by Inda Herwood
He laughs low in his chest, and I turn to look at him. “What?”
There’s a twinkle in his eye when he says, “No one deserves anyone, son. We’ve all done things in our lives that leave a permanent mark, a stain on our souls. But what corrects those scars is love. And we all deserve love.”
I would like to think that. Truly. But I know for certain that I’ve put one girl in particular through too much hell to be forgiven.
“Are you really going to take her choice away?” he asks me, brow raised. “Just like her father did?”
“Excuse me?”
“It isn’t your decision to make.”
“What isn’t?”
“Whether she loves you or not.”
I still don’t get it.
“You want me to lay this out for you, don’t you?”
“Yeah, that’d be helpful, considering I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”
He chuckles, much to my annoyance. “If you really love her, and respect her, then go to her, lay out everything on the table, and give her the choice whether she wants you and all your baggage or not. That’s what I meant by it’s her choice. You can’t tell people to love you or not to love you. It’s their right to decide, and your honor to be the one they choose.”
Cyvil
“Sure, I can schedule that for you,” I tell Mrs. Edwin behind my desk on the third floor of St. Joseph’s, checking the calendar hanging on the wall next to me, the month of September’s featured photo a puppy dressed in a cowboy hat. My eyes run across the dates, settling on today’s. I was supposed to be starting my first class this afternoon at Oxford. My throat tightens as I flip to the month of December.
“Is the ninth okay?” I ask her, the words coming out strangled.
Later, after the drive home, I think about that date again, and how my life was supposed to change because of it. Had I gone through with the original deal with Jagger, we would be organizing a wedding right now while I was starting school, making plans and creating a future. And instead here I am, leaning against a beat-up VW outside Hanna’s apartment, wondering what I’m going to do with my life.
After staying a week at Atillia’s, I knew I had to find my own way. My sister has her own family now, and it didn’t feel right to intrude on it any longer. And when I brought up my living arrangement dilemma to Hanna, she was more than happy to offer her second bedroom to me, saying that she had been looking for a roommate to help with the rent anyway. And so far it’s been a good situation for both of us. The only downside is how often Rosy comes over. Don’t get me wrong. I love Rosy. He’s like a brother to me now, just like Moon is, but it’s a constant reminder of Jagger, and it’s not like I can help but overhear when he talks about him, making the letting go period even harder than it already was.
Moon calls me all the time, too, his well-meaning updates taking another toll. I appreciate his refusal to let me out of the circle, though. Otherwise I know I would be a recluse from the outside world. He even stopped by once to take me book shopping. It was nice, getting to see him again and chat about literature. It distracted me enough that the melancholy actually disappeared for a while.
But staring up at the rough exterior of my apartment building, the lights on in the top floor window, I feel myself slipping back into the sadness that has become achingly familiar lately. I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve thought of Jagger and his crooked smile in the weeks since the accident, how many times I’ve gotten news, or heard something insane from Moon, and wanted him to be the first one I talked to about it. And I guess that’s how you know you really fell for someone. They are the first person you want to talk to in the morning and the last when you go to sleep. You miss them when you don’t even realize it, feeling an ache in your heart without their presence. And Jagger Wells is currently leaving a gaping hole in my chest.
“You don’t look like you want to go inside,” a quiet voice says next to me, and I startle, stepping sideways.
As though thoughts of my fake ex conjured him, I look up to find Jagger standing next to me, eyes looking up at the building, and then at me, sparkling silver under the street lamp. It’s been so long since I’ve seen their vibrant color that my breath catches. Or maybe it’s because he’s standing here, looking at me for the first time in weeks.
“What are you doing here?” I ask on a squeak, clutching the handle of my bag a little tighter. A cool wind sweeps my hair off my cheeks, giving me a chill.
“Mind if we go inside and talk?” he asks instead. It’s then I notice he’s carrying something in his right hand.
“What’s in the box?” It’s got a bunch of holes in it.
“I got you a present.”
“For what?”
He shrugs. “Again, it’d be easier to explain if we went inside.”
I stare at him. Can someone please tell me what the heck is going on?
I look up at the lit window again, wondering how Hanna would take his presence. After the incident at the race track, I confessed the real story of our relationship to her. She took it rather well considering how odd the arrangement was, even saying that my father deserved what he was getting for how he was treating me. But then Jagger broke my heart in a hospital room, and now she wants to strangle him on my behalf. She’s a great friend that way.
“I don’t want to bother Hanna. She has a test coming up next week that she’s been studying for.” Plus, hashing out feelings is the absolute last thing I want to do with you.
“I kind of arranged to have Rosy take her out for the night so we could talk.”
I stare at him like he grew another arm. “You did what?”
He winces at my confusion about, well, everything. “Sorry, I just…”
“Wanted to talk.” I finish for him
“Yeah.”
Just like the last time he had that look on his face, I say, “You’re not going to leave me alone, are you?”
His answer is identical. “Probably not.”
I guess there’s only one thing to do then.
“Fine. After you.”
