TWELVE | NO ATTACHMENT
The sun is barely set, night hardly fallen when Steve's shift at one of the local bars downtown begins. He arrives early, though not for any one particular reason, only to be greeted by the few remaining day-drinking stragglers and handful of early night-drinkers. Acknowledging the regulars, Steve prepares his space behind the counter and himself for all the night is sure to entail. Having worked at the bar for several of years now, not much in terms of indiscretions and so on surprises him, and yet, the sight of the young woman newly entered takes him rather aback for a moment.
Her slender figure is instantly recognized when Jett enters the bar, though regulars grow immediately confused at the sight. Her shoulders appear almost slightly slumped, her head a little lower, her steps a little lighter, her presence a little softer. She answers to her name when greeted by the bartender. Had she not, he would have sworn the woman is someone else entirely.
Steve has known the young woman since she first moved to Athens, was one of her first clients even. Never has he seen such a muted version of her, though. Concern grows within him while she claims one of the bar stools.
"You okay, babe? You seem a little out of it," Steve says, setting in front of her a full glass of a drink he knows she favors. Her eyes scramble to his, widening as if only now suddenly realizing where she is.
"Yeah, of course," Jett insists without a moment of hesitance, her voice stable and convinced as always.
For a moment, he almost believes her. Her entire demeanor shifts at the sound of her own words, transforming into the herself for which she is well-known. The remnants in her eyes, though, fail to comply with the change; Steve notices. She does not know how, but he notices.
Sensing his doubt, she wills her eyes to separate from his to acknowledge the glass he placed before her. She grasps it in her hands and brings it carefully to her lips. The stiff drink invades her taste buds, urging her to consume all of it at once. Somehow, unbeknownst to her, she manages to rest the glass on the bar-top with still half its initial volume. She turns her focus towards the rest of the bar's happenings, hopeful for a visual distraction.
Are you in?
The words pirouette across her mind, and before she can resurge any of her previous resistance, Jett downs the rest of her drink, desperate to wash the words from her mind. The alcohol waltzes with her bloodstream, yet no amount seems able to rid her of the memory of those words. She thought she could outrun the past, her indiscretions in New Orleans at least, and yet a message depicting three little words on a phone she believed forgot how to ring ruptured her chance.
"You sure you're okay?" Steve asks when catching sight of her downing the drink she would normally sip.
"Aren't I always?" Ahe forces her words to mimic their notorious uncaring sentiment.
The bartender sighs in defeat and pours another glass before venturing off elsewhere, recognizing a war lost before the first battle may even begin. Much in the same way as the first, the drink pours down her throat in a steady stream of desperation to rid her mind of the words and her soul of the past. The scratch of a stool leg against the wooden floor sounds beside her while she sets the empty glass to its previous place.
"Thirsty?" a new voice teases.
Jett sways on her bar stool, whether from the alcohol or the music or the words echoing within her brain, no one is quite certain. The barstool to her left's new occupant halts her sways momentarily as she turns towards him. She recognizes the tone of his voice, the intent behind its existence, resembling that of her other conquests. Without properly realizing, Jett feels herself return, feels her infamous smirk spread along her lips and devilish persona resurrect. Even still, she feels traces of the message lingering within her.
"Parched," she answers.
"Guess I should buy you another drink then," the newcomer says.
"Well, it would be the right thing to do."
The nameless man summons the bartender, Steve's coworker rather than himself this time. Running a hand through his dark hair, Jett recognizes the glistening desire swimming in the hazel of his eyes like so many before him. For the first in a long time, Jett is the one who needs a distraction. Her still unnamed company, with his sharp jaw line and delectable physique, deems a rather suitable candidate.
Are you in? With the man's attention elsewhere, the words suddenly resurge and penetrate every crevice of her mind until all which composes her thoughts are the dwelling on the same three words in a taunting loop. She wills them to return to the morning where they belong until she decides otherwise.
"You good?" He breaks her stream of consciousness, noticing the faraway look in her eyes as she stares without seeing into the crowd.
