*TW: unhealthy relationships (food/people) and catcalling*
Whew, this honestly shouldn't have taken me this long. Excuse any typos...
6 MONTHS AGO
✧ ˚ · .
Xander sighs, shaking his head so that a once perfectly gelled back strand shakes out of place. It's almost as relieving to see some part of him disarrayed as it is terrifying. He was so perfect, so elevated and controlled all the time it was unnerving to see him even the slightest bit disheveled.
You take a deep breath, fists clenched as you murmur, "If we can't get along then maybe we don't need to be together."
"No," he answers. "You're with me through and through."
The tension is like a thousand knives piercing through your skin. How could he say that? Who did he think he was? Was he in the wrong, or were you really that hard of a person to get along with?
But you don't tell him that you don't love him.
You don't tell him that this was what your parents wanted.
You don't tell him that you've changed so much for him, almost forgotten who you are.
You don't tell him because you can't speak. The you that you once knew was six feet under and dirt is pouring into her mouth with every breath.
✧ ˚ · .
"Hey," another voice says, but this one is real. This one is soft and comforting and right next to you. "Are you all right? What's wrong?"
How long had you zoned out? Jamie had been previously rummaging through the pantry for snacks, but now, he was placed beside you on the couch.
"Oh...I..."
Another day had passed, which meant you were another step closer to Xander's inevitable return. A return that would fill you with the utmost anxiety. A sour taste fills your mouth at your selfishness. It was no secret that Xander wasn't the most perfect boyfriend, but he was still yours, and you owed him the truth and the whole truth. Didn't you?
Only the truth was, you had no idea what to do.
"...yeah, yeah, I'm fine," you murmur. "I was just thinking of the dream I had last night."
Jamie glances down at the photo you're staring at, an old picture of you and Xander. It was years ago, back when the two of you were young. Back when you believed you got along. Your mother had picked out the dress you were wearing that night. It was your first date and you hated it. Both the date and the dress. You can still feel the itchy material and how the color sparkled obnoxiously in the light. The night had ended in tears and smeared lipstick. He'd kissed you that night. You wished he hadn't.
You drop the photo to the side in hopes of clearing your thoughts, but Jamie's looking at you as if he's read every single one of them.
"Y/N..." he starts.
You shift on the couch uncomfortably, ignoring his gaze once more. "I'm fine, sorry," you say. "Really."
His gaze softens with sorrow, eyes tracing your skin as if they could see something you couldn't. As if he knew something you didn't know. You wish he would tell you, but you don't know how to ask.
And as if bestowing a secret, he takes a breath. "I think we're past apologies now. I just want you to talk to me," he murmurs, almost reaching for your hand to close the space between you, but he doesn't. "...Our emotions get the best of us at the worst times. Trust me, I know." His voice is firm and understanding and soft all at once. It's like velvet, soothing your skin and your ears, and it's more comforting than anything you've heard in your life. "So, if there's anything you ever want to talk about, just say the word and I'm here."
Silence overwhelms the space between you, save for the steady breaths of air passing through your lips. Even that sound was no match for the swarm of thoughts parading inside your head. Jamie looks at you patiently, not prying, not pushing--he waits for you to make the first move--to say the first word.
If only you knew what to say. You reach for the words, hoping they'll serve as a lifeline and pull you out of whatever hole you feel yourself falling into. There's nothing but utter silence. Inside and out.
Three words leave your lips. "I don't know."
You expect him to lash out at you, or sigh out of annoyance—even laugh in your face, but he doesn't. He only nods and it's not mocking, but thoughtful and tender. "That's okay too," he murmurs.
The need to thank him for his unconditional kindness overwhelms you, but you don't know how. You're upset with yourself, never having felt this helpless with your emotions before, but you truly did not know how to put this into words.
But you could try.
"Throughout my entire life..." you start, "I think I've had about two healthy relationships." You make sure to chuckle at the end, but that doesn't soften the blow of the statement. Considering that your relationship with your parents had always been rocky, and you didn't have many friends, it was no exaggeration. "And my friendship with Tom is one of them."
You don't make the note that Xander wasn't a part of that pair. Jamie seemed to put that together himself, though, he probably didn't know that the second was Kat. You wondered if he had any idea who Kat was when she was basically his... creator.
You reach for his hand this time, giving him a friendly squeeze. "Now, you're the third," you say. "I really appreciate you, Jamie, thank you."
