by Ella Fields
I didn’t actually want it.
I wanted what it did for you.
I wanted to feel the way it seemed to make you feel.
I felt guilty, sure, but not enough to give it back.
It didn’t work.
The next day, I tossed it in the trash outside.
And I’m not sorry.
____
Heartbreaker,
For the first time since you ruined it all, I slept with someone else tonight, and I don’t even remember her name.
It’s been six months. I hadn’t planned to wait this long, but it was harder than I expected it to be.
So why was it so easy for you?
That’s what I wondered. Drunk as fuck, balls deep inside some girl who had talons for nails, and all I could think was, How. The. Fuck. Did. You. Do. It.
The answer came when I eventually did.
You didn’t love me.
Not as much as I loved you.
____
Bug,
I didn’t think it would be this hard.
Trying to breathe without you.
____
I couldn’t stay.
I couldn’t face what we’d become.
I could have done many things, but I couldn’t fix something that broken, Bug.
And you didn’t ask me to.
____
I walked into my favorite cafe before school today, and as I was waiting in line, Crowded House came on.
Needless to say, I went without coffee.
But it didn’t even matter. It was too late.
You invaded.
Or maybe, you never fucking left.
____
I don’t know why I keep doing this, or what I even plan to do with these. Sometimes, I imagine what it’ll be that makes me finally hit send.
Sometimes, it’s when I’m ninety years old, dying in a bed somewhere.
Sometimes, it’s when I picture you the morning of your wedding.
Sometimes, it’s when I imagine you imagining me.
I should just delete them.
____
Why?!!!?!
____
I think of you most when I’m with someone else.
No one smells like you.
Then again, I doubt I could handle it if they did.
____
I love you.
I loathe you.
____
I’m not sure how it happened, but somewhere along the way to our forever, I lost track of right now.
And I ask myself, all the time, if things would’ve been different had I just stopped and breathed with you.
____
It’s been storming for three days straight.
Just a bad day, right?
I can still hear you giggle.
____
Come find me
please
____
They scattered to the countertop when I lowered my head to my hands, tears flooding too hard to see through.
Tucking the last daffodil in the stand by the headstone, I then thought better of it and plucked it out. The breeze carried my hair from my face as I leaned forward and laid it before the headstone.
Sitting back, I pulled my knees up and stretched my dress over them.
The grass crunched beneath the soles of shoes, and then the scent of cedarwood and mint cocooned. “Thought I might find you here if you weren’t at work.”
I pondered not talking, leaning forward to rest my chin on my knees. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“Should be, but I’d rather be here.”
“In a cemetery?”
Like the briefest touch of fingers skimming skin, his gentle laugh caressed. “You should know that.” I swallowed, closing my eyes. How like him to find me when my emotions were circling high, brimming the edge of their confines. “You never hid over here,” he said.
I blinked, gazing back at the weather worn stone. “I didn’t?”
“No,” Jackson said, then gestured to the hills with fat gray clouds perched above. “Always over there or down among the bowl.”
We’d called the center of the cemetery the bowl, being that it was surrounded by slow rolling hills on either side.
“Sara Elizabeth Dean.” He read her name aloud. “No wonder Victoria never wanted us playing back here.”
I snorted. “The fact it’s filled with dead bodies wasn’t reason enough?”
Humor coated his words. “Yeah, there’s that. Crazy,” he said, stretching his legs out, dress shoes shining against the stone. “That she picked this house because…”
“Because her sister was buried behind it?” I asked. “Yeah, I know.”
“Have you spoken to her?”
“Not for a few weeks.” I tugged some grass from the ground, rolling the gritty blades in the palm of my hand. “She’s tried to call, but I don’t know.”
“It’s a lot,” he said.
I hummed, not sure where he’d left the attitude he’d become so fond of carrying, but not in the mood to ask.
“Do you know what she looked like?” he asked, quiet, cautious.
“Me,” I said and heard the distant rumble of thunder grow closer. “Just like me.”
Jackson released a loud breath, and I could feel his eyes probing, but I kept mine where they were. “I wonder what else about her was like you.”
In the weeks since I’d discovered someone who I’d never met, I’d wondered many things. Rolling the grass some more, I said, “I wonder too. But most things feel stupid to wonder about.”
“How do you mean?”
“She was my mother, and instead of wanting to know if she could have one day changed the world or have changed mine, I want to know silly things.” I smiled, my eyes growing wet. “How did she sound when she sang? Did she sing off-key like me, and so preferred to hum her favorite songs?”
Jackson cleared his throat, his voice rough. “That’s not stupid, Bug. Far from it.” After a moment, he added, “I bet she was a far better singer than you.”
I breathed out a laugh, then tucked my head to my knees as rain began to drip from the gray clouds hovering overhead.
Jackson quit probing but scooted closer to drape a heavy arm behind me.
Some minutes later, our clothes began to soak through, and I lifted my head, splatters of rain washing the salt from my cheeks. “Just a bad day,” Jackson said.
