This was some risky business you had just gotten yourself into. What kind of telenovela had you just jumped into? What kind of fantasy drama had just leaked into your life? In all honesty, you didn't think you'd ever been as happy as you had been frustrated at the same time.
Not that you were frustrated about your confession to Jamie. You'd been replaying that moment in your head every second for the past six days. That's right. Six. And you were pretty sure you were still soaring a hundred feet above the ground.
Yet, even the thrill of that wore off after a while, and you were forced to return to earth where the real world was. Your problems poked through the ground like thorns through a rose. You saw the life you wanted, so pure and full of beauty, but to hold it in your hands---to ever grasp it---was like reaching for a stem of thorns.
You'd had a lot of time to yourself by now. After your outing with Jamie, you had returned him to Tom's house for just a few more days, as you'd promised. Until you got this sorted out, you'd said.
And thankfully, Tom seemed happy to take him. Jamie and Tom were becoming quite the pair, despite your doubts at first. The two enjoyed each other's presence.
So, for the past six days, you have been living in a basic, one-room hotel. At the moment, you were browsing the television channels, but you couldn't care less about the titles on the screen. You had been thinking about the same thing all day. You had been thinking about the same thing for six days straight. The fact that you didn't know who you were anymore.
It was amusing how simple it was to become unacquainted with yourself. How fast your mind could become a stranger when you left it in the hands of someone else. How broken you could become when you forgot who you were, your ambitions, your dreams, and your fears. The suffocating feeling that follows when you allow your life to become a mirror, a projection of another's. Or rather, in your case, a mosaic of everyone else's.
The more the days went on, the faster this period of much-needed isolation grew tedious. The irony in that statement was the fact that you had brought this isolation upon yourself. You needed time alone, this you knew, but you didn't know how much longer of it you could take.
Healing was an indefinite process.
You sifted through your mind as the hours passed, and gradually, the saltish pain fell away like dust, uncovering past memories, dreams, and realizations like the most precious of gems.
Even after meeting these small but significant checkpoints, there was still the piece of your mind that pounded and gnawed away at your self-confidence. The main thing that stabbed at your heart was this simple question:
Why would you allow yourself to be taken advantage of for so long?
The truth was, you didn't know, and you didn't know because you didn't realize.
Wasn't that something?
Even from abroad, Tom acted as a strong shoulder for you to lean on. Of course, you couldn't have spent the entirety of this period of isolation alone. Tom and you frequently had ranting sessions with each other, and this just happened to be your week of ranting.
The motif of Tom's responses often stayed the same or, at least, closely related. You repeated the words of wisdom again and again in your head. It's not your fault. It's not your fault. It's not your fault. You repeated them until you fully believed them. You were still repeating them, but that was okay, because healing was an indefinite process.
Another day passes of this time alone and then you are talking to Jamie over the phone. You could hear him smiling through his words. You were smiling too, loving the fact that the two of you were always happy to talk to each other as if you hadn't just called the day before.
And naturally, the first thing he says is, "How are you? Are you doing okay?"
You tell him that you are, but in all honesty, you didn't feel like talking about yourself. Throughout the conversation, you find yourself diverting many questions that involve what you and your feelings, making the conversation about him instead. You wanted to hear about Jamie.
"Nothing weird has happened since I've been gone, right?" you ask.
"Right," he replies after a small, hearty laugh. "I'm doing great."
The response is like music to your ears. Thank goodness.
"And Tom is treating you right?" you tease. "I don't need to beat him up or anything?"
Jamie chuckles. "Tom is an amazing host, trust me."
You sigh approvingly. "Good."
A comfortable silence settles between you. You use this time to shift positions on the bed, laying the back of your head against your pillow so your eyes stare at the ceiling.
His voice lowers to a more comfortable, relaxed note. "You know," he starts, words as deep and raspy as a breath of wind. "I really miss you," he says.
A gust of tingles rush through your body. You're so busy focusing on what he'd just said that you almost forget to reply. It takes a second of brain malfunctioning, but you finally do.
"I-I miss you too," you say. And you did. You missed him a lot. In fact, you wanted nothing more than to hold him close and run your fingers against his hair. You could already feel the vibration of his words against your skin, his heartbeat against your chest. Your heart aches. "Why is everything we ever want so far away?"
"I guess that's what makes them worth wanting," he murmurs and you imagine him next to you, holding you close, whispering sweet things in your ear. You imagine it even after you hang up and while you should be sleeping, well into the next morning. When you get up and draw the curtains of your hotel room and the sun shines down on its blank walls and white sheets, you know it's time. This wasn't over yet. You had loose ends to tie up and it was time to stop being afraid.
A butterfly flies past your window.
✧ ˚ · .
"I knew you'd come back," he says with an agitating smirk on his face.
You step into the apartment, slipping past him with a gaze you hope is hardened and lacks emotion. For the record, you felt pretty hardened and lacking of emotion.
Xander grabs your wrist before you can distance yourself from him fully. He pulls you toward him, pinning you between the wall and his face. His dark strands of hair were disarrayed and falling over his forehead, there was a cunning look in his eye.
His words pour out smoothly, like one of a snake's. "Don't ever think about pulling anything like that again."
He expects you to quiver and surrender under his words as you had so many times before. You could duck your head and obey, or stand up for yourself and get this over with once and for all. The silence was loud, your throat stuck together, your palms were sweaty, and this could have easily been the most difficult moment of your life.
You shove him away, feeling his hard muscles through his shirt. He could have very easily kept you there, but he'd barely put any effort into it. He considered you easy prey.
"I didn't come back for what you think I came back for," you say. Your voice was unrecognizable. It came out taut and straightforward with little emotion at all. For that reason, it sounded ten times more powerful than you felt.
He lifts an amused but doubtful brow. "Then, what did you come back for?"
It was now or never. You squeeze your fists and force yourself to look into those intense and brooding eyes of his. "I'm leaving you, Xander," you state.
The jolt of his eyes and the drop of his jaw is comically hilarious. After a while, his gaze hardens and he looks you up and down. He surveys you as if testing to see if this was all some kind of joke.
"Leaving me?" he repeats, folding his arms.
Later in life, you'll look back at that moment and try to remember exactly what you had said, exactly how it all went down, and when, but it will all be a blur. You won't be able to piece together the words or the actions or even how the either of you reacted. You don't know because it hadn't even felt real. Leaving the one constant in your life after all those years was both a numbing and enlightening experience.
All you know is that, eventually, you packed up what was yours and left. And that was the last time you ever saw Xander.
✧ ˚ · .
Our brains are meticulous in the the way they like to pick and choose the things we remember. What happens next is a prime example, because you would remember this moment that happened just minutes after the previous until the end of time.
You climb back into your car, wanting to both cry your eyes out and laugh until you doubled over simultaneously. You couldn't fathom what had just happened.
But, you are not given much time to decide what to do, because your phone starts ringing. You pick it up to answer. It's from Tom.
"Hey," you say. "What's up?" No answer, maybe the signal was weak where he was. You repeat yourself. "Tom...?"
There are a few seconds of shaky breathing and then he speaks. You don't even have to ask to know that something terrible has just happened. And then the news pounds down on you like rain from the deepest pits of hell.
"Jamie's not okay."