Forget Me Not

by Goodmore, Jade

  If the letter holds any accuracy it can be found in the mutual understanding that I would have persuaded him to stay. I would have done everything in my power to keep him here and he knows that.

  The offer to buy a house for us leaves me feeling sick. It’s as if mine and Sebastian’s reconciliation is a foregone conclusion. He’s forgotten that I never had any real love for Sebastian. Sebastian never had any real love for me. It was a relationship created out of my need for a distraction and Seb’s need for companionship. If he listened to our conversation then I can understand his initial concern, but he could have talked to me. Damn it, he should have talked to me.

  As if the letter were not stained with enough sadness, it is now polka-dotted with my tears. To sign off in the false understanding that I could ever be happy without him shows how little he must know me. How little he has listened when I’ve regaled stories of my dark depression after his first attempt at ridding himself from my life. I almost laugh as I recall how his excuse for that disappearance was also for my own benefit. Wrong on both counts, Mr. Jenner.

  Thinking back to the events that followed his departure the last time fills me with further dread. Am I about to fall into another pit of despair? I can feel myself falling, but not as fast and not as deep. Somehow I’m still clinging on to the hope that I can fix this. I have power now that I didn’t have then. I have an address. In fact, I have numerous addresses and various contact numbers. I don’t have to just accept my losses this time.

  Suddenly aware of little feet padding down the stairs behind me, I scrunch up the loathed letter and stuff it into the pocket of my robe. I wipe at my eyes in a vain attempt to hide the angst, knowing that their redness will alert Benji to my upset. I stand and start scrambling through the fridge, picking out breakfast ingredients.

  “Isn’t Jesse cooking us breakfast today?” Benji yawns. His ignorance to the situation that lingers over us like a thundering cloud is refreshing. It’s enough to spur me on with the pretence that everything is okay.

  “No, sweetheart. Jesse’s had to go back to New York for a few days to settle up some business,” I reply, busying myself with cracking and mixing eggs for an omelet so I don’t reveal my bloodshot eyes.

  “But, he didn’t say goodbye.”

  “I know. He’ll be back soon though,” I answer, because he will be back.

  I will get him back.

  “He’s gone, Emma. He’s done it again.”

  “What!? Why?” Emma’s voice is a mixture of shock and anger. I have to breath steadily so as not to become too emotional. Although Benji is oblivious downstairs I don’t want to run the risk of him witnessing my upset.

  “You won’t believe me…Sebastian came back.”

  “No!”

  “Yes. He just showed up at my parents and now he’s decided that he wants to be a part of Benji’s life.” As I explain it to Emma it feels less real, like I’m telling her someone else’s story.

  “That’s a good thing though, right?”

  “Yes, but no. Jesse proposed to me last week. I’m sorry I should have told you but we were waiting to tell my parents and Benjamin first.”

  “Oh my God, Michaela! Is there anything else you’ve forgotten to tell me? Did Benji pass his driving test or did you meet the President?”

  “No, well yes. He was also buying us a house,” I admit. Her dramatic sigh echoes down the line and I find myself joining her.

  “And then he just leaves?”

  “He left me a letter. He thinks I’d be better off with Seb. Actually, that Benji would be better off with Seb. He has issues with the idea of being a dad, I knew this, but I guess I didn’t realize to what extent.”

  “He’s fucked up.”

  “Yup,” I agree. “I have to go and see him, Em. I figure if I go tonight I can persuade him to come back.”

  “Okay. You want me to have Benji?” she asks. This is why I knew Emma was the person to help. No opinion on what I should or shouldn’t do. She will stand by me whatever decisions I make. Right or wrong.

  “Would you? If you host this sleepover I promise I’ll host the next.”

  “You don’t need to promise anything. Just, drive careful,” she warns.

  “I’m going by train. I have no car until tomorrow,” I sigh, recalling how my baby Golf is still being fixed.