***
He looks strange in the small, shabby apartment, like a diamond lying amongst a mountain of rubble. It just doesn’t fit. Especially when he goes to sit on the couch, nearly falling to the bottom of it with his weight.
“Sand has better support than this,” he mutters to himself as he wiggles around, failing to get comfortable.
“Is that what you wanted to talk about? Our crappy couch?” I walk over to the other end of said couch, offering him a glass of water. He takes it and places it on the equally as crappy side table.
Silence ensues.
Sigh.
“Jagger, I don’t mean to be rude, but I have some things I need to get done tonight. Do you mind if we move this along?”
His eyebrow shifts. “What kind of things?”
“Work things.”
He doesn’t ask, but I can see it’s itching him not to. I sadly relent. “I’m filling out paperwork to enroll in a phlebotomist clinic.”
I can tell this surprises him. “Really? What about your medical assistant job?”
I lean back against the cushions, not wanting to see his reaction when I say, “It’s only part-time and it doesn’t pay the bills. Phlebotomy is a quick step up and it’ll help me get my school funds together a little bit quicker.”
His face falls at this, but he doesn’t look surprised.
His hands tense in his lap.
The box at his feet meows.
Wait, what?
I stare at the box, and he says, “Do you want your present now?”
Without giving me a chance to answer, he takes the medium-sized box, places it on his lap, opens the top, and out pops a gray head with a single blue eye.
“Twinkle?” She tries to hop out of the box, but her arthritis hinders her ability. So instead I scoop my hands under her front legs and transfer her to my lap, where she instantly cuddles against
my side, purring with her eye closed.
“Do you like your present?” he asks, looking hesitant.
Scratching behind her ear, I smile. “I love her. But I don’t understand. What is all this?” I motion to him and Twinkle, Grim bouncing out from around the corner as I do. When the Pigmy sees Jagger, her baahhhss of disapproval fill the apartment.
“Wait, the landlord lets her stay?”
I grin as she comes to join me and Twinkle, sniffing at the cat, investigating the new guest. “Since he doesn’t know she’s here, he doesn’t really mind.”
Jagger shakes his head, barely smiling. As Grim and Twinkle figure each other out, I return my attention to him, still convinced he’s the biggest surprise of all tonight. “Jagger, why are you really here?” I ask gently, still petting the present he got me.
He looks down at the animals swarming my lap, a mix of meows and baahhss echoing around us. His eyes soften. “You have deserved an apology for quite some time. That’s why I’m here, to say that I’m sorry. For everything.”
I let his words sink in, allow the timber of his voice to calm my racing heart. “I hope you don’t really mean everything,” I respond just as quietly.
Our eyes connect, his catching fire from my meaning.
“I remembered it eventually, you know. The night of the beach party. What happened at the house.” I feel my cheeks flush, my mind taking me back to that moment like it happened yesterday, seared into my memory. “I’m sorry it took me so long to figure out that it wasn’t a dream.”
“I meant it,” he says, eyes refusing to stray from mine. “Everything we did, every word I said. Which is another part of why I’m here.”
“Oh.”
Twinkle decides to jump off my lap then, slowly moving across the living room towards Grim’s bed. She does a few circles on the Sherpa before finally settling down, Grim looking at her like she doesn’t know what to do about her space being taken. But instead of kicking her out, she cozies up to the opposite side of the bed, laying her head down on Twinkle’s tail. The cat gives her one cursory glance before closing her eye, quickly falling asleep; Grim right behind her.
“It was all real for me,” Jagger says, staggering me out of watching my two babies. When I turn to look at him, he’s watching the girls as well. “And when you didn’t remember, it was like getting crushed by a bulldozer. At that point I didn’t think you felt the same way.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice hitching as the truth slowly comes together; continuing the theory I had started to construct the night of his accident. But after what happened, I figured I must have been wrong. That it was all just a mistake. Wishful thinking that he might feel the same about me as I did about him.
“It took me waking up from a coma and seeing your ridiculously beautiful eyes to realize that I had fallen in love with you. That I would do anything to make you look at me the way I do you.” I watch him visibly swallow, the admission obviously hard for him. In return, I can’t catch my breath. He doesn’t notice. “I know it was all supposed to be fake. But the last few months of being with you were the realest I’ve ever had. And I don’t regret any of it, Cyvil. I would do it all again, just maybe with a better outcome.” He laughs awkwardly, his hand combing through his hair. When it falls back in his lap, I grab it, entwining it with mine; not able to keep from touching him any longer. After all those months together, of him touching me, caressing, holding me, it’s felt like the biggest loss of all.
I stare down at his large hand in mine, the surface nicked and scratched, raised and jagged from the cuts made by shattered glass. Next to mine, it looks like its perfect match. It makes me smile.
