. Nothing is safe from being tossed around, making the RV shake with the heavier items. And I'm so preoccupied with my task of being completely stupid that I don't notice the tears until I've broken half the (admittedly scarce) dishes in my tiny kitchen.
By now, they're streaming down my face, and I try to remember the last time I cried, but I can't. When I finally stop, let my arms fall uselessly to my sides, I sink to the ground, just as you'd expect I would. This is what happens in all the movies right? I helplessly continue the cliché, and grab the bottle of Vodka under the sink, thankful I hadn't thrown it.
I pop the cork out with my teeth and take a gulp of it, because I'd rather not feel anything right now. I'd rather not consider the fact that Jade's dad could be smacking her around right now, or that she could be putting a razor blade to her pale arms as I sit here so pathetically. I'm being ridiculous, really. Maybe if I had the guts, I'd be at her house, or calling her, making sure everything was alright whether she hated me or not. It would sure as Wisconsin be more helpful then me sitting here breaking laws.
And yet, I just bring the bottle to my lips again, no help to anyone. Just like I used to accuse her of pretty often.
I wish I wasn't wondering if she's in a bar right now, getting hit on by some low-life. It's easier not to constantly be reminded that she's not mine to worry about anymore. Because I didn't open the door.
"I'm sorry, Jade. I'm sorry."
Well that was depressing. But I promise it will get better :)