"Yeah, sorry about that." She laughs off the incident. If he doubts her, he doesn't bother saying so.
"Here's your drink," he says, nudging the glass towards her. She graciously takes it, mumbling some sort of "Thanks" before bringing the cool rim to her lips, forcing herself as much as manageable to not consume its entire contents is one gulp.
"I'm Jett, by the way," she finally introduces herself.
"Adam," her companion says. "Do you want to dance?"
Without even bothering to offer an answer, Jett consumes the rest of her drink quickly before removing herself from the barstool. He takes her outstretched hand, following her with an absolute lack of hesitance into the crowd of people losing themselves in the unrecognizable tune.
Adam swallows the subtle offence at her lack of recognition. A decent amount of time has passed since the two had encountered one another, though, so her failure to do so is not completely unprecedented. Shock coursed his veins at the sight of her when he first entered the bar, utter disbelief the young woman he had wanted, had craved for such an extensive amount of time sat alone and within his grasp. Now, she stands before him, her body pressed against his in the most intoxicating sense. The feeling of her body rolling to the beat of whichever song bursts the speakers exceeds even his greatest expectations. With his hands gripping her hips, he revels in her, drowns in her presence. He wants more; he needs more.
Jett closes her eyes, her body relying on its other senses to intensify the essence of the moment. The bass acts as a pulse which flows through her. The alcohol sways her hips and warrants her head light. The feel of his palms resting against the exposed skin just above her hips from where her shirt rode excites and electrifies her even more. The three taunting words slip away with the rest of the past from her mind until only this moment remains.
Twisting in his grip on her hips, she faces him now, a devilish smirk prominent. Slowly, oh so slowly, she leans forward to press her lips to his jawline. He feels the kiss spread throughout every cell in his body, lingering even when she pulls away. Eyes instinctively closing, barely able to prevent himself from swooning when she moves her lips just beside his ear, feeling her hot breath and hearing her heavy breathing.
"Let's get out of here."
She notes his prominent lustful gleam with she pulls away, a beautiful sight when alcohol taints her choices. He agrees without even the slightest of considerations, taking her hand just before she drags him from the bar.
At some point during the drinks and dances, the night air turned cool and now greets the newly emerged couple in a welcomed embrace, the air within the bar being much too warm in comparison. Jett contemplates where to go for a moment, whether his or hers, and when he offers no sort of opinion, She immediately guides him down the few blocks between the bar and her apartment.
Adam follows her without question or hesitance, too entranced in the fact that which he has desired is finally happening. He wants her, needs her, craves her, and now, he will finally have her. So, he follows her without the slightest of considerations, trailing barely half a step behind her their entire venture down the sidewalk, up the stairs of her building, and into her apartment. The keys jingle in her hand, one inserting into the apartment lock, sticking slightly before turning to permit their entrance.
The door has yet to close behind the two once having crossed the threshold before Adam pushes and pins her figure against the door. He attaches his lips to her neck; she tangles her fingers in his hair, tilting her head to the side to offer more canvas for him to paint marks of stained lust. They are desire and desperation. Neither particularly care that he is nothing more than another conquest to be disregarded in the morning light when he is a distraction, and she is a dream.
His mind reels with possibility, of all he has wished to do to her since the first moment he saw her. With the knowledge of him not being the first and most likely not the last, he wishes to at least be remembered, something which cannot take place when clothes still adorn her. This realization is all needed to coerce his hand to grasp the hem of her shirt and throw it who-knows-where to lay until dawn. His lips move to hers once more, melding into one another. At his instruction, his palms wrapping around the underside of her thighs, she jumps to wrap her legs around his waist. The mess of limbs and lust stumble across the small apartment until reaching the bed, her body barely having fallen from his arms and amidst the white sheets when a knock on the front door interrupts their explicit endeavors.
"Ignore it," Adam says, already missing the shared touch between them. Ignoring it, though, is much easier said than done when the subsequent knocks are persistent, determined.
