Early Mornings and Late Nights Under Overcast Sky (Jensen/Jared RPS) -- 26/? (WIP
Title: Early Mornings and Late Nights Under Overcast Sky
Characters/Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki; Jensen Ackles / Luanne (OFC); stated Jared/Sandy; stated Jared/Rebecca (OFC) and stated Jared/Ryan (OMC)
POV: Jensen Ackles
Author's Notes: It’s fiction. That means it’s not real, folks. Jensen and Jared are real people. So is Eric Kripke. The show “Supernatural” is a real TV show on the WB11. If anything else in this is real, I wasn’t aware of it.
I'm not going to say when or if the next chapter will be posted...
I just now (after twenty-five chapters and nearly 60,000 words) admitted to even writing this. Yes, I am responsible for this epic debacle!
But really, it took on a mind/life of it's own... So... read at your own risk. I would enjoy feedback, but I'll understand if you don't want to start reading a WIP with no end in sight or in the works. I really have no idea what's coming next here.
Summary: Jared’s girl (Sandra) breaks up with him. Jensen tries to help. Things go (rapidly) downhill from there…then fester… then get better?
*Holds out handbasket if you'd like to join us. It's getting cozy in here*
Spoilers: Nothing to see here, folks...
-------------------------
Chapter Twenty-Six: Two Steps Forward...
Rating: PG-13 for some conversation and a panic attack. Semi-adult content.
And ‘cause I have Jensen say he passed out from the panic attacks again. And again with the two Xanax. For the purposes of continuity, mmkay? willing suspension of disbelief… willing suspension of disbelief
Pairing: Jensen/Jared-we’re getting ‘more closer’-really! We are!
Word Count: 2,865
Chapter Twenty-Six: Two Steps Forward...
“I…” I start. “I get panic attacks.”
I take another deep breath, focus on my fingers as I weave them together in front of me, resting my elbows on my knees. I can’t look at Jared. “…which you’ve seen…” I continue. “I could… tell you all the symptoms, but you’ve seen most of them… rapid heartbeat, sweating or chills… nausea… they’re the common ones… feelings of losing control, chest pain, numbness… nightmares… fear…” I pause. “I’ve exhibited those too, to a lesser degree, but sometimes… Sometimes they get bad.”
“Los Angeles.” He says quietly.
I nod. “Like in LA… and… individually… I get thirsty after having one… and in the case of a more severe one, I won’t remember things... like you touching me, talking to me…” I stare at my fingers. “I passed out in LA… they… took me to the hospital… that was the worst they’ve ever been.”
“Jensen…”
“It was three years ago.” I interrupt him, not wanting to hear the shock in his voice. My fingers are still sweaty, still feel thick and swollen as I work them together, knead them in front of me. It’s an effort to stay focused, think of the words I need to say, because there are so many things I know I have to say whether I want to or not-too many words and too many thoughts, and I have to squeeze my eyes closed again.
I tell him little bits here, little bits there, just about the nature of panic attacks… symptoms and such and how I first found out I was susceptible to them, my first one. It’s something I can do on autopilot, and do. My mind wanders, to what parts of last night that I can remember were parts of my dream, and what was real.
I vividly remember tucking Jared in. I remember the window was open-but why would it be? It was cold last night. Maybe that was part of the dream.
Jared asking if I was going to call Luanne? Definitely nightmare material.
My memories are hazy though, and can’t be trusted. I think Eric called… I think Jared did cough up some blood and I’m pretty sure I tucked him in. Beyond that I’m not too sure of anything. Maybe I went to bed after tucking him in.
“…they’re something I’ve learned to control… learned to live with… Like said… I haven’t had one… not even a minor one… since LA…”
Silence falls as I squeeze my eyes closed, and Jared lets it settle around us before breaking it with a gentle question, a gentle touch of my arm that sends shivers up and down my spine that I can’t identify as good or bad. “So what was the nightmare about?
I snort lightly, take deep, slow breaths, raise my head and turn it towards him, so I’m looking up and sideways at him. He still looks somehow both pale and flushed, tired and not at full strength, and it makes me remember that he’s still sick, and it’s still supposed to be me taking care of him.
