by Haley Jenner
Except for the time I spent with Jake. With Jake I felt content and happy within myself, enough to be who I really wanted to be. To be who I really was.
Standing in a similar spot he stood when I lied so blatantly and hurtfully, I feel a suffocating sense of loss. I can’t imagine ever being able to forgive myself for the pain I caused him or the deluded lies I spewed time and time again attempting to distance myself from him. And if I can’t ever forgive myself, how can I ever expect Jake too. I guess in reality I don’t. It’s a nice dream to have that one day all that is broken between us could be fixed. It’s far-fetched and as close to a fairytale as every Disney movie to exist. Shame I’m no princess, fighting for my happily ever after might have been a little easier from the beginning.
Walking down the porch steps, I contemplate heading straight for Carnation. For Jake. To let the fight I have ahead of me to begin immediately. But I can’t. For the first time in my life, I need to be utterly selfish, for all the right reasons. I need to think only of myself right now and try to piece together everything broken down inside of me. I need to take back control. Then and only then will I have the strength I need to fight my way back into the lives of the people I love; Dad, Mom, Steve, Archer, Janie, Luca, Annabelle, and Jake. It sounds stupid but I plan to leave my amends with Jake until the very end. For no other reason but the fact that I’ll need every single last person in my life on my side. I don’t want doubt or hesitation from anyone because I don’t want Jake to have any source of negativity in his life when it comes to me. I want, when he chooses me, if he chooses me again, to have the blessing of the people in our world that we love most. Only that way will he consider giving me the second chance he promised I’d never have. Only when no further heartache could come from us being together will he give thought to trusting me with his heart again.
Driving to my dad’s, I feel nervous. Afraid of his disappointment at my decision to leave David and the life we looked to be building. Afraid that I’ll cause him further heartbreak with my decision. Afraid that the rejection and loss he felt when my mom left will come storming back for him. That I’ll break his heart all over again when he realizes, I, like Mom, could not find happiness with a man married to his career. Couldn’t build a life with a stable, structured man that would have no trouble providing financially for his family, but emotionally came up short every time. A man like him. But more, will he understand that my decision could destroy the one thing in life he’s worked his hardest at building, his career. Will he hate me for that?
I love my dad wholeheartedly and not just because he’s my dad. I saw how hard he tried to be there for me throughout my life. I saw how he accepted every life path I chose when it most likely wouldn’t have been something he would choose for me. Always taking comfort and acceptance at my decisions because they made me happy. That above everything, my happiness, is all that has ever concerned him when it comes to me. I just always wanted to do right by him. Would he have wanted his daughter to choose a career as a photographer? I’d say not. But he never said a negative word when I expressed my desire to follow that path, only told me to find the best school to teach me my art and be the best I could be.
Would he have wanted a daughter that struggled to filter the words that fall from her mouth, one that laughs and jokes at all things inappropriate regardless of the company? I’d say not. But never once has he reprimanded me for my behavior, only ever encouraging me to be who I wanted to be and to never apologize for it.
Would he have wanted a daughter that accepted the man that ruined his marriage into her life, completely, loving him fiercely without apology? I’d say not. But he only ever encouraged my relationship with Steve, taking comfort in the additional support Steve’s love and guidance gave me.
I couldn’t find it in myself to love a man with a similar life pattern and life outlook to my dad. The man who has accepted every single part of me without hesitation or disappointment. I tried. I tried to find happiness with someone with whom he could relate. I tried for years but only found my happiness and self-worth being eaten away by the disappointment and contempt David viewed me with.
Now, I can’t even find it within me swallow my wants in life for my dad to be happy.
My dad has proven the strength of his love for me over and over again. The depth of his love has never wavered, so now I have to have faith. Faith that, once again, his love for me is strong enough to respect my decisions. That he can accept my discretions, my decision even if it might destroy his dreams. I have to have faith that all he has ever really wanted for me is to be happy, no matter the path I take.
I call his phone and wait only two or three rings for his voice to filter into my car. “Aubrey, sweetheart, how are you?”
My body smiles automatically at his soft-spoken voice. “I’m okay, Daddy, on my way to see you. You okay if I stay with you for a few days?”
The returning smile in his voice is obvious when he speaks. “Of course, sweetheart. I have a bit of work on, I’m sure you understand, but I’ll always make time for you.”
“Awesome. I’ll be there in a bit. I’m tired and just gonna crash when I get there, so don’t rush back from the office. Maybe we can have breakfast tomorrow?”
“Absolutely. Drive safe. Sleep well. Love you, Aubrey.”
“Love you too, Daddy,” I reply, comforted by his small endearment.
The rest of the drive is quiet, the soft shuffle of blues drifting from the sound system my only company. It’s comforting, and I let myself forget everything plaguing my mind in that moment of solitude. Losing myself in the soft hum of the music and run of the lyrics.
The snow lining the roads on the way to Seattle is starting to subside, barely an inch deep as the weather prepares to thaw out –slightly – over the coming months. I’ve never minded the snow, the cold weather. Most people around our side of the State complain relentlessly about it. I’ve never understood that. Why complain? Why not just move if you hate it that much?
