Rubi Jones
March 22nd, 2018 - 1:15pm
❦
Can you ever really listen to a song too much?
I understand the phenomenon, like getting to the point where the song is overplayed, and worn out. The lyrics become meaningless babbles and the rhythm becomes nails on a chalkboard.
But it seemed as though this one song was the only thing that could fill the gaping hole in my heart.
'You could be my silver spring...
Blue, green, colors flashing'
'I would be your only dream...
Your shining autumn, ocean crashing'
The sound of Stevie Nicks' sweet, raspy voice was the only thing that got me out of bed this morning. Without it, I'd probably still be sunken into the divot in my mattress.
Today was hard. Easier than yesterday, but still proving to be just as difficult as the many other days I've gone feeling this way.
And yet, what I was feeling wasn't sadness. It wasn't remorse, for something I've lost— or anger, for something that I could've done with out.
It was just... emptiness.
An overwhelming flooding of emptiness. That's what it was. The aforementioned hole in my heart was doubling by the second, as I laid in my bed and basked in my own self loathing.
All I could think was why. Why me? Of all people for life to tamper with, God crashed his mighty staff directly onto the top of my head.
My apartment was cold, and has been for days now. I've let the beaten down HVAC run it's course— making it my mission to avoid any human interaction, especially with my landlord. So, to cope with this cold front, I've wrapped myself in a protective cocoon of blankets and sweatshirts.
I'll sit on the loveseat, away from my bed. The air won't get to me from there. That should help, right?
This fucking sucks.
'... Time cast a spell on you
But you won't forget me.
I know I could have loved you,
But you would not let me...'
I stared off into nothing, my eyes dry from past tears and nose full of mucus that I had been sniffling up in order to avoid grabbing a tissue.
Flapjack purred calmly beside me, his tail tucked under his chin as I rested my hand on his head to give him a gentle pat.
I like to do that once in a while. I've always assumed that cats have no object permanence, so giving him a gentle pet is my way of letting him know that I'm still here. Even if he's been passed out for hours, I'll always let him know.
To add to the growing pile of fucked up shit, my phone has been dead for days. I can't find the energy in me to reach over and plug it in to it's charger, so dead it will stay.
I would imagine that a number of people have been trying to contact me. Now that Louis was back, I'm sure Demi's been up my ass about deals, and whatnot.
Same goes for Gio, who I have much more respect for. He's probably worried sick about me, and I'm surprised that he hasn't already sent the cops to bust down my door.
But despite my weariness, all of these pointless details about my life were helping me to avoid the elephant in the room. That gigantic, brooding, son-of-a-bitch elephant that made me want to scoop my eyeballs out with a fucking spoon.
I know it sounds morbid, but it's the God honest truth. Sure, I wasn't angry at the situation— shit happens. Of course it happens to me, but nevertheless, it happens.
I was, however, angry at the world's favorite rockstar. That lowlife, curly headed, coke addicted bastard.
I've been trying to ignore these feelings for the past two days, hoping that when I woke up I wouldn't be filled with so much rage— the kind of rage that was just begging me to smash out my windows with my fists.
But that moment of peace never came.
My eye had begun to twitch as I stared at my father's old record player— Fleetwood Mac's Rumors had been spinning for the past two hours, only stopping when I found the energy to get up and start it over again.
The rain pattering against my window pane was the only other sound present in my worn out brain.
It was me and this album against the world. Me and Flapjack against the world. Me and myself against the world.
Until there was a knock at my door.
"Go away!" I shout, assuming that this knock was produced by the only person on this earth that I'd rather die than see right now.
"Rubi, please. Let me in."
The thick, British accent chimes in tune with another bang at the door.
Fuckin' called it.
"No!" I shout once more, sinking into my blanket fortress. Maybe if I close my eyes and wish really hard, he'll leave me the fuck alone.
There's a brief moment of silence. The record had stopped spinning— leaving the raindrops and static to create ambient music above my pain and suffering.
"Rubi, open the door. Please. I need to talk to you."
I chuckle dryly, rolling my eyes. "Why should I, Harry? Why should I open the door? What are you gonna do now? Let me open the door so I can watch you face-fuck a different girl?"
"Rubi, stop. You're being ridiculous!"
"Doesn't seem so ridiculous after the other night, does it?!" I spit, bundling my blanket up to my chin.
Another hefty bang was laid on the door, followed by a few expletives from Harry who, I had assumed hurt his fist.
"Can we please just— talk about it?!"
"Eat shit and die, asshole."
An unprovoked pool of tears began to well up in my eyes as I watched the shadows of his shoes stay stagnant beneath the door.
I didn't want to cry— but for some strange reason, it was happening again. I could probably count on two hands the amount of times I've cried over the past 12 hours and yet, it seemed as though my emotions just couldn't get enough.