He coughs, and while I’m thinking of it, I reach to grab his medication and hand it to him. “Take your antibiotics.”
He smiles, takes the container from me. “So… what was the nightmare about?” He repeats, swallowing two of the pills without water, making me cringe. He replaces the hand on my arm. “Gonna tell me?”
I don’t want to tell him, but I do, anyway. It has to be said, this has to be discussed, whether either of us want to talk about it not-it’s beyond the point where either of us ever may have had a choice. I swallow hard, looking down, but look up at him, hands kneading in my lap as I say softly, “You.”
His eyes get wide as saucers, and he backs away, takes his hand away. My arm is instantly cold, icy fingers wrapping around the skin where his used to be. “I… me?”
“Well, your mom…” I sigh. “She… well…” I think of how to put it so it’ll make the most sense to him, and rub my palms to my temples, squinting. “She… We… me and her… We’ve been talking… and…” What am I going to tell him?
He smiles, but it’s forced. He seems less than happy as he says, “I know my mother, Jen… putting words in your mouth?”
“Not really.” I stare at the carpet, take a deep breath and just let it out, figure I’ll deal with the consequences as they come. “She was telling me I’ll never be good enough for you… that I don’t know what you’ve been through…”
He doesn’t say anything.
“I’ll hurt you, Jared.” I whisper. “I’ll hurt you.”
“Only if I let you.” He counters softly.
“You would.” It’s not a question. I’m just stating what I already know to be the truth. He’d let me hurt him, and I know it-it didn’t take my nightmare version of his mom to point that out.
This time, he sighs, and looks away. “I would.” He admits.
“Jare…” I whisper, and my voice cracks on his name as I look up. He’s turned to his left, his back and shoulder to me, and glances over his shoulder when I murmur his name. “I don’t want to hurt you.” I tell him, in a voice that sounds stronger than I feel.
“That’s not really a choice you can make.” He replies. “The only…”
“How can you say that?” I ask him. “Jare…” I shake my head. “Jare, you should go… when you’re strong enough… I’ll help you find an apartment… I…”
“Do you think asking me to leave doesn’t hurt?” He asks, his voice steadily rising until he’s nearly yelling. “Jensen!” It’s more than anger in his voice, there’s pain and hurt, too-things I didn’t want to hear.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” I whisper.
“You are!” He yells. “Asking me to leave… hurts! Okay?”
I just stare at him. He’s yelling at me. I don’t know what to say. It’s almost funny. I don’t think I can remember Jared ever yelling at me. I don’t think I can remember Jared ever yelling at all-at least not this way, not like this. Finally, I say, pointedly, “You wanted to leave.”
My voice still sounds dull through the pounding of my heart in my ears. Jared yelling at me has managed to make things worse-my breath is hitching, and the tightness around my chest makes me not want to breathe at all, rather than taking the quick and shallow breaths I usually do when having a panic attack. I don’t want to pass out like I did in LA, so I concentrate, force myself to breathe, slow and deep, try to slow my heart, swallow the nausea that’s settled painfully in my stomach.
“You would throw that back in my face.” He sighs. “You say you don’t want to hurt me… but you do know that’s all you’ve been doing, right?”
Again, I find myself just staring at him, and I can feel the shaking start in my hands, move its way up my arms until my shoulders are tense with the effort to keep from rocking back and forth.
“Asking me to leave? Hurts!” He’s still yelling. “It hurts, Jensen! Do you get that?” He’s staring at me, wide-eyed, and I swear his eyes are glassy, like they’re glazed over with just a hint of tears that won’t fall but are there nonetheless.
“Jared.” I want to say ‘you said that already’, but bite my tongue, and probably for the best-my voice is none too steady, it’s hard enough to say his name. I can feel chills running up and down my arms, my back, my spine… the sweat along my forehead, my neck, feels cold, then hot again. My body trembles.
“Jen…” My nickname again, finally, and I don’t know why, don’t know what I did or what I said to finally get him to use it again, but maybe it doesn’t matter, because at least he’s not yelling any more. “Jen… the only reason you can hurt me… is because I let you.” And after a pause, and a deep breath, “…the same reason I can hurt you.”