"It'll take just a second." Jett slips from beneath his arms and scurries towards the door, her shirt laying forgotten somewhere. Befuddled as to whom exactly is disturbing her at such a late hour, she opens the door without bothering to check through the peep-hole only to be instantly taken aback by whom stands on the other side.
"What's up, sweetheart?" Jett struggles to cover the slight slur in her voice and the shock of his sudden appearance. The young man does not notice, too focused on the task at hand. His hands rest deep inside his pockets, him slowly rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. He is riddled with anxiety for what is next to ensue.
"Can we talk?" Emmett asks. Too clouded by his own desperation and trepidation of how to say goodbye to the little minx in a way that will not shatter his own broken heart, he fails to properly process her minimal clothing and the way she blocks his sight into the apartment as much as her small figure until it is too late, until another male voice sounds from the apartment.
"Babe, come back to bed!"
Jett sighs exasperatedly, already knowing what will next transpire even before Emmett stares at her incredulously. "You brought someone home with you?"
"Yeah," she says unfazed, unapologetically, only rallying the young man even more so.
"Unbelievable," he says, though still he proceeds to push past her into the apartment. Once more, Jett sighs, accepting her fate before following behind him.
Adam looks at the raging young man, wondering what or who could possibly be important enough to interrupt the moment about which he has dreamed for quite some time. "Who are you?"
"I think the better question is who the fuck are you?" All the desperation and trepidation dissipate at the sight of whomever stood before him, at Jett bringing someone home who is not himself. Emmett knows better than to expect exclusivity from the young woman, and yet, rage and betrayal overwhelm him. The rage and betrayal should make what he initially came to her apartment to do that much easier, yet he is too blinded in this moment by his own naivety that she felt the same about him as he did about her, that she was just as captivated by and as drawn to him, to even remember the reason for his visit. And yet, here they stand, him and her and the man she brought home that is not him.
"Emmett," Jett rests a hand on his chest to prevent him from going any closer. "Let's talk tomorrow, okay?"
"No, I think we should talk right now. What the hell are you doing bringing this wanker home when you have me?"
"I'm not having this conversation again."
"Yes, you are. Now, tell me." His hand gestures grow more elaborate, face more flush with each passing moment. Even still, her words are smooth, her tone calm, her features stoic, her nature undisturbed, only infuriating him further.
"Because contrary to what you believe, I have absolutely no attachment to you."
"Except how much I clearly affect you," Emmett argues, reminding her of their earlier conversation.
At this, Adam feels the need to intervene, claiming, "If you hadn't interrupted, I'm pretty sure I could affect her even more."
The vein in Emmett's neck protrudes greatly from the strength with which his jaw clenches. An angst, a jealously he has never before endured plagues his being to the point all words fail to be spoken.
"I'm not dealing with this shit." Jett looks at the blue-eyed Brit pointedly, the expression on her features unwavering, her words forceful, "Emmett, you need to leave."
Emmett parts his lips to argue, but quickly closes them. Even the four walls know the impossibility of fighting against Jett, the young woman never backing down or losing. He searches her eyes for some sort of emotion, whether regret or disgust, but all he finds is nothingness. All that he wished to say when he arrived resurfaces in his mind as he knows then, he knows this has to be goodbye.
Jett sees his eyes soft, looking at her with such longing, such sorrow. She recognizes the look she has seen many of times before, and she knows what is to happen next. The crevices of his lips continue to fall, and she knows this is goodbye. For some reason, her heart twinges the slightest bit, unlike the rest of her past flings and mistakes, but she merely attributes it to exhaustion from the altercation between the two men moments prior.
Adam watches the entire silent interaction between the two, and he knows there is something, an inexplicable something shared between the two. He knows the goodbye about to be shared is only temporary because while the lustful, longing gleam of the young man's eyes reflects that of his own, something else composes the blue which his lack, and suddenly, Adam becomes the jealous one of the two.