Turning, I watched him for a moment, the tiny dent in his chin less prominent with his jaw, all his features, relaxed. “How’s your mom?”
Beads of water were collecting on his cheeks, his lashes, his upper lip. He licked it, gazing toward Sara’s headstone. “I wouldn’t know.”
“How long has it been?”
“Three years and five months.” His throat bobbed.
He’d never had all that much of a relationship with Kylie, and when we were kids, he used to blame Heath for that. He learned better long ago.
“What happened?” I dared to ask.
He shook his head, then sighed. “She asked for money to bail her latest boyfriend out of jail. Again. I said no. She said it’ll be the last time I hear from her if I don’t help.” His jaw turned rigid once more. “And I said…”
“Fine,” I finished for him.
His hand squeezed my side. “Probably wasn’t wise, but I couldn’t handle it anymore.”
“You didn’t think she was serious. As you shouldn’t, that’s your mom.”
His lips tried to rise. “Guess I don’t get the stubborn streak from Dad.”
I had to agree with that, and as the rain began to turn to mist, I shivered, remembering all the times he’d said don’t walk away from me.
As if he knew I’d found that dark piece of him, he said, “I didn’t think I cared, for so many years, and maybe, I didn’t. But still”—his gaze snatched mine—“I don’t do well with losing people.”
“None of us do,” I told him. “But that doesn’t excuse what you’ve done, Jackson.”
; Reaching out, he cupped my face, thumb stroking my damp cheek. “I was wrong. I was hurt, and I was wrong. I’ve been wrong this whole time. I know that.”
“Knowing doesn’t change anything,” I whispered, needing to pull away, but the sheen in his eyes held me immobile.
“I disagree,” he said with a thoughtful hum. “We have the ability to change everything.” Stunned, my heartbeat stalled as our wet lips sealed. Breath rushed from us both as they rubbed and roamed, gentle and scared.
When his arm tightened around me, I gasped. “Stop.” When he sucked my lip instead, I shoved my hand between our faces, pushing him back by his forehead.
He laughed, watching as I scrambled to my feet, then laughed some more as I stormed off. “Later, Bug.”
“No. No later, Jackson.”
More laughter.
I wasn’t sure if it was noticing the anguish Jackson had tried so hard to keep hidden regarding his own mother, but when I thought about what it would be like to keep stumbling through life without my own, I picked up the phone.
She was seated outside a small restaurant on the street below her office where I’d said I’d meet her, two blocks from the bakery.
Awkward small talk about the bakery, one of her new high-profile clients, and Heath’s rehab, kept us busy until our lunch arrived.
“You really should’ve gotten some salad,” Victoria said. “So many carbs.”
Some things would never change. “I’m not fat.” I had some curves, sure, but I liked my body, and I loved carbs.
“Of course, not,” she said, her cheeks flushing. “I’m talking about your health.”
I waved my fork. “Point made.” I scooped up some more penne soaked in mushroom sauce and bacon.
“Ainsley has returned to Texas.”
I swallowed, keeping my eyes trained on my food. “Yeah, I heard they broke up.”
“Don’t play coy,” Victoria said, though it was gentle. “I know Jackson’s been seeing you. Heath told me.”
I coughed, then grabbed for my water, swallowing half of it.
When I set the glass down, she had her brows raised. “Really?”
I said nothing.
“Look.” She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin even though it was clean. “I don’t care.”
“You don’t care?” I repeated, finding that hard to believe.
Her lips pursed. “I did. I hated it, as any parent would, but after all that’s happened…” she rambled off with a tilt of her shoulders. “Besides, most of the town knows by now anyway.”
Shock had probably painted my face white, but after a minute, I gathered enough composure to say, “There’s nothing to care about.”
She gave me a look that said she wasn’t stupid, then began spearing pieces of her salad with her fork. “Well, be that as it may, I just want my family. It no longer matters how or in what shape. I just want us all here, together and happy.”
I waited, my hands squeezed in my lap, and I waited some more, and finally, she lifted her eyes from her food, and said, “I’m sorry. I’ll never forgive myself for how I treated you, and I know Sara probably wouldn’t either, but I hope that maybe one day, you can forgive me.”
I was trying, and she knew that, so all I managed was a soft smile.
Her answering smile shook, and she reached across the table, her hand upturned for mine.
Plucking one from my lap, I laid it upon hers and felt my smile grow.
We finished eating five minutes before her next appointment, and for the first time in six years, we hugged. Neither of us had dry eyes as we pulled away, but as I walked back to the bakery, I noticed my chest felt the tiniest bit lighter.
All too soon, it filled with dread when I saw the truck parked outside.
Cursing, I raced inside, ready to give him hell for ruining what had been a good day when I was pulled up short by the sound of a bang.
“What are you doing?”
Jackson was on the floor, the top half of him under the sink. “Fixing your tap. That drip is probably costing you an extra hundred dollars each quarter.”
My purse plonked to the countertop, and I looked around, noticing the tools and plaster kits. “And the back door?”