His words barely register, and my hands are still shaking and my breath is coming short and shallow, too fast, even though I still feel like I don’t want to breathe at all. I’m not sure which is better.
Jared notices immediately.
“Jensen?” He turns to me, and takes my hands, and that just makes the shaking worse.
“Jare, please… Please… I need…” I need him to get away from me. I need to be able to think. I need to stop shaking, to stop sweating to stop… Just to stop. I need to stop. To back up. To think. Without him here. I swallow, try again.
His hands find my shoulders, and he’s close to me-too close. “Ja… Jare… Jared…” I stutter. My breath comes faster and I close my eyes, force myself to breathe-in and out… in and out… “…in and out…” I whisper under my breath.
“Jenny, breathe…” Jared whispers, and then he echoes my “…in and out…”
I push at him, shove him away, needing space, needing room to breathe. “Please… just…”
I’m gasping for air at this point, my heart is pounding, and I can feel the sweat on my forehead, drop by drop sliding down my skin, slowly, over heated cheeks to my lips, and I think that maybe it tastes like tears. Every one of my senses is on overdrive-a pinch feels like a knife digging into my skin, the sweat feels like I’m in the shower. I’m hyper-aware.
“Jen…” Jared reaches out to me, and that’s when everything gets fuzzy.
I start keeling over, falling forward, falling towards him, and his hands are suddenly on my shoulders, gripping my shirt, my skin, tight, so tight. Fingers dig into the muscle, into the bone. My breath stops in a gasp, and my body lurches again, it feels like I’m going to throw up, but I don’t.
Suddenly, I’m lying back against the pillows, and there are hands skimming over my body, warm and gentle hands that soothe and calm. Fingers press against my lips, push into my mouth, a voice I recognize but can’t identify whispers quiet in my ear, words that I don’t consciously understand. “Swallow these… swallow, Jenny...”
I cough, instinctively, convulsively, and the hands are stronger, something holds me up, keeps me stilled when my body curls against the invasion. The voice returns, still soft, and I’m reminded of my mother when I was in my teens and having a panic attack, soothing, pleading, almost begging, but the voice is different.
“Shhh… Jenny… Jen…” I try to focus on the oddly soothing voice, the words, but can’t, and when I open my eyes, the world is swimming around me, and my head starts pounding in time with my heart. “Jen… just swallow these, okay? Shhhh…”
“Jared?” My voice sounds far away as I let my eyes slip closed again, grateful when the pain in my head follows the loss of light and dancing, blurred images. I’m not sure it’s Jared’s name I called, but I hope it was, think it was. My throat feels thick and dry as I try to swallow.
“It’s me… I’m here… shhhh……shhhh…” Soft skin presses to mine, fingers work their way into my hair, trace gentle and warm patterns against my scalp, calming and easing away the fear. “It’s okay… It’s okay, Jen… …No… let me hold on to this… you’ll spill it, Jenny…” he continues softly as I try to take the glass of water from him with trembling hands. “It’s okay…” And he keeps talking, but it’s no longer words I hear, just sounds.
I don’t know how much time passes before I’m able to open my eyes again, before the pain is less and I can breathe again. It’s an unnatural heat that’s both dry and damp against my forehead that brings me around, and I leave my eyes closed for a minute when I realize the heat is Jared-his lips-pressing a light and tender kiss I’ve never known before to my skin.
Comforting noises, murmurs and whispers become words again, my name, nickname, spoken lightly, softly in Jared’s Texas drawl. “Jen… Jenny…” His fingers are still in my hair, and I allow myself to feel for a minute, feel comforted and safe, at ease and warm. “Wake up, Jenny… please…”
He’s not quite begging, not desperate yet, not scared, and I find myself thankful for that. I shift on the couch, open my eyes, and Jared sits up quickly, taking with him the warmth of his fingers from my head and his gentle, even breath from my face. “Jare…”
“Jensen.”
I just look at him for a time, and it’s he who breaks the silence, as it’s been often of late. “I gave you two Xanax…” He offers quietly. “That’s… what it said on the bottle…”
I nod. “That’s right…” I whisper, and lean my head back against the armrest of the couch with a heavy sigh.