"Leave, Harry. Fucking leave—" I spout quietly. Not even loud enough to break through the door for him to hear.
After all of these lessons that life decided to teach me in the matter of two days, I still wasn't strong enough.
I wasn't strong enough to turn him away.
As the air remained silent, I could faintly hear the sounds of shuffling feet and another sound that I couldn't quite make out...
Was he... crying?
Muffled sobs travelled through the door and straight to my stubborn ears. I tried to shake them away, but my legs were moving faster than I could even process. Before I knew it, I was standing with my hand on the doorknob.
I swung it open to reveal his frame, drenched in rainwater with glassy eyes and bright pink cheeks. He looked like he had been crying for hours, as he bowed his head to the floor.
I rolled my lips inwards, suppressing the tears that were begging to be released.
"Haven't you done enough to me, Harry? What more do you want? To think I believed that things would be different... That I would be different. You dragged me through hell just to watch me fuckin' burn."
A sadistic chuckle flew past my lips as he stayed with his head hung low. The feelings of sadness were now contorting into anger upon seeing his face.
"Rubi, please, I just wanted to talk," he snivels, pinching the bridge of his nose. I ignore him and carry on.
"I bet you're enjoying it, too. Hm? You enjoyed every second of watching me crumble..." I spit harshly, letting the word vomit take it's course.
I am fucking livid.
I scoffed before continuing, watching his face contort by the lines of his forehead.
"...I knew it. I fucking knew it. I knew I meant nothing to you! I knew I shouldn't have been dumb enough to let you walk into my life so easily... With your— your stupid tabloids, and fuckin'— coke habits... and the girls. The fucking girls— Jesus Christ, Harry! That should've been my first warning sign! But I guess every flag is red when you're wearing rose tinted glasses, right? The rose tinted glasses of a fucking rockstar."
Harry winced inward on himself, still barely crossing the threshold of my apartment as we stood merely a foot apart. He looked broken, which was just a shame.
It's too bad that I didn't care.
"I hope you're happy, Harry. I hope you really thought about how you made me feel. Because I can safely say that you have officially ruined me. I am a shell of a woman because of you. Just a puppet hanging on your fucking strings. So, thank you for that."
His head popped up momentarily, allowing us to lock eyes for the first time since he appeared at the door.
"Now get the fuck out of my apartment before I crack you in the fucking jaw."
The only word I could use to describe the look on Harry's face was pitiful. A sad, puppy dog frown dressed in soggy tears.
Despite the desire to cave almost instantly, I stood my ground, letting him process everything I had said and hoping to God it would keep him up at night.
Without a word to me, his hands began shake as he brought them to his chest. He reached into his breast pocket, still keeping the eye contact which was getting harder for me to hold.
He dug around for a moment, finally pulling something out and holding it between us.
An envelope.
My eyes widened down at the sleek white paper, scanning along the words 'To Rubi' in sloppy, capital letters. He cleared his throat, letting out a quivering breath before he spoke.
"I know you're angry. You have every right to be. There are a million fucking ways I could say sorry and — fuck, Rubi... if I could, I'd say them all..."
I swallowed harshly, my eyes darting back and forth between his irises and the envelope.
"...I know, I fucked up. And I would do anything to take it back but, that isn't possible... And, y—you were right. Yes, I thought about it. I've been up at night thinking about it for the last two days... The way I made you feel has been haunting me since the moment I watched you walk away. So please, hate me. I fuckin' deserve it. I deserve every single ounce of hate in your heart. Anything it takes for the slight chance you'll forgive me."
Stupid fucker... why must you be so poetic?
He seemed to be struggling to speak now, stumbling over his next few words with a restless leg. He let me speak, so, I'll do the same for him, I suppose.
"I—I know— I know I said I wouldn't write back, but..."
He raises the envelope with a meek, tight lipped smile.
"...I wanted to tell you everything. The same way you did for me. And— this was the only way I knew how."
I stood completely still, the thought of moving not even crossing my mind. The shameful tears in Harry's eyes were now running down his cheek and as much as it pained me to watch him cry, I didn't say a word.
"Please read it, Rubi. I'm not asking for your forgiveness, or pity. But writing this was the least I could do— to let you know how much I wish I could take back what I did. I am so, so sorry."
And with that, he turned away, leaving me speechless with a crisp, white envelope grasped between my shaking fingers.
I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, watching him trudge down the hallway in his trench coat and Chelsea boots— but instead, I just closed the door.
My back hit the doorframe with a thud, releasing all of the emotions that could no longer be contained. I sobbed into the crook of my elbow, sliding down to the floor with the envelope held to my chest.