While no more words are shared between the two, no more words need to be. Rather, Emmett brushes the fringe from his eyes, offers a slight nod, and moves towards the door. Jett watches him leave, unable to redirect her gaze elsewhere for some reason. Only when he crosses the threshold, the door still open from when he first entered, and disappears around the corner does jJtt manage to shift her mindset towards the other problem filling her apartment.
"You should go too."
"What? Why?" Adam stares at her, her having surely misspoken or he misheard. And yet, Jett looks at him as if waiting, waiting to become the sole remaining occupant of the apartment.
Ahe drags a hand through her hair, exhausted from all the toxic testosterone encounters in the past short while. "I'm not in the mood anymore. Maybe next time."
"You're the one who brought me here, though," he says. Confusion consumes his words, not understanding how she can simply change her mind simply because some random young man felt the need to interrupt them.
"Yeah," she says. "And now, I'm telling you to leave."
The jealously and the interrupted-dream and desire flare within him. Incredulous and enraged, he takes a step towards her, though still, Jett is not frightened, merely annoyed. Her placid façade remains unbroken, even when his hand wraps around her arm in a death grip, eliciting subtle winces and grimaces from her that she barely manages to hide. "You can't just tell me to leave."
"Yes, I can, asshole." Jett yanks her arm from his grasp. She feels the bruises forming already, his fingerprints staining her arm. "Now, get out."
Adam fails to process the words, refuses to accept that which she is saying. Rather, he reaches for her once more, pressing his lips against hers and forcing them to mold together as they once did before they were interrupted. He wants her, needs her, craves her, and he refuses to let her slip away once again when he was finally to have her.
His treatment of her startles, though does not shock Jett, who is all too familiar with the occasional lack of restraint when desire claims someone's mind. Such is hardly her first encounter, which is how she knows to play along, to pretend as though their intentions align when her hand lifts his shirt and slides beneath the waist band of his boxers. He moans at her touch, a soft moan that instantly turns into a pained groan when her grip on his dick comes to resemble that which he previously had on her arm.
Immediately, he pulls away, the next breath catching in his through, overcome by the pain she inflicts. Placing her lips beside his ear, she says, "I said, get out" before finally releasing him.
He struggles to breathe for a moment, though the moment he does, he practically spits, "Whatever, you fucking slut."
Bent over just out of sight, Emmett pulls the loops of his converse, tightening the double knot, when he hears the clear sound of a pained whimper. His ears strain to hear more, yet none sound. He considers leaving the building as planned, but the ember in his stomach only she can ignite inflames with distrust of the silence, provoking him to rise and step from around the door to see into the apartment.
Neither of the apartment's occupants see him at first, the young man stood just beyond the door. With wide eyes and absolute horror, though, the young man watches them, watches her palm collide with his cheek, watches the rage grow within his eyes when his head turns sideways from the force, watches the man's fist raise, watches Jett crumble to the floor in a mess of temporarily broken strength.
Something breaks in Emmett, something other than his heart, when she falls to the floor. He wants to reach for her, to go to her, but his subconscious seems to have other plans. Emmett is not quite sure what prompts him to approach the man instead of run to her, not sure exactly what he is to do once stood before him. That is until his fist suddenly collides with his jaw.
Adam stumbles backwards, clutching the now aching bone. He glares at Emmett, enraged in the obscenest way. Raising his own fist to retaliate, the blue-eyed Brit manages to shuffle out of the way before throwing another punch, his fist burying into the man's diaphragm, forcing him to double over in agony as his lungs stutter in shock from the hit. The next punch collides with his side, the next with his cheek, the next against his already bruised jaw until the man falls to the floor.
"Emmett, stop!" Jett pleads, knowing better than to step closer when the young man appears so transfixed in his actions, having moved to straddle the injured man splayed on the ground, allowing a more desirable position to deliver the next hit, and the next, and the next. Fighting has never been something in which Emmett intentionally partakes, but something in him, something other than his heart, broke when he watched Jett fall to the floor, and now, he seems unable to stop his fists from punching the one responsible.