“Jen…” He’s still pretty freaked-out, though he’s trying to stay calm. I think that’s partially for me-and I appreciate the effort-but I can see past the façade. “Jen… are they always…?”
I shake my head ‘no’ as I raise an arm to lay it over my eyes, still far too conscious of the in-out, in-out of my now slowed breathing and the pounding of my heart, the feel of air against my skin.
Jared reaches out and touches my arm, and it’s almost painful. “Jen…” He tries my name again. “Jen… are you okay?”
I manage a smile. “Yeah… Getting there, at least… thanks… for the…”
“Yeah, no problem…” Jared says, and then there’s silence again. I wait for him to say something, to break the silence, and I’m not disappointed. “Um… Jen?” His hand slides from my arm across my shirt to rest on my chest, over my heart.
I lift my arm from over my eyes, glance at him from under half-closed lids. “Yeah, Jare?”
“What we were talking about...”
I barely remember. Everything beyond the nightmare-beyond waking up in the kitchen-is blurred. There are bits and pieces of telling him about my panic attacks, something in the back of my mind telling me that I told him what the nightmare was about, but nothing clear, that I can hold on to and really call real.
“My panic attacks?” I guess. “Something… about them.” I venture quietly.
His fingers tighten in the cotton of my shirt, then loosen, and he smoothes the fabric, gently patting my chest before removing his hand. “Jare…” I whisper.
“Yeah, Jen?”
“Are we…” I want to ask him if we’re okay, but I already know the answer. We’re not. We haven’t been-not for a long time. I just hope we can get back there-to okay-to wherever that is. “Are we… going to be okay?” I amend the wording mid-question.
“I think so.” Jared answers softly. “I hope so.” And there’s more than hope in his voice, there’s belief and trust and what I want to think is an honest wanting to work things out. “Hey Jenny? Don’t ask me to… leave again, okay?” He pauses, looks down. “Unless… you know… you…”
With that, what we were talking about floods back to me. I remember. Remember him yelling at me, saying that me asking him to leave hurts… me telling him I didn’t want to hurt him… “I won’t.” I breathe. “You… you’re welcome here, Jared… always.”
He nods thoughtfully. “Jen?”
“Yeah, Jared.” I smile this time-it’s getting redundant.
“Nothing.” He smiles, and both of us chuckle at the shared amusement. Our eyes meet, and there’s laughter in his eyes, and in mine, and things feel like they really are getting back towards ‘okay’.
We sit there in silence for a long time. Hours pass, during which time he gets a book from the guest room, and I pick up the book I’d been reading and left on the coffee table. He settles opposite me, and we both stretch out our legs so they’re intertwined along the middle of the couch. He leans against the wall. I only have the armrest to lean back against, so I end up curled forward, but it’s comfortable enough when I settle to my right, against the cushions.
His legs are freakishly long. I swear his feet reach my hips, stretched the full length of the sofa. My feet reach his thighs, and I wiggle sock-covered feet. He swats at them idly, not looking away from his book. “That tickles, Jenny.”
I smile, and do it again. This time he looks up, lowers his book, and smiles back.
Three hours later, we’re still reading, still glancing at each other over the tops of our books when we think the other isn’t looking.
-------------------------
Characters/Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki; Jensen Ackles / Luanne (OFC); stated Jared/Sandy; stated Jared/Rebecca (OFC) and stated Jared/Ryan (OMC)
POV: Jensen Ackles
Author's Notes: It’s fiction. That means it’s not real, folks. Jensen and Jared are real people. So is Eric Kripke. The show “Supernatural” is a real TV show on the WB11. If anything else in this is real, I wasn’t aware of it.
I'm not going to say when or if the next chapter will be posted...
I just now (after twenty-five chapters and nearly 60,000 words) admitted to even writing this. Yes, I am responsible for this epic debacle!
But really, it took on a mind/life of it's own... So... read at your own risk. I would enjoy feedback, but I'll understand if you don't want to start reading a WIP with no end in sight or in the works. I really have no idea what's coming next here.
Summary: Jared’s girl (Sandra) breaks up with him. Jensen tries to