Jamie's eyes crinkle when he smiles. His skin is warm and smooth, as you had expected. "I appreciate you too." His cheeks grow the faintest red at your touch and you steadily pull away before the moment lingers any longer. If your actions affect him, he doesn't show it.
"How about we go get some snacks?" you prompt.
He raises a brow. "I think that sounds lovely."
✧ ˚ · .
"Jamie, don't you think you've had enough free samples...?" you ask, worriedly as you look over to the man beside you.
Fluorescent lights shine down and beam on your skin as the two of you stroll down the stocked aisles. At the moment, Jamie was happily tasting some sort of concoction on a small skewer. You weren't exactly sure what it was this time and you've long since grown used to that feeling. All you had to do was turn away for a moment and by the time you turned back, he'd have a brand new one. Now, he throws the stick away in a nearby bin, marking his eighth free sample.
"Why? No. If they're free don't you think we might as well take them?" he says, explaining it in a way that told you it was common knowledge to him. You chuckle to yourself, once again in awe of his way of thinking.
You shake your head—"Whatever you say, Jamie"—and readjust the basket on your arm. It was growing heavier.
"Do you want me to carry that for you?"
"Oh," a small smile finds your lips. "Sure, I'm just gonna go grab something."
Jamie waits patiently while you walk over to the large glass fridge. A wave of cool air hits your face as you reach for a near egg carton. By the time you turn back around, expecting to see Jamie waiting patiently a few feet away, he's not there.
A palm finds your head. "It was two seconds," you mumble. "Two seconds."
Where could he have possibly gone in that span of time? Not sure if you should go after him or not, you peek back down the aisle you had just previously been standing in. There's a man reaching for a tube of oats, and a mother and child picking out colorful cereals, but there's no Jamie.
You venture off to the next aisle, and then the one after that. You pass the snacks and the juices and the bread, tempted to pick up a few, but your hands would fill too quickly without a basket. Surprisingly, you're not annoyed, just shocked at his ability of disappearing. You're about to give up when a hand taps your shoulder.
"Jamie..."
"What do you prefer? Don't get mad," he says and holds up a variety of chocolate bars. "I couldn't resist, but now, I can't pick. This one has caramel and this one doesn't, but then this one is cookies and cream, and this one--"
"Jamie." His name comes out as a fit of chuckles. You wave at the air with your hands, as if waving the worries away. "It doesn't matter. Just get whatever you think is best."
He shrugs. "Oh, all right, then."
Jamie doesn't disappear much after that. Actually, he's quite the helper, retrieving the items up high for you even when you tell him you were capable of doing it yourself. You'd never taken much notice of Jamie's height until now. It added nicely to his character.
He also insists on lugging the basket around, even after you try to convince him not to bother with it. He was intent on helping you in any way he could, and for the remainder of the outing, he stuck close. Maybe he'd finally had enough of his free samples. He looked happy nonetheless.
Something you don't think you'll ever get used to (or tired of) was the way Jamie looked at the world. The way his eyes gazed upon something as ordinary as a grocery market warmed your heart. How could someone so sweet and curious exist in a world so terrible?
He catches you staring more than once, to which he'll smile and look away flusteredly. You wondered if this was how he felt when he looked at you, but you doubted it. His eyes were so special and full of magic that it would be absurd not to gaze at them. You, on the other hand, felt as though the magic in your eyes had dwindled long ago. All that was left now were the remnants of the child you used to be. There was no magic left in your eyes. You felt that growing up had taken it all away.
But Jamie's magic was still there. He was still alive. He knew how to be fun and free and alive. You aspired to be like that. You wanted to be like that.
More than once, you want to stop yourself. You want to discard your basket of all the candy bars and snacks and confections. You tell yourself that it's okay, it's okay to not be so restrained all the time and despite the fair amount of healthy foods in your basket as well, you still feel guilty.
You hear your mother's voice in the back of your mind, filling your head with dangerous ideologies. You blame her for your unhealthy relationship with food. You blame her, Xander, and everyone else that fought so hard to keep you trapped in a cage.
But Jamie was free so you thought maybe you could be too. So, instead of stressing over calorie counts and carbs, you let Jamie scan each item at the self-checkout. This machine amuses him as well and you can't help but wonder why every little thing in life seems so new to him, so you ask.