  “You’ll take my car,” she asserts.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Deadly. I hope it all works out, Mickey, I really do, but if it doesn’t then I don’t want you waiting around on a late train when all you want is to be home.”

  “I love you, so much,” I gush.

  “I know. That’s why you’ll let me know as soon as you get there and you’ll keep me updated. I want to know that you’re okay and I want to know when you’re back, safely.”

  “I’m going to throw you the best damn baby shower ever,” I manage to say regardless of the tightness in my throat.

  Chapter 30

  The journey has taken longer than usual with my lingering nervousness behind the wheel. I’m anxious to get there and I know that if it weren’t for my accident last week I’d be speeding all the way. Almost four hours after I left an excited Benji with his second family, I hit the outskirts of New York City.

  There are so many places that Jesse could be, so many of his bars or restaurants that he could be visiting and I only know of a handful of them. I decide to try my luck with his apartment first, knowing that it would be the best place for us to beat our issues out. I pull up outside of his tower block, leaving the car illegally parked while I run to the front desk and ask them to buzz up for Jesse. They do, but there’s no answer. I call him for the millionth time from my phone, but to no avail. His avoidance only spurs me on further.

  The restaurant where Jesse took me for drinks is quiet as I pull up. The few staff behind the bar frown in horror at my jeans and checked shirt and it’s the first time that I’m aware of my casual appearance. I could have at least swapped my Converse for some heels.

  They insist that Jesse, or Lee, or Mr. Jenner is not here and that even if they did know of his location it’s against company policy to say so. This appears to be the case for the next two bars I search.

  Junction is quiet as I pull up on the opposing side of the road. There’s a small queue but it’s moving quickly. One look at the immaculate inhabitants of the line sends me reaching for my handbag, where I manage to find some lip gloss. I smooth my hair as best I can but the curls are ever increasing due to both the humidity and my stress induced sweat.

  I don’t see Smithy manning the doors so I begrudgingly decide to join the queue. I’m immediately told by a group of girls in front of me that I won’t be allowed in with ‘those’ on my feet. I try to play it cool and say that I’m friends with the owner, but naturally they’re dubious.

  After what could only have been five minutes, I’m at the front of the line. There’s only one doorman on duty and he steps towards me and smiles. I hope it’s genuine. Doubtful.

  “Miss, you can’t come in without complying with the dress code.” He lifts his hand and signals for me to step away from the line. I do, but I refuse to release his attention.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I’m from out of town you see,” I reply sweetly, but his face remains unchanged.

  “Everyone is from out of town,” he scoffs. I can sense my failure and decide to just be honest.

  “Look, I don’t even need to go in. I’m looking for Jesse. Erm…Mr. Jenner. If he’s there then maybe you could just request his assistance with something outside?” I plead, my hands cupped in front of my chest.

  “Miss, Mr. Jenner is a busy man.”

  “So, he is here?” I ask, aware that my voice is high with overflowing enthusiasm.

  “Yes, he is here, but I can’t ask him to come to see you. He doesn’t speak to press.”

  “I’m not press, I’m a…friend.”

  “If you’re a friend, call him.”

 
; “He doesn’t want to speak to me right now,” I sigh, exasperated.

  “Then I suggest you leave, Miss.”

  The front rows of people are getting restless at being kept waiting and so he turns his back to me to continue with his job. I spot my chance.

  While others have regarded my Converse as inappropriate footwear, tonight I have never been more thankful for them. I bound easily up the steps and push through the doors, running past the receptionist with speed I haven’t used in years. It’s not until I’m about to push through the second set of doors that I hear the doorman shouting behind me. I ignore him and manage to scramble through to the darkness of the club only to be netted by two huge arms. I look up into the eyes of a familiar bouncer. He was the bouncer who helped with the asshole, Harry.

  “No, please! I just want to see Jesse. You know who I am! Last time I was here you threw a guy out for me. For Jesse. You know that I know Jesse!” I try to articulate my speech, but even I’m confused by the wailing that escapes my mouth. He doesn’t even acknowledge that I’m talking, yelling. Instead he carries me out onto the street and discards me like a neglected dog. He joins the other doorman as they block the entry.