David was always a bit that way, complaining about the snow and the coldness of the air. His dislike confused me, the man spent most of his life inside, within a temperature controlled office – how could outside have any impact on his life? Maybe it was the travel to Seattle, combatting it on the roads. No matter how careful people are, accidents are a given on wet, icy roads. Additional traffic due to weather or accidents would make him irate. How could it not? How dare Mother Nature pull him away from time in the office. Inconsiderate bitch that she is. No one likes traffic, but spend enough time on the road and I’ll give it to David that it was enough to drive anyone nuts. But that, right there, is something I never understood. Why live almost two hours away from where you were needed most for work? Why not shift that small distance south? I guess change was never a strong point of David’s, comfortable in his set environment, with limited possibility for movement.
Arriving at Dad’s in the late afternoon I nibble on a snack before showering and settling into the guest room. Cuddled into the thousand thread-count sheets and comforter, I fail miserably at resisting the overwhelming urge to look at Jake, to read his words. I flick endlessly through photo after photo stored within the memory of my phone.
Singing at gigs, sweat lining his forehead, the thick cords of his neck straining against the lyrics.
Smiling up at me, dimple on show, my bare knees visible in the framework of the still. A reminder of one of the few nights we gave into our need, fighting for the closeness while refusing to let anything infiltrate that moment. Refusing to let our reality crash down on us while we shared a night of the intimacy we so greatly craved.
Random snapshots of different sections of ink. The cursive lining his spine my favorite. Black script. ‘The future is not set, there is not fate but what we make for ourselves’.
That decoration on his body always hit me, always pulling me to reason, reminding me that my life is nothing but a result of the decisions I’ve made. That I was unhappy because of me. Not Davi
d, not Jake, not Dad, not Mom or Steve. Me. I think that’s why I love it so much. Why I always paid so much attention to it. That and the fact that it was framed by the strong muscles of his back.
I wish I had these on digital still, not just on my smartphone. The clarity on the small phone not giving him the justice he deserves. I’d want them blown up, black and white stills decorating the walls of my bedroom.
A room that doesn’t actually exist when I think about it, considering at this moment I’m virtually homeless.
Flicking out of the photos and into the messages, I scroll down until I find his name.
Aubrey: Shitty ass client today. Tell me something to make me smile.
Jake: Struggling to concentrate today. Got the boss playin’ BB in the shed and I can’t remove a certain redhead from my mind.
Aubrey: Totally smiling now. He did give me my EXCELLENT taste in music.
Aubrey: I miss you.
Jake: Like you wouldn’t believe Strawb’ries.
I know what happened after each and every conversation. Some resulted in me being able to take the stills locked into my phone. Others had him distancing, telling me he couldn’t do it any longer. This one led to the former. Since David was out of town, Jake fucked me senseless on David’s sectional. I’m classy like that.
Jake: Annabelle came over today, we played video games and Archer almost spontaneously combusted. It was gold. Pure fucking gold.
Aubrey: I’m missing something right…….
Jake: Luca was here :P
Aubrey: Please tell me she threw attitude too…….and you videoed it…….
Jake: Ha! Yes and no. I have a gig this week, didn’t need a broken rib.
Jake: I miss you.
Aubrey: Going crazy here with it J-Baby.
That one didn’t work out so well for me. My phone blew up that night with a barrage of texts attributing blame for the desperation we both feel. I take full responsibility but what can I possibly say? I’m sorry. I do that. It upsets him more, and his response is always the same, ‘don’t say sorry, make it fucking right.’ If only it had been that easy, if only I’d had a backbone strong enough to support the decisions I made in life and finally, in love, trusted my heart.
Jake: I’m drunk and so fucking lonely Aubrey. I need you so fucking bad…..
Aubrey: J-Baby……I’m stuck at an event, I can’t……. Where are you?
Jake: R u with him? Why can’t u c u should b with me? Not him. Not fucking him.
Jake: Do u still let him fuck you? Do you give him that?
Aubrey: WHERE ARE YOU?
Jake: God I hate that I need u so fucking much
Jake: Bellevue
I drove there that night. Left David at his stale function and drove the fifteen minutes from Seattle to find Jake. I knew where he’d be, only ever staying at a Sheraton in the bigger cities he visits. He looked so broken down when I finally made it to his room. He rarely let himself get to that point, but there he was, standing in the doorway, shirtless, colorful skin on show, the top button of his jeans open with a bottle of whiskey swinging from his hand. In that moment, he reminded me so much of Archer, their height, the slight tan to their skin and dark hair their only physical similarities. But the look in his blood-shot eyes, so lost in the world, the resemblance was striking. I always hated myself the most in those moments. Despised myself deeply that I could have it in me to cause someone so much pain. Someone I cared for immensely.
“You look so beautiful,” he slurred, moving an arm to drag a finger across my naked collarbone.