"Well..." He pauses his scanning and turns to face you. "I think I've only ever experienced the things written for me," he says. "If it's not mentioned in my story, then I suppose I don't know what it is. Even then it's a bit muddled."
"Oh," you reply, trying to wrap your head around his words.
"Confusing, I know, but it's beautiful" he chuckles and turns around as if trying to forget the whole thing. He finishes scanning and bags the next few items quickly. His mood seems to have dipped, and you can't help but worry it was something you said.
"You okay, Jamie?" That seemed to be the popular question today.
He looks sick in the fluorescent light. "Oh, yes I'm fine," he replies, but his smile is delayed and his voice feels forced. "Just a bit tired."
He doesn't say anything else, except for when he insists on carrying the three bags of items to the car. You let him, knowing all too well that there was no use in arguing. But by the time you get outside, his demeanor has shifted drastically and you can only worry further.
His skin is even paler under the bright sun and his eyes look unsteady. Thankfully, the street wasn't very busy on a weekday and you can cross it without much hesitation. Despite that, every step Jamie took toward the car was burdened increasingly more with exhaustion and shallow breaths. It looks as though he's about to collapse.
"You're not fine," you say. He was too quiet, too sluggish, too pale to be fine. There was no smile on his face or in his eyes. There was no magic in his gaze. "You're sure you're not sick or hurt?"
Jamie nods slowly, but you take the bags for him anyways. The car was close enough and it beeps with flickering lights as you press the key knob. "Go inside, it's okay."
For the first time all day, he obliges, which makes you really worry. Would you have to take him to the hospital? How would you describe your relationship to him? It's not like the man has any medical records. Heck, it's not like he even exists.
But he does and now there was something wrong with him.
You didn't know why you just assumed he was indestructible. Jamie wasn't a ghost or some mystical being. He was very much real—in every way you could possibly imagine—but he wasn't normal. How did you treat someone like him?
It's when you put the groceries in the back seat that you hear the catcalls of the middle-aged man trying to get your attention. He whistles first.
The man is three spaces down and he's eyeing you with irises so dark they almost appear black. Suddenly, you're sick to your stomach. All you can do is try to avoid his hungry stare.
Leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone...
To your dismay, he continues, licking his lips before he speaks. "You're a gorgeous one."
You're not sure exactly how to react or what to do. A million things are flowing through your brain right now and the only thought you can comprehend is that you are severely uncomfortable. Should you tell him you're taken? Should you tell him you're insane? Should you act insane to scare him away? Should you ignore him completely or would that put you in more danger?
Jamie looks over his shoulder from the passenger seat and meets your eyes. Despite this clear exhaustion, his concern for you is still as blatant as ever. "Is there a problem?" he asks, softly.
You shake your head. "No," you say, firmly. "We were just leaving."
"You? Leaving?" The old man looks as though you've just said something in another language. He chuckles to himself, and says rather suggestively, "You really think it's safe to be going out alone these days?"
Your reply is sharp and ready to go, but Jamie beats you to it.
"She's not alone." His words are connected by a taut and serious string. His jaw is clenched, his eyes are squinted, and you've never seen him look so angry in his life. He'd hopped out of the car so fast you couldn't even stop him. Now, he stood his ground, and his eyes pierced through the catcalling man like lasers. "And, you should really watch how you speak to women, sir. Especially this one."
The man lifts a brow. "Oh, really? I don't see a ring on her finger."
"I don't need a ring to prove my loyalty," he mumbles this part to himself, but you catch it anyways. He glances at you. His eyes are cold and blue and as unyielding as a glacier. "Let's go."
The whole moment feels unreal. Sluggishly, you climb into the driver's seat and shove your keys into the car. A deep hatred fills your veins for that pain. Hatred and disgust and repulse. Men these days.
Jamie looks at you with a stare that says the same. The anger in his eyes is clear.
You already know the question he's going to ask, but he never gets the chance to ask it, because now, you're looking at your phone with your mouth wide open and your eyes struck with shock.
"Y/N..." Jamie starts, anger replaced entirely by concern. "Y/N, what?"
You take a breath before answering, not sure why you felt as though this day would never come. It was too early, wasn't it? You were sure you'd had a few more days to figure this out, but no...
Finally, you say it. The moment you've been dreading. The moment when you'll finally have to decide what to do.
"Xander's home."