“I want you to know that I didn’t come here tonight to ask you to make it real.” His voice hitches. “I just wanted you to know how sorry I am for everything that happened to you, us. I wanted you to know how I’ve felt from the beginning, even when I didn’t have the guts to admit it to myself.” His hand tenses in mine, his face looking shamed when he whispers, “I’m broken in just about every way a human can be broken, Cyvil. I’m not going to sit here and lie and say that I figured everything out. My dad and I talked about my mom, our struggles, and I’m seeing a counselor again. I quit racing. And I’m done with all of my past. But it’s always going to be there, and I don’t want you to have to live it with me. It’s not fair to you, especially after all of your own trauma. I’m not...” He bites his bottom lip, eyes losing their light. “I’m not worth it. But you are. I swear, Cyvil, you will always be worth everything there is. And I hope one day you find someone that realizes that quicker than I did. Because if I had, I never would have stepped foot in that stupid Camaro, and I would have told you long ago how I felt.”
Silent tears have been streaming down my face as he confesses everything I already knew, and when he looks up and sees them, his face falls in agony, his fingers trying to clear them away, as though they never existed at all. The simple yet endearing act has them falling faster. I know how hard that was for him to admit, not only to me, but to himself.
As he tries to pick up my pieces, I say, more seriously than I have ever said anything before, “Jagger, I know. I know you’re broken, fractured, an absolute mess. But so am I. So is everyone. And it’s because of your broken, shattered pieces that I love you so much. Because they match mine.” I hold both of his hands in mine, showcasing our beautiful scars, and how not only do our emotional ones match, but now so do our physical.
When he looks at me incredulously, almost disbelieving at all that I’m saying, it only makes me want to prove my feelings more.
“You never had to ask me to make us real,” I whisper, resting my forehead against his warm one, taking comfort from it, him. “Because we always were, even when we didn’t know it.”
-22-
The After
She loves me.
I keep repeating the words over and over in my head as I watch her, open, honest, and beautifully raw staring back at me, saying all of these impossible things. She actually loves me. Broken pieces and all.
“Say it again.” My lips barely brush against hers, but the contact sets my skin on fire, impatiently waiting for the next accidental touch.
“And what is that?” she says in a seductively teasing way, her nose grazing mine, making me groan.
“Tell me you love me.”
I can practically feel her smile. “I love you, Jagger Wells. Even though you hate animals and are way too pretty for your own good.”
Not able to take it any longer, I wrap my arms around her middle, forcing her into my lap, her hands crawling around to the back of my neck, fingers delving in my hair. I hold her as close as I can with my still sore ribs, sighing contentedly before I kiss her for real for the first time.
There’s no hesitation, no awkwardness. It’s natural, easy, and oh so good. Just like the last time.
“Mmm,” her lips murmur against my cheek, her fingers playing a pattern on my neck, driving me crazy. She cuddles closer, her legs tangling with mine, and I kiss her nose, then her lips again. And just because I can, I make it last longer than I intended.
I don’t stop there. I run my lips against her cheek and along the raised ridges of her scar, not stopping when she stills under the touch. “I love you,” I tell her, the words slowly taking away her earlier stiffness. My fingers dance along the hem of her scrubs, feeling the cool, raised edges of her skin, creating a pattern along her hips, waist, and spine. I caress each and every one.
“No one had ever touched my scars like you did that night after the beach.” She confesses, looking into my face, the tip of her index finger smoothing over my bottom lip. “You were the first one to ever hold my hand.”
I lace our fingers together, holding them tight. “I hope I get to be the last.”
Over the next hour we talk about everything we didn’t before. I answer all of the questions she wanted to know when we were “together”, like where I live and why I got a degree in a subject I c
an’t really stand.
“My father wanted me to take over the business, and without really having any other plans, I decided to go along with it. But after my mom died, I seriously contemplated quitting.”
“Why is that?” Her finger twists a strand of my hair around her skin, creating a curl. It makes her smile when it springs back into place.
“I didn’t see the point anymore. I hated what I was learning, I no longer had my mom there to encourage me to keep going, and I just…had no desire to move forward.” And it hadn’t been just with school, either.
“I can understand that. But then why did you continue?” she asks, her legs resting on my lap. I pull her closer, wanting to make up for all the time I missed.
“My dad, mostly. The guilt I felt for taking his wife away made me finish. It was the least I could do.” The burn in my throat starts to resurface, just like every time I talk about her. Cyvil kisses my cheek, sensing it.
“I wish I could have met her. She sounds like an amazing person.”
Looking at her, appearing genuinely disappointed by the fact, an idea slowly starts to form, an emotionally dangerous one, but it seems like a good way to start fixing the damage my silence had created. Watching her golden eyes, I say, feeling hesitant, but calm, “You still can.”
Cyvil
As he opens the rod iron gate to the cemetery, his grip on my hand tightens, and I squeeze it back while he guides the way with the flashlight on his phone. When he asked me if I wanted to meet her, I had no idea what he was talking about. But then he told me about the last time he was here, and how hard it had been on him. And that was why he had been in such a strange mood at the hospital when we went to see Kal-el. It had been the first time he’d gone back to see her since she passed.
I knew how big of a step that was for him, to share something so heartbreakingly close to him: his mom. And that’s why I didn’t hesitate to say yes. I knew he needed this. He needed to have some sort of closure, and I was more than happy to be his support while he got it.