by Haley Jenner
“Of course, don’t sweat it. Listen, I’m sorry about the other night, rushing you off the phone— ”
But he cuts me off. “Don’t apologize, I wasn’t calling on our designated night, I should’ve known you’d be busy.”
I feel sick at his understanding. Swallowing it down, I focus back on my cell. “How are you otherwise? I miss you.”
He tells me he misses me too, that he’s well and nothing new to report. I fill him in on my work, the job I just finished and one I have lined up.
“I don’t know why you continue to shoot product, sweetheart, you don’t enjoy it, I don’t know, is it completely out of character for me to say, it’s not you?”
I laugh at his comment and his deep chuckle echoes mine over the line. I take comfort in the knowledge that he knows me, understands my reservations and the aspects of my job that I can’t stand. He listens to me, he cares about my happiness, and for a moment I let myself believe that he wouldn’t be hurt if I told him I’d fallen in love with Jake.
“I know, Daddy, but the shoot I just did was for an up and coming clothing line. The owner is just starting out, and she had this spark, you know? I didn’t want her to be swallowed by someone who couldn’t see her vision.”
“It’s nice to hear you talk about your work, Aubrey. You’ve got a lot of passion for your career, and I’m proud of you.”
I whisper my thanks, my throat feeling constricted with the admiration he’d just placed upon me.
“How’s David?” The bubble of appreciation of love he’d so easily circled me with pops aggressively around me, the mention of David like a dart thrown right at the bull’s eye of my heart without my dad’s knowledge.
“Oh you know, working hard, like always.”
“This I know. He’s clever, your David. Very smart,” he states confidently. “Glad you have someone who’ll work hard to provide for you, sweetheart. Makes your dad relax knowing you’ve got a solid man.”
I swallow the bile his comment has brought about. The acid making me grimace. “I can provide for myself.” My words come out as a hurt whisper, and I hate the vulnerability in that short sentence.
“Oh, sweetheart, I did not intend to offend you. I know that you’re more than capable of providing for yourself. I just mean that David seems reliable and I think I’m allowed to be concerned that your partner is good enough for you.”
I force a smile around a sigh, I have no idea why, I know he can’t see me, but it makes my next words come out easier than the sandpaper feeling on my tongue. “Of course. How is work anyway, Daddy? How’s business? How are the younger board members fitting in?”
I hope my thinly masked probe for information isn’t as obvious as it sounds in my head. It’s pathetic how forced the words sound, thankfully, observation isn’t one of my father’s strengths.
He sighs loudly and my heart drops. “Business is good, consistent. The firm is doing well. But, you know what they say, sweetheart, old dog, new tricks and all. I feel prehistoric at times,” he chuckles and I swallow down the bile in my throat. “But that’s the way of the world, I guess.”
“Daddy, I’m running late for another job, so I’ve gotta go. Speak to you next week, yeah?” I cut him off, wanting to end this conversation and try to forget the hole I’ve dug myself deeper into. Because now I know the power David so effortlessly threatened to wield is real. It’s there, waiting to be liberated if I move from his carefully constructed path.
“Oh, yes. Of course, sweetheart just missed speaking with you. I love you, Aubrey.”
Guilt plagues my mind at my dismissal of our conversation. “I love you too, Daddy.”
“Goodbye, sweetheart.”
“Bye, Daddy,” I close my eyes around my words, attempting to shut out the horrible sinking feeling in my stomach.
Our call disconnects and I throw my phone back into my handbag, cursing its existence in my seemingly never-ending emotional state. I love speaking with my dad. Love talking to him about his work and mine. Even his limited knowledge of what my job entails, he’s interested and is thoroughly invested in me when I speak. As I am in him. Cutting a phone call short with him because of my own stupid decisions in life is just another selfish notch to add to the heavily weighted belt I’ve started carrying everywhere.