  I should go. I can’t win this.

  Rationality tries and fails to entice me back into the confines of Emma’s car as I continue my quest for Jesse. Begging and pleading won’t work, so I decide that my only other option is to force his attention. If I can cause even more of a scene than I already have then Jesse will have no choice but to diffuse the situation personally.

  “I just need to see him. It’s not a ridiculous request! You just stand there playing God with my life when all I want is to speak to him.” They’re trying to ignore me. “Assholes!” I spit.

  The queue of young partygoers contradicts each other with both cheers and boos and their escalating noise feeds my aggression.

  “Miss, please remove yourself from the premises,” the larger of the two doormen orders.

  “No. Fuck you. Take me inside if you want me to be quiet.”

  They look past me as if I am not even here, but I can see the effect I’m having on them in the tension of their jaws and expansion of their chests.

  “Just take me inside, call the police, do something!” I yell.

  The collective noise of the crowd grows wilder behind me before being tamed dramatically by Jesse as he pushes past the bouncer barricade. The racket hushes in the face of his familiarity. They know him. They know who is, well, who they think he is. I tell myself that only I know the real Jesse. However, the moment he stands before me with his chest large and his eyes cold I know that I’ve been kidding myself.

  I barely have chance to appreciate his magnificence before he’s addressing me angrily.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Michaela?” he snarls.

  “What the hell do you think I’m doing here? I want to speak to you, and when you won’t accept my calls you gave me no other choice.”

  “Yes, I did. You could have stayed at home and moved on,” he whispers irritably, and I notice his sudden embarrassment at having this discussion in public. I can use this to my advantage.

  “If you don’t want this kind of publicity then I suggest we go somewhere more private where you can hear me out. We have to talk about this.” My voice is low enough for only Jesse to hear.

  “No. Michaela, I can’t talk to you. Go home.”

  His words anger me until unacceptable tears pool my eyes. I try to dampen the anger that boils in my blood, breathing in fresh air like it is water to my thirst, but without the anger I’m just sad. “Why does home have to be a place? Why can’t it be a person? You are my home, Jesse.” I mutter pathetically. I’m surprised he can even here my timid words.

  Without hesitation he replies. “Stop it. Go. Home.”

  He’s killing me with his words. Every refusal takes another breath. Yet, somehow I still fight. “No."

  “No?”

  “NO!” I scream, my body shaking with nervous defiance.

  The gathering behind me guffaws with glee at the drama playing out before them. Once the shock from my outburst has left Jesse’s system he takes my arm and pulls me past the doormen separating them like the automatic doors of a supermarket. He continues to haul me through the club until we’re entering his office.

  Slamming the door behind us, he lets go of my arm and takes a seat at his desk. He pours himself a drink of something potent and amber-colored, his politeness absent as I stand here drink-less. Silently, I grow afraid of the Jesse that sits before me. A Jesse that I don’t know how to respond to.

  I’m finally able to study his appearance. He looks tired. Really tired. He’s wearing a sharp grey suit, but his tie is loose and scruffy around his neck. Wretchedly I realize that the smell of alcohol has been with us since he addressed me outside. When he finally looks up at me after several steadying breaths, his eyes soften, permitting me to speak.

  “You gave me no other option, Jesse,” I mumble, somewhat apologetically. “Did you really think that I’d let you go so easily?”

  “I needed you to. I still need you to.”

  “Why? Because you want to decide what’s best for us all? I decide what is best for me and my son, and it’s you.”

  “No, Benji needs his real father in his life and if his real father wants to make things work with you, then that’s the best possible future for you all.” The words are spoken into his glass before he takes another swig, his eyes not willing to converse with mine as he continues to break my heart.