“Well, yeah.” He grunted, dropping something. “It had a huge dent in it.”
“And the molding?”
“It was chipped as fuck.”
I didn’t know where to look next or if I even should. “How’d you learn to do all this?” He’d helped Heath some growing up, but fixing walls and wooden fixtures was something Heath hired people to do.
Jackson eased out from below the sink, wincing as he rose and tried to stretch out his back.
Heat began to flutter throughout my veins, my mouth falling open at the sight of his dirtied white shirt, plastered to his chest with grime and sweat.
Then the toilet flushed, and Lars walked out.
My jaw unhinged further, and I raised a brow at Jackson.
Lars lifted his hands. “He mainly just needed me to tell him what to do.”
“Thank you.” I smiled at Lars, who winked and began to pack away their things.
Jackson guffawed. “What about me?”
It was Flo’s day off. I had no idea where Dennis was, and I didn’t care. “You, outside.” When Jackson just wiped his hands on some towel, smirking, I growled, “Now.”
Taking my purse with me, I tore off my cardigan as Jackson followed me out onto the street and inside the stairwell to my apartment. Turning on him, I snapped, “You’re unbelievable.”
“Do you mean that in a good way or…?”
Stomping upstairs, I fumbled for the right key. “How did you even get Dennis to let you do all that? Not to mention, the customers who couldn’t come in.” I stabbed the key into the lock, shoving open the door. “That’s money lost, Jackson.”
“Since when do you care so much about money? It was an hour, tops.”
Dropping my cardigan, purse, and keys to the floor, I spun to glare at him. “Since my dad bought me this building, and I need to pay him back.”
“I was trying to help,” he said, walking inside.
“Oh, no you don’t.” I gestured back outside. “Stay on that side of the door.”
His lip had the audacity to curl. “A door won’t keep me from you.” His eyes swam with something untamable. I knew that look, the one that dripped from my face, drenching my body with its presence, before meeting my eyes once more. “Nothing can.”
Then he was in front of me, an arm banding tight behind my back. “Get off.” I shoved to no avail as the door slammed closed.
His maddening half smile and that predatory glint in his eyes didn’t leave. “If you really wanted me to, I would.” His finger landed upon my cheek, coasting down, reaching my neck and stopping right above my pounding heart. “But I can feel you don’t want that.”
My outrage was snuffed when he kissed me, my hands taking their frustration out on his stupidly silken hair, and tugging.
His landed everywhere, one behind my head, the other unbuttoning my blouse just enough to palm my breast. I moaned, and his tongue seized the opportunity, dipping inside to touch mine.
Inside my room, clothes ripped, and our breathing grew labored. Hot kisses were scattered over my chest, breasts, stomach, and finally, my mound, as his hands pried my thighs apart for his fingers to play.
I was writhing, a puddle of heated need twisted up in the sheets, when he finally crawled over top of me and plunged inside.
My back arched, and I felt the bittersweet sting of his teeth in my neck, and then he moved, hard and way too fast.
With my nails scoring the slick flesh of his back, I forced out, “Jackson, wait.”
He slowed, his head lifting from where he’d buried it in my neck. Yet when he met my eyes, the fiery lust, the mischievous want, anything I’d expected to find, wasn’t there.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. Somewhere, some distant part of me thought it insane I was
even asking, considering I’d had no plans to do this. That I shouldn’t even be doing this. But we were doing this. As always, we’d fallen under, but I couldn’t be in it, in whatever we did, alone. I never could.
“You read my emails.” His voice was hoarse.
Dread seeped in, but he knew I had so lying would be pointless. Lying to him was always pointless. “Yes.”
“Did it feel this good?” he asked, his Adam’s apple shifting when he swallowed. At the puzzlement I could feel crinkling my eyes and brows, he explained in a toneless voice, “When he was inside you.”
Ice traveled over my skin, raising goose bumps and sinking my stomach. I looked away, wanting him off me, feeling my eyes pool.
He grabbed my chin, forcing them back to his. “Tell me.”
“No,” I croaked.
He studied me a moment, his cock twitching inside me, broad, heaving shoulders covered in a sheen of sweat. “Show me.”
“What?” I almost shouted.
“Show me,” he stated, as if it were the most reasonable request in the world. “Show me how he fucked you.”
Horror engulfed me, and I felt a tear fumble free of my lashes. “No.”
I tried to move, but his weight settled over me, his breath fogging my ear as he whispered, “Every time I imagine it, I die a little more inside. So just fucking show me, Willa.”
“No, please. I’m sorry, Jackson.” Gripping his forearms, I struggled to breathe. “You know I am. I’ve been sorry for years.” When he didn’t say anything, I cried, “Knowing won’t help. It’ll only hurt us more.”
A gruff exhale of breath had me shivering. “It needs to do more than hurt. It needs to kill me, so the thought no longer holds the power to paralyze me.”
I was shaking, shaking and crying, but I knew, if I really wanted him to, he would get off me and leave. He needed this even if it destroyed us even more.