"I'm serious. stop. He's not worth it!" Once more, her words fail to process when he is so transfixed in his actions. Adam groans beneath him, too bruised and battered to form the words to plead for the young man to stop. How is he to stop, though, when the man hurt the only one who ignites the flame within him he thought long burnt out?
"Please, Emmett!"
For some reason, perhaps the fear and concern in her voice, Emmett hears her this time, his next punch stopping before reaching its destination. The anger's control over him slowly subsides as he begins to realize where he is and what he is doing. This is not him; fighting is not who he is even if on Jett's behalf. Slowly, oh so slowly, he moves from his position, straddling the man splayed on the floor, and to her side. His hand throbs, and his knuckles bleed, but the man struggling to sit up before the couple is in much, much worse shape.
Adam's lip is cracked and bleeding, his nose as well, and bruises already seem to be emerging along his jawline and under his eyes. Every breath is a struggle from the hits to his diaphragm, every movement is agonizing from the hits to his sides. Still, he manages to rise towards his feet, spitting the blood filling his mouth on the hardwood floors. Their eyes train on one another, never blinking. Even when Adam wordlessly shuffles towards the door, the couple's eyes never leave his battered and bruised figure until he is long out of sight and only the faint splatters of his blood on the hardwood floors remain.
The adrenaline of the moment subsides, leaving only bleeding knuckles and bruising cheek amongst the silence. Neither know what to say, what to feel, both still rather in shock from all which has happened. Hesitantly, fearful of how she is to respond, Emmett turns to face the young woman staring off into the distance. He notices how her cheek is a raging pink, splatters of purple emerging from underneath. His heart breaks at the sight.
"Jett-" Emmett struggles to find the words to say next, to apologize for his doings and make sure she is okay. She is just so silent, so withdrawn, causing him to fear even greater. Just as his concern grows excessively, and he almost says her name once more, her eyes shift from nowhere to him, and she breaks her only silence.
"What the fuck was that, Em?" Jett asks in her typical calm and unfazed manner.
"I'm sorry" he says, brushing the fringe from his eyes with his non-injured hand. "But, I saw him hit you, and I just-"
"You wanted to be the hero," she interrupts.
"I wasn't trying to be the hero! I just couldn't sit back and not do anything."
Her voice turns irritable, somewhat angered. "Well, i didn't need your fucking help."
"I didn't say you did!" Emmett defends. "But, you deserve someone who will stand up for you."
Jett falls silent at that. Looking into his eyes, she recognizes all he says to be his genuine belief, and she falls silent, unknowing how to respond. She has grown so used to being on her own, standing up for herself, being all she ever needs over the years. She does not know how to handle if something were to change, if she were to no longer be alone. So, she says nothing.
"Are you okay?" Emmett asks when he sees her eyes soften, the brown lighten just the slightest bit.
Of course, Jett is okay. The young woman is always okay. But still, she does not answer for a reason unbeknownst to her. Rather, she simply asks, "Do you mind getting me some ice?" ith no emotion in her voice when her cheek begins to enflame with the lingerings of Adam's fist.
With a nod, Emmett goes to the freezer, retrieving several cubes to wrap in a nearby towel. His mind spins wondering what could possibly be composing hers in the silence, if she is actually as okay as she wishes himself to believe. He knows she will deny any accusations of her not being, so he simply wraps the ice cubes in a nearby towel and returns to the young woman still stood in the same place, unmoving, unspeaking, just there.
Delicately, he places the towel against her cheek, her eyes instinctively closing while she leans into his palm. The cold is soothing, the ache present though fading, and his touch calming.
"Do you want me leave?"
His voice is so gentle, so delicate, so peaceful following such an intense altercation. Jett melts into his voice, his kindness. She knows what she should say, what she should do, that she should send him away as her mind instructs her to so. Yet, much to both of their surprise, her voice sounds so soft he would fail to hear were they not standing so close.
"Stay."
18 may 2023, 04:09