Archer

by Haley Jenner

  I hate that she was given opportunity to think she knows him. She doesn't know shit. My voice cracks when I attempt to speak, so I clear my throat and try again. "You're wrong. About a lot. You think you don't care what people think, but we both know that's a lie. You're dying to belong, Bartie, to have someone love you the way Archer loved me. That's why you keep fighting, but you'll lose,” I declare strongly. “Archer will never love you. You're too self-absorbed, conceited, too willing to walk over other people to get what you want. You're scum, Bartie and I hate that he went back to you, even if he was just using you. It makes me sick, you make me sick. But what I dislike most about you is that you think you know Archer Dean," I bark out a sarcastic laugh and her nose pinches in hate. "You are not cut from the same cloth. He has so much to offer those he cares about; he loves deeply and gives so much when he does. Archer Dean is the most honorable, genuine and caring man I know. Have ever known. He’s nothing like you."

  Bartie's stance has straightened through my speech, a glower marring her overly done face. "Fuck you, Annabelle. You think you're so much better than me. What you are is weak; you couldn't even fight for your man when he needed it. You were a joke to this town at the end. Everyone was laughing at how pathetic you were waiting at home for him, when he clearly didn't want to be there. As soon as you left, he came to me and begged me to let him fuck me. Told me he'd been living with boring vanilla for so many years that he needed to taste what it could be like again. Needed me to help bring him back to life. Worked too, you've seen him. He was a shell with you, but with you gone, with him free of you, he began living again. You were a drain, Annabelle, a leech on Archer's life. Can't you see it now? He felt sorry for the poor orphan girl, took what he needed but couldn't get rid of you," she finishes on a triumphant smile, her words having hit home.

  So much of what she said was true. While I floundered without him, he flourished. I'm not stupid, I know it had nothing to do with her. But Archer is better without me and this cuts deep. Standing to leave, I dust the cold from my jeans, unwilling to keep this conversation going.

  "BARTIE! The fuck are you doing at my place?" Archer’s voice rings out into the air as he comes to stand at the top of the stairs. My head whips around and his eyes are glued on me as embarrassment shades my cheeks, realizing he heard our conversation, heard Bartie call my greatest fears into the open air.

  "Archer…. I," but he cuts her off without looking in her direction. "Leave. Now. You know you're not welcome here. Never have been. Never will be."

  I know he says that for my benefit, his way of telling me that he never shared his private space with her. "Archer," she starts again but he walks past her without speaking, opening the door and gesturing me in. I refuse to meet her eyes as I walk inside, the front door having barely closed when I hear the click of her stilettos disappear into the rain.

  I can feel the heat from Archer's body behind me and I take a step forward to relax the need to step back into his chest. "Give me 5 minutes, just need a quick shower," he says and I turn.

  His breathing is labored, sweat lining his forehead. A black thermal is slick to his chest from a mixture of rain and sweat. Pulling his beanie from his head he kicks off his shoes, making his way towards the bathroom. Reaching the door, he pulls the thermal over his head and I can't stop the small groan that escapes my lips at seeing his naked back, wet with sweat. He turns to me, a small smile quirking at his lips. "Make yourself at home."

  The bathroom door closes over and I scan the small apartment. It's a small studio space. A tiny kitchenette to the right side; almost completely sparse, as though it houses nothing. No food, no appliances. The only evidence of someone living here being the collection of pictures stuck to the fridge.

  The bathroom sits to the left of the kitchenette. I hear the shower running and try not to think on that fact that Archer is in there. Naked and wet. The door sits slightly ajar, offering me the opportunity to peek, if I wanted to. But I know Archer and that's why he did it. To tempt me. Seeing him naked and wet reminds me of our first encounter after he came home, he looked so deliciously lickable and I know today would be no different.

  Such an asshole.

  His bed is nothing but a large mattress on the floor, sheets messy, a pile of books resting next to where he sleeps. A large flat screen is mounted onto the wall to the right of the bed and apart from a small dresser under the TV, the apartment is empty. Aside from his unmade bed, the apartment is neat and tidy. Structured, much like Archer.