  “Let’s gloss over the fact that you listened in on a private conversation and deal with the fact that a relationship with Sebastian is never going to happen. He said what he said because he had some idealistic view of what a family should be. As do you. I know why you feel this way and I appreciate that somehow you feel that you’re doing the right thing, but you’re not. This situation is completely different yours.”

  Tired of his avoidance I walk around the vastness of his mahogany desk and crouch in front of him. If he won’t choose to look at me then I will just have to force him. I take his drink and place it on the desk. His blue eyes are wide with trepidation as they fix on my burnt browns.

  “Dale was an evil man who you hated,” I say, managing to maintain his gaze. “You are perfect. Perfect for me and perfect for Benjamin. You can’t keep comparing the situations. Benji loves you very much. Please see that,” I whisper as I bravely reach up to hold his knee. To my amazement his fingers cover mine. The warmth of his hand is in stark contrast to his eyes and words. I relax in his touch as the current passes between us once more.

  I pull his hand to my mouth and whisper against it, “I love you.”

  Jesse emits a pained groan as he pulls me a little closer. I’m on my knees but our faces are almost level. He brings his forehead to mine and sucks in a steadying breath. Taking a leap of faith I close the tiny gap between us, cautiously sweeping my lips across his. He leans into it. He wants my kiss. My hands are fastened around his thick, parted thighs as I pull myself against him. Tentative fingers smooth through my hair before halting at the nape of my neck. His tongue flickers against my lips and I part them, gladly. He tastes of whiskey and tobacco. It’s a completely alien association, but the way that his kiss weakens me is all too familiar.

  As our mouths reunite Jesse’s hand tumbles to my blouse. With shaky fingers, the top few buttons are undone and his hand slides under my bra. I almost melt at his warmth. I’m falling under his spell. I need this so bad. I need him to have this so bad. Pulling myself up, I balance on the edge of his desk and pull him to me.

  Instead of bringing his lips back to mine he rests his head against my neck, holding me firm while he collects his composure. I fist at his shirt, needing him to lose it.

  “Why do you have to make this so difficult?” he breathes into my hair, sending a torrent of chills down my spine.

  “It’s only difficult because you know I’m right. You want to be with
me. I know you do.”

  My hands continue with their bravery as they slide up under his now loose shirt and stroke the heated hardness that is his abs. Clinging to my resurfacing confidence I arch my back, pressing myself against him. When he pulls back enough for me to see his face, his expression, it’s clear his desire is fading fast and I need to rectify that. I pull his face gently to my own, begging him with my tired eyes to feel something. Bringing my lips to his I work hard to entice a reaction. Nothing. They’re unresponsive. His lips are frozen as his hands find mine, halting their persuasion.

  “I can’t do this,” he asserts and let’s go, stepping away with his sorry eyes to the floor.

  Standing up immediately, I step with him, unwilling to give him the comfort of space. “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Does it matter?” he asks, shrugging weakly.

  “Well, either you can’t because you’re clinging to some noble idea of what’s best for me, or you won’t because you really don’t want me. There’s a big difference. So, which one is it?” I order, holding my breath as I wait for an answer that doesn’t come.

  His eyes are glossed over with tears but his face doesn’t look pained, it looks stern and resolute. His jaw muscles twitch as his mouth pinches into a determined line.

  “Because, you don’t want me,” I clarify.

  The nod of his head is the final blow to my already beaten heart. I fall back against the desk unable to find any strength in my legs. He glances in my direction, but he averts his eyes once he’s assured that I’ve not fallen.

  “You never meant it when you said that you loved me? That you would never leave me? That you would spend your whole life making it up to me?”

  “I meant everything, Michaela.”

  “But you don’t now?”

  He shrugs again and I want to rip his arms from his shoulders. My jelly legs buckle beneath me as I stand again, but he catches me. I can’t bare his lying touch and so I push him away.

  “Bullshit. You’ve just contradicted everything you’ve ever promised me.” My eyes burn from the hot tears and as my body convulses with sobs I don’t even care that he is witness to my breakdown. I want him to see what he has done to me. I want this image of me to haunt him.