“Jake. Baby,” I’d barely managed before he’d dragged me forward to smash his lips down to my own.
That night had been a messy one. Teeth, tongues, lips and loud, messy sex. He first told me he loved me that night. Drunk, but so genuine in his declaration that I’d cried. Because I wanted to tell him I loved him back. I wanted to tell him he owned my heart completely, but I didn’t. Instead I told him no, like every clichéd story, I told him he wasn’t allowed to love me, and he was so fucking mad at me. Understandably.
I‘d left him in the room, starting to sober up, his declaration dancing around the room, so thick with rejection it was suffocating. I ran like a coward and the next day he cut it off. Told me he couldn’t do it anymore and asked me not to contact him. I conceded to his request. What more could I have possibly said? He was right after all.
I hadn’t seen him for months after that until last night. Last night it all came crashing down and once again I broke him.
Throwing my phone onto the bed, I toss away the covers, sitting upright to turn the small chain hanging on my ankle to locate my strawberry, trying in vain to replace the violent sadness I feel with a happy memory. I recall the uncertainty in his eyes as he gave me the gift, the pride in his grin when I told him I loved it. The image only heightens the tightening in my chest, the complete and utter loss I feel.
Memories flood my mind, forcing me to remember every hideous moment of the past few months. I rub my eyes in vain, working to expel them, but they won’t stop. They’re relentless.
“Is she coming back?”
I lift my head at the sound of David’s voice, breaking my gaze from the images I’m lost in editing. I fucking hate when he does this, interrupts my workspace. He’d lose his shit if I stormed into his office while he was working, but then again, according to him, he has a real job. God, he’s so sanctimonious.
“What?” I query, not caring to camouflage the irritation in my tone. Not that he’d care he was pissing me off, shit, he probably didn’t even notice the spike in my tone.
His eyes scan our guestroom, the room in the house I claimed as my office. It’s still a stale space of muted color and limited furnishings, working in with David’s lavish décor. Insert fucking eye roll. The guy is as bland as they come. It’s a shame really, that someone so handsome could be so incomplete. I swallow the sigh held within my throat, following his eyes as they move over Annabelle’s scattered belongings.
“I said, is she coming back? Annabelle. You saw her in Carnation what, a week ago. Is she staying there or will she continue to squat in our guestroom?”
It’s not said in an overly offensive manner, but I still scold him. “David.”
He rolls his eyes. “Aubrey. She’s been here for years. How can an adult be so hopeless?” He shrugs awkwardly and I consider for a moment that he couldn’t possibly understand Annabelle’s psyche right now.
She’s heartbroken.
Completely. Utterly.
God, my heart hurts for her. After leaving Carnation, or more so, after being pushed from Carnation all those years ago, you could barely classify her a person. She’s a shell. A chassis of pain and sadness.
Fuck.
I wanna cry just looking at her.
At how disappointed she seems when she wakes up every morning, like her preference would be just to fall asleep and stay that way for eternity.
At how every single mundane task in life brings her grief I couldn’t imagine. It reminds her of him. Of Archer. Everything. So everything hurts. You cross your arms over your chest, and her mind chooses to recall all the times Archer used to do the same. She hears the word baby, and I could swear in those moments, her legs consider giving up their ability to hold her upright.
Focusing on David, I consider whether I’d ever feel even a shred of that pain if he left me. If he pushed me away. I can’t imagine so. On recollection, our relationship was most likely over before it even began. Fuck knows why we both stay. Companionship? Or laziness? Possibly we’re content in the guise of our ‘love’, this way neither of us has to make the effort elsewhere. We have a familiarity that brings us the notion we’re cared for by one another. Ha. What a joke. We have a warm body when our need spikes, saving us the need to search for a lackluster fuck when we have something satisfactory enough at hand. His presence in my life seems to comfort my dad, which is an added bonus. I feel sad at times when I think how lacking a large chunk
of my life is, but then I look at Annabelle, completely lost, barely existing now that love has been ripped away from her, and I let myself believe I’m okay with this. Because there is no way I could survive what Annabelle is going through. No. Fucking. Way. I watch her and I understand her want to go to sleep and not wake up. Fuck. That’s exactly what I would want. If I had love like she and Archer and it was torn away from me so brutally, I’d wanna die. Difference between Annabelle and I, I’m weak enough to let it happen.
“She lost the love of her life, David.”
He looks to me, pausing his assessment of the space, arms folding across his chest as he shakes his head. “She didn’t lose anything. The guy is a Neanderthal. He didn’t want her anymore, am I the only one that sees that? He’d prefer to drink himself into an early grave. I rather think he did her a favor.”
My face finds my hands as I drop it into them, now my turn to shake my head. “God. There is something fundamentally wrong with you.”
“Do tell,” he quips, his voice laced with sarcasm.
“Do you not feel any sadness for what they’ve both lost? Archer was broken when he finished his last contract. Shit. None of us can even imagine the things he’s seen. He’s lost everything because of his duty, as has Annabelle. You’re so unfeeling.”