  I wander over to the fridge and swallow deeply. Every photo includes an image of me. Me and him. Me with Jake. With Janie. Just me. Hiking. Swimming. Asleep. Smiling into the camera. Blowing a kiss. My face stares out at him every single day. I feel my chin tremble as tears begin to pool in my eyes. How does he do that? Stare at me every day. Doesn't remembering slice into his heart, like it does mine?

  The shower shuts off and I stumble quickly from the fridge. I’m not certain what an interaction, after discovering his shrine to what we once had, would look like. Each moment of vulnerability I see from him, tempts me further. Pulls me into the conviction that he needs me, as I do him.

  I sit on the edge of his bed and that action hits me like a force to the chest. His scent is everywhere; overpowering in the place he sleeps. Lifting his pillow, I bring it to my face, breathing deeply. I want to cry. My memories are starting to fade. I thought I remembered his smell. But I was wrong. I couldn’t recall it with the clarity I have now. How much harder will it be to walk away knowing that I'll forget these things? No matter how hard I try to remember. Stroking my hand along his pillow I place it down neatly on his bed, trying to remember its exact positioning so he doesn’t notice.

  Moving my attention to the pile of books beside his bed I pick up the first one and glide my hand over the worn cover. "Environmentally-friendly Architectural Design," I read out loud and open the cover.

  " Don't," his voice filters off on a sharp inhale of breath as a bunch of photos fall from the inside and leaning down to collect them, I stop breathing on a gasp.

  They're of me. All of them. Possibly twenty different photos. Some, the ones I sent with him on tour the first time; dressed scantily in lingerie, body on complete show. Others more explicit. From moments I had forgotten; a close up of my lips wrapped tightly around the end of his cock, another with me kneeling upright on our bed, completely naked, one hand on one of my breasts, the other…"Wow," I laugh uncomfortably. "You actually had these printed."

  Rubbing his hand along the back of his neck, his mouth turns up in a somewhat bashful smile. "I printed them myself at home. No one has seen 'em but me," he comforts.

  Placing them back inside his book, I close it and place it back on his pile. "Any surprises in the rest of them?" I indicate to the large pile of books and he laughs quietly.

  "Nah, baby, just that one."

  My heart stutters on its beat at his endearment and I point to the title of the book to deflect my attention. "Environmentally-friendly Architectural Design, hey?"

  Dropping onto the bed beside me, he lays on his side, elbow propping him up as he speaks. "Yeah, it’s the rage these days. A lot of people are preferring greener projects. I get it. It makes sense."

  Picking up my hand Archer rubs small circles into my palm. I watch the movement and have an overwhelming want to cry. This part seems so easy for us. The touching. The easy conversation. I feel at home being in his company. Before I can sense them, I taste my tears on my lips and I lick my tongue out to catch them.

  Sitting up he tips my chin up to look into my eyes. "Don't cry, baby, breaks my heart." I pull in a deep breath into my lungs, working to calm myself.

  Archer’s lips meet my skin as he begins kissing my tears away, trailing down to swallow the sound of my sobs with his mouth. His lips are damp from my tears and I can taste their saltiness as he kisses me. His hand works its way into my hair, holding me in place and I follow his lead, my small hands twisting into his damp hair wh
ere his head meets his neck.

  Our kiss is deep and hypnotic, not rushed and needy like the last few we’ve shared. I feel his tongue stroke every angle of my mouth as mine follows. Feeling. Tasting. Reconnecting. We’ve fallen into our trap once again, seeking intimacy to find normalcy. It's wrong. Unavailing. Useless to my aim of shutting this down.

  Remorsefully, I pull away, touching my lips to savor the feeling and focusing on storing the memory to my consciousness. "I'm just going to use the bathroom," I murmur, not waiting for Archer's response. Not watching to see the disappointment clear in his bright green stare.

  I eye myself in the bathroom mirror; the sockets of my eyes are dark and hollow, almost imitating Archer's constant trait. My lips are bruised and swollen from his strong kiss, my skin reddened by the brush of his stubble.

  Don't cry baby, breaks my heart.

  His words haunt my mind.