Flapjack waltzed over to me, sensing my sadness and plopping down next to my crossed legs. I heaved, my breathing now shaky with tears clouding my vision.
This envelope was the glue that kept my sad, battered little heart from bursting at the seams. It smelled like him— it looked like him, if it was even possible for handwriting on an envelope to look like a person.
But it was him. It was all him. Nobody ordering him around, or whispering in his ear, telling him what was right. It was organically, wholeheartedly him.
And I needed to remember that.
I flipped over the envelope, breaking the seal with my thumb to reveal a piece of notebook paper folded neatly into thirds.
The stationary was tea-stained, like if he had spilled an entire cup of coffee into it and let it dry before sealing the envelope closed. But I assumed that was on purpose, for he seems to enjoy the finer things in life.
When I placed the envelope down next to me and was faced with only this intimidating piece of paper, my heart sank down to the floorboards.
What could he possibly have written? I would assume an apology, right? But if he was so adamant about being completely fine with my lack of forgiveness, that couldn't have been all.
Read and find out, I guess.
I unfolded the paper and scanned along it, the curves of his handwriting practically bringing me to tears on their own.
Everything about him was so recognizable; familiar to me. A person who was once a stranger that couldn't tell the difference between me and a doormat was now pouring his heart to me on a crumpled piece of notebook paper.
And it went something like this.
❦
Rubi,
I know what I said. I remember the night where you cried in my arms and asked me if I would write to you, for it plays over and over again in my head before I fall asleep each night.
To be completely and totally honest; I only said no out of fear. Sure, I could write to you; I am perfectly capable of doing so. I'd tell you everything you wanted to know.
But that heavy-hitting fear held me back. A deep fear ingrained within my heart that I wouldn't be able to care for you. To protect you when you need me most. To be strong enough to drop everything and rescue you.
I've lived my entire life this way. Detaching myself from the people that mean most to me out of fear. Fear that one day they'll pick up and leave without a trace, and I'd be left wondering what went wrong. Fear that people would judge me, misconstrue the way I approach things. Fear that people will hate me for how I turned out, and for who I am.
But you, Rubi. You're different. You've proven to me that despite my arrogance, my status, or whatever fucked up shit makes me who I am, you'll be there. You'd be there for me with whatever life throws at you. And that's why I think you deserve to hear this:
I am so deeply in love with you. The type of love and feelings that I barely recognize. The type of love that I've never allowed myself to experience. It's terrifying, sure, but I am more than willing to dive head first into it all. Because I know that whatever it is, it'll be worth it with you.
I know this sounds strange, but from the first time I laid eyes on you, I was already falling to the point of no return. Your smile, your witty jokes, the splatters of freckles across your cheeks, the kindness in your eyes; I am infatuated with every single little detail that makes you who you are. And I need you to know that I would do anything to prove that to you.
You are the missing piece that I had given up on finding, the other half of my heart— that has been beaten and battered by my own conscious. My inability to show love, and care. But I'm willing to work on myself if it means ending up with you.
Before I met you, I was void of any real purpose in life. I felt empty. Just a soul lost in the universe, wandering around looking for somebody to call home. And yet, you gave me everything I could have ever hoped for. You are my everything, Rubi. You are the only one I want to wake up next to and fall asleep with every single night and morning.
You are my muse, my inspiration above all else. I could write endless words about you. Songs, poems, sonnets– and I fear that even that wouldn't be enough to describe how much you mean to me.
Now that you're in my life, I could not imagine how meaningless it would be without you. And I want you to know how special you are to me. So much so that if the world were to sit in the palm of my hands, I would give it all to you. I'd give you the sun, the moon, and every single star in the sky. I know you think you don't deserve it, but I know otherwise.
I want to navigate life with you— figure out all of the left hooks that life likes to throw at people like us. People like you, who are too kind for their own good. And people like me, who could learn a thing or two from your book.
I made a promise to you; every single letter you sent me, I read it. I read them all, Rubi. And as you poured your heart out in red ink onto those tiny pages of notebook paper, I got to know you, and I made sure that every single accomplishment in my life from that point forward was dedicated to you. Every single show I've performed, every song I've sang, every party I've thrown, I've done it for you.
I'd do it all for you. You are the sun in my sky, the river that runs through my soul, and the passion that runs through my veins. Your presence in my life has made an impact that is greater than anything anyone could ever understand. I am so in love with you that it hurts. When I think of home, I think of you.
It's you, and only you, my rose.
I love you to the moon and back, then back up again. Thank you for everything you have shown me. It has changed my life more than you'll ever know.
- Harry.
P.S.
Can we start over?
❦
AN:
so... the weather?
isn't he just the sweetest poet?
love you all, until next chapter. kisses and hugs!
xoxo, love,
moose.