I’m a strong person. That’s how people like to see me anyway; confident, comfortable with who I am. Which is true, to a degree, but that doesn’t mean I’m not plagued by insecurity. My constant battle with the path I’ve chosen in life and trying, it seems in vain sometimes, to please the people who I care most about weighs me down. I feel swallowed by my doubts, and at times I find it impossible to breathe.
Like now. My mouth opens in large drawn out gulps, but I feel as though I’m suffocating. Every wrong decision from my past making my eyes leak with what could’ve been. Every ‘could’ve’ moment pressuring my heart’s ability to beat with the disappointment I would cause others.
I can’t calm the panic. Between my inability to stop my tears and let myself pull a solid breath to fill my lungs, my anxiety only heightens. My body begins to fold in on itself, my knees drawing up, my head dropping toward them as my arms wrap tightly around the ball my body as created.
I hurt. Physically, mentally, emotionally. The pain at a level that my entire being seems to want to shut down. I feel trapped in my own head, every questionable decision I’ve made seemingly worse than the last, suffocating me in self-doubt and self-hate.
I feel like I’m going to die.
My lips begin to move silently, my mind fighting against the walls closing down on me as I begin listing photos, ones I’ve taken, my favorites first. Their images appearing in the forefront of my mind as details of the images are spoken silently from my lips.
I list at least a hundred shots before my body unconsciously begins unfolding from its protective state, and I relax under the ability to draw in air at a less erratic level.
My skin is flushed, a sheen of sweat dampening my body. My hands are shaking, my eyes slightly off focus as I continue the muted recital of my work. My eyes vaguely take in the street surrounding me, the lives of the people walking the streets, proceeding without interruption. My personal panic, confined to only my observation within the doors of my small sedan.
Do any of the people skirting one another on the sidewalk suffer similarly? Do they feel immobile in their fear of their own choices? Surely, I can’t be alone in the strangulation anxiety can cause, making even the small effort of existing difficult? I can live inside my head as I’m sure most others can. But what I just experienced was something different. Something so foreign and frightening. It was debilitating. A very real fear that I would die from the overwhelming sense of loss coursing through my veins.
When the shadows dancing in my eyes finally retreat, I let myself drive home slowly, my lips never ceasing their movement, working hard to continually distract my brain enough to push away the overwhelming sense of dread raining down on me.
I arrive home on auto-pilot, not recalling a moment of the journey, save my constant muttering. My legs almost buckle as I climb from my car, a complete disconnect with my body making me feel as though I’m a separate entity altogether. I make it inside, using the railing and walls as a guide and more helpfully, support. I continue through the house in a comatose state, my feet moving without consideration to the bathroom. I rush my entry into the room when it comes into view, vomiting immediately, the contents of my stomach emptying into the toilet aggressively. Only when I’m certain I’ve nothing left inside, I stumble toward the shower, undressing in haste to rid the day from my memory. I sit on the cold ceramic floor of the shower, my body once again retreating into a protective ball as the hot water cascades down on my skin. I come undone in the constant spray of water, my incoherent whispers only broken by the sobs that tear at my throat.
I know eventually pulling myself together is a necessity, but I give myself this broken moment. I let myself be consumed by th
e consequences of my failings and admit that I no longer just feel defeated by it all, I am.
But I remind myself I’m strong, at least that’s who people see. So tomorrow, I’ll school my features, plaster on a fake smile and pretend that inside I’m not really dead.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Jake
Two weeks. Two long weeks in hell. Stuck in my own mind reliving every minute I've spent with Aubrey. With her strawberry scented and shaded skin.
Feeling her soft hands on my body.
Hearing her sweet husky laugh and letting her drive me wild with that wink.
Her soft lips on my dimple.
I've been tortured day in and day out with only memories, not the real thing. I'm so lost. So fucking lost with no idea how to find myself. But if I really let myself consider it all, I'm not actually convinced I want to.