  He was a shell with you, but with you gone, with him free of you, he began living again.

  Bartie's words haunt my mind and shaking my head, I attempt to rid myself of my ugly thoughts.

  Turning, I lean against the vanity and comb my eyes over the small bathroom. Much like the rest of the apartment, it's organized and neat. A few charcoal colored towels lay neatly folded on a stand beside the sink. Toothbrush, shaver and soap placed orderly on top. The shower is larger than I would’ve imagined in such a small space. Frosted glass closes it in, making certain you wouldn't see someone completely while they showered, the frosted glass only allowing a hinted silhouette of one's naked self.

  I open the glass door in search of his body wash, to smell it. My eyes scan the tidy shelf inside and my branded body wash, shampoo and conditioner sit precisely on the second tier. Confusion wades in and I close the door, not bothering to follow through with my objective.

  Walking hesitantly from the small room I notice Archer close by, standing at the fridge. Hand wrapped around the neck of his beer, his eyes are fixed on the pictures decorating his fridge. His head turns slowly as I reenter the room and lifting his beer to his lips, he swallows deeply.

  "You have my body wash," I test and he offers a single nod of his head. "My shampoo." Another nod, but no spoken words. "My conditioner," I finish.

  "Yep," he finally replies, popping his lips on the P with no further explanation given as he turns his head back towards the fridge. "Beer?" he offers and I nod in agreement.

  "I don't know how you do it. Look at photos every day, smell me…. I guess." I jump onto the bench, nursing the beer Archer hands me, in my lap.

  I'm grateful that he retreats from my space, choosing to lean his back against the fridge. The distance offering me a slight reprieve from his intoxicating presence.

  He watches me for a few beats before responding. "Because the alternative is harder to stomach for me. Because this way I still get to see you every day……. remember the way you smell," he pauses, watching my reaction before continuing. "I didn't get to hear your voice anymore. Touch you. I do it because this was all I had left."

  My teeth gnaw at the corner of my lip, an attempt to keep my tears at bay, to stop my chin from wobbling. We’re quiet for a time, my thoughts completely torn. I now know that Archer hasn't been flourishing like I thought he was. There’s no doubt that he’s in a better place, but he’s been surviving much like I have, coping the easiest way he can.

  I feel full of envy, of anger. Archer hasn't had to forget the way I smell, the way my eyes crinkle when I smile, what I look like naked. Without my consent, my memories have been slowly disappearing overtime. No matter how hard I try to hold onto them, they’re slipping away from me. I feel as though he’s cheated, is still cheating by holding onto those memories and it's not fair. Why should he be allowed to keep them? He's shouldn’t be allowed to see me naked but go out and fuck Bartie. He's shouldn’t be allowed to look at photos of us when he’s feeling sentimental or smell me in his shower when he's feeling like shit. He made me leave. He shouldn't get to keep memories of me alive when mine are dying.

  Pulling my beer to my lips, I watch him as I drink. His focus sits at my throat, concentrating on its movement as I swallow. Removing the bottle from my lips I wait quietly until his eyes scan upwards and meet my own. "Why her?"

  His eyes close purposefully, resting shut for a moment before opening on a sigh. "That shit she said to you, you can't possibly..." he starts and I shake my head to cut him off.

  "Of course not. I know she had nothing to do with where you’re at now. I just......You could have had anyone, Archer. In this town. Outside of it. I don't know why it had to be her."

  Throwing his empty bottle into the bin, he turns to me rubbing the back of his neck. He’s uncomfortable, wanting to move past this without dwelling, but he’ll answer for me, give me the honestly I need.

  "I've felt love, Belle. In all its fucking glory. What we have, what we share…. I know what it's like for someone to own your heart, for them to trust you with theirs,” he admits regretfully. “I didn't want any feelings mixed up in what I needed, which, as awful as it sounds, was to get off."

  I feel like I've been shot at his words, the force of the impact making it hard to breathe. "You....you were afraid you'd.... what? Fall in love again? Forget about me?" I stutter.