I miss her. Achingly so. My heart burns with my need for her. My body hurts with the want to feel her. We've had no contact since that stupid fucking argument. Nada. Nil. Quiet on all fronts. It's driving me crazy. I don't want to call her but my hand itches to reach for my phone. I don't want her to call me, but every day that passes without her reaching out has me fuming. That's it? It's just done for her? Is she just going back to her life, pretending that what we shared was nothing? A bump in the road. But what could I have expected? No one important, right?
My gig tonight was brutal. Hauntingly raw as I let my heart bleed on the stage. The crowd ate it up. Relished in my heartbreak as my throat burned with every lyric scratched from my vocal chords. I left feeling worse, irritated that I let them into my private world. Into my inner thoughts. Into my personal pain.
Sleep won't find me lying in this hotel room in Bellevue. The sheets are crisp against my naked back, my bare feet braced against the softness of the carpet, my right hand wrapped brutally around the neck of a whiskey bottle. Crunching my abdominal muscles, I sit up and pull the glass neck to my lips, letting the burning liquid coat my throat, wiping the excess droplets from my lips with the back of my hand. The room spins around me, my mind fogged over, just not enough to numb myself from my thoughts. Closing my eyes, I work to center myself. I hate letting myself reach this point of drunken desperation. Giving into the temptation reminds me so much of Archer, and I despised that side of him. My self-loathing skyrockets when I let my sadness overtake, and I attempt to drown my sorrows. I hate how truly weak I've become.
Scratching the skin of my chest, I stand slowly, steadying my wavering balance. I stumble slightly as my body leans in whatever direction my eyes move. My things are thrown haphazardly across the room and using the furniture in the room to stabilize myself, I move to shift them out of my way, searching for my cell. Locating it, I drop to the floor, sliding against the wall. It takes a second or two to find steadiness. Blinking heavily, I brush a palm down my face to remove the blur of my eyes. Painfully slow, and shaky as all shit, I thumb my pin in and grunt around a laugh when I'm successful first go. I stare at her entry in my contacts, focusing all my energy on the letters of her name, like my will alone will make her appear. I fixate on her name until my hand aches with holding the phone upright until my fingers sting with pins and needles and I drop it to my lap stretching my hand. I know I should let myself pass out here. Switch my phone off and take away the lure of how easily it would be to call her, to text her. But knowing and doing are two vastly different scenarios, and with another long pull of whiskey, I give into my need. I let the bait of her words coax me further into my abyss of despondence.
Jake: I’m drunk and so fucking lonely Aubrey. I need you so fucking bad…
My eyes never leave the screen as I swallow more whiskey, waiting for her to reach back. To extend her own hopeless need to let me know I'm not by myself feeling this.
Aubrey: J-Baby……I’m stuck at an event, I can’t……. Where are you?
Anger burns my nostrils. At an event. She'd be dressed up, she'd look beautiful and she's with him. That fuck face, who wouldn't appreciate her beauty.
Jake: R u with him? Why can’t u c u should b with me? Not him. NOT. HIM.
How can she not see that I want her like he never could? Never would. That he can't treat her as well as I would. That he could never make her feel the way I do. Special. Loved. Fucking adored. She comes alive when I touch her. When I love her, when I fuck her. I know he's never made her feel that way. I can see the shock that overtakes her features when she comes. For me. She's never before experienced what I can give her, what I can make her feel.
Jake: Do u still let him fuck you? Do you give him that?
Aubrey: WHERE ARE YOU?
I hate that she didn't answer me. Would she let him touch her? Let him inside of her? Let her body bring him pleasure that should be solely mine. He doesn't fucking deserve it. Aubrey should be fucking worshiped, her body prized, showered with affection.
Jake: God I hate that I need u so fucking much
Jake: Bellevue
I shouldn't have told her where I am. But I'm weak. Shit, that's fucking obvious. So goddamn weak. I hate it. I hate how non-existent my willpower is now. I've become someone I despise. Look at me, slumped against the wall because I can barely stand, drunk off my face, pining for someone who finds it so easy to damage my heart. Carrying on an affair, physically, but more damaging, emotionally, with someone who’s attached. I've fallen for someone who has committed to somebody else. I've come to settle for a conditional love because no one else exists for me. I'm sure of it. Aubrey's it. My happily ever after.
Laughing aloud, I realize how fucking ridiculous that sounds. How fucking stupid am I? Handing my heart over, no, begging someone to take it, someone who doesn't want it. All these months of continuing this sordid relationship has sealed my fate. I fell in love with someone I never really had a chance with. With someone who can't find it in themselves to love me back. For the remainder of my life I get to live with the misery of knowing that I, without my conscious consent, trusted my happy ending with someone who didn't want to give me theirs.
I sink further into my self-pity, crumbling against the wall like a pathetic pussy of a man. Twenty minutes later a panicked knocking at my door pulls me from my stupor, and I stumble towards the door. Swinging the door open, Aubrey knocks me over, and I want to cry that she's actually here. That for once, she chose me over him. That she ran to me.
She looks like a fucking angel. Her porcelain skin highlighted with a purposeful blush. The scattering of freckles decorating her nose still visible under the light shade of makeup. Her eyes are darkly rimmed, causing her sapphire colored eyes to shine brightly on her face. An electric blue silk drapes over her body, clutching to her slender frame desirably. It's strapless, a neckline that dips like a heart, showcasing her modest cleavage. Her auburn hair is blown into a wave, secured at the nape of her neck and off to the side. The thick tail of hair hanging over her shoulder.
“You look so beautiful,” I admire and the words come out slurred as I stumble on the carpet when I move to drag a finger across her naked collarbone. My eyes sting with the clogged-up desperation I feel for her. She's so warm, inviting and I want to taste her milky skin. Her eyes scan my appearance, her bright eyes grieving at my fucked-up state.
“Jake. Baby,” she whispers. I hate the dejection in her tone. I hate that she can see what a sorrowful state I'm living in. Hating that even though I blame her, she also blames herself.
Not being able to stand not touching her for a second longer I yank her forward, through the doorframe and into my body. The door slams with a loud echo behind her as my lips smash onto hers. My inconsolable need is brash in the way I kiss her. My tongue strokes heavily into her mouth, and she reciprocates easily. Her touch is almost as violent as mine in its neediness and I groan loudly, pushing her against the wall. I lick her neck, bite her jaw, and she cries out powerfully for me to fuck her. To let her feel me inside. "Make me feel you, Jake. Fuck me hard. Hurt me. Make me ache between my legs tomorrow," she begs, pulling o
n my hair.
I grunt my approval, dropping the mostly empty bottle of whiskey to the floor. My entire body shudders with the deep stutters of breath escaping my lips. Twisting her body away from mine, I pin her slender frame against the wall with my heaving chest. Her needy cries hit right at my cock and I yank it from my unbuttoned jeans, stroking once, twice, relieving the pressure already building. Aubrey gathers her dress in her hands, pulling it upward, revealing inch by inch of creamy skin until it amasses at her waist. A small pair of Brazilian cut panties frame her pert ass, and I growl deep from my throat at how fucking hard she makes me. Ripping the scrap of material from her body, I line the head of my beading cock at her hot little cunt, bending my knees slightly before surging forward and thrusting inside in one quick movement. The move has me tripping slightly in my drunken state, pushing me further into her body. Aubrey's hands fly to the wall, bracing herself against my impact as the richness of her cry breaks into the stillness of the room. My responding snarl vibrates through her skin and I bite her neck.
"J-Baby. Move. Please," she burns, her small hands shaking with the pressure she uses to push against the wall, trying for greater force.
"Beg me, Strawb'ries. Tell me you've thought about this constantly. That my cock is all you think about. Tell me that you need it," I command, squeezing a hand onto her slim shoulder.
"Yes. I need it. Fuck me, baby. Hard. Please, Jake. I can't go another day without the feel of your cock. Please," she cries, her hips rolling to find any kind of traction.