  "No. Don’t misinterpret my words, baby. Feeling what I feel for you, with anyone else, it’s not possible. I didn't want anyone else's feelings to enter the arrangement. I've broken enough in my short shitty life, Belle, I didn’t need anyone getting attached. Bartie was......fuck, we both know she has no capacity for love. She cares about nothing but herself, so I knew I could take what I needed and leave, treat her like shit and she'd take it."

  I drain the remainder of my beer and begin fidgeting with the bottle, ripping at the wet label. My mind works a million miles an hour trying to process his words and how they make me feel. "It ended before I started sorting my shit. Well before. It didn't happen on the regular, only here or there when I was out of it. There was no touching, no eye contact, no kissing, no tasting. I'd fuck her and leave."

  I know what he’s saying is supposed to relay my fears, my hurt. I know he’s trying to make me take even the smallest comfort from the situation. Working to help me move past my anger, my disappointment…. but it doesn’t work and his words don’t penetrate the way he wanted them too. I still resent him for touching her in anyway. For giving her something that I was no longer allowed.

  "It doesn't make it easier for me to stomach, Archer. You gave her something you kept from me and I would have taken it. What you gave her……I would have taken it," I finish on a whisper.

  Archer’s eyes cloud with regret. "I know, baby. But I couldn't do that, not to you. You deserved more than that, Belle. Still do. At that point…. I couldn't give you what you deserved, which is everything, Belle, baby, you deserve everything," he declares quietly.

  I feel him in front of me and I drop my forehead to his chest, taking comfort in his presence. He’s doing and saying all the right things. Everything I’ve wanted him to say to me for the last three years. His lips meet the top of my head on a kiss as he breathes in the scent of my hair. I want to give in to this, into him. I want to forget my fight, trust my hearts judgement and open myself up to us again but the doubts in my brain are loud and strong, making it seemingly impossible for me to listen to my heart.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Archer

  I watch her fuss over Ma; checking she’s comfortable, whether she needs anything. It's driving Janie nuts and I fail miserably at hiding my smirk.

  "Baby girl," she snaps and Belle's eyes lift in shock at her tone. "I’m fine. Will you stop fussing; I’ll let you know if I need anything. Make yourself a coffee. Relax." Janie speaks clearly but quietly, reassuring her.

  Belle's eyes dart to me briefly and I wink, trying to relax her. It seems to work, if only for a second. Her eyes close slowly, relishing in the small gesture before she steels herself and walks from the room.

/>   Standing, I follow her exit and lean against the doorframe of Janie's kitchen to watch her. She looks defeated, arms braced on the bench, head dropped between her shoulders as she waits for the coffee to brew. "I've been gone so long I forget how I fit," she confides quietly.

  Pushing off the frame I move towards her and she turns, leaning her hips against the counter. Her large brown eyes radiate sadness and I hate it. Hate that she feels so out of place with her family. "Baby, you're trying too hard. You know how you fit, you don't need to try," I reply, drawing my thumb along her bottom lip and she nods her head softly.

  Turning back, she tasks herself with making us both coffee and I move in closer to stand at her back. She welcomes the movement, leaning her back against my chest. Sighing at the pleasure the small intimacy brings, her body visibly relaxes against my own and I inch forward to smell her hair. To breathe her in.

  I miss these shared moments; the innocent touches. All so simple, but so easy. They’re the hardest to live without.

  Belle turns against me, leaning back to once again to put distance between us as she hands me a mug. Reluctantly, I give her what she wants, moving from her space as she reclaims her position against the counter.

  "Jake said you're working with Brian again," she offers, attempting easy conversation.

  "Yeah, more in a consultancy or supervisor role nowadays. Work the tools every so often when needed but mostly work through the plans with the client and oversee the boys. Make sure things go to time, budget, and shit like that."

  She smiles sweetly at me. "You did such a nice job on our place. You were in your element; I'm glad that's what you're doing. Fits you."

  Silence spans between us and my eyes follow her movements as she drinks her coffee. The way she blows lightly on the liquid before bringing it to her lips with both her hands wrapped around the mug, warming her hands.

  I take a deep swallow of coffee. "What about you? In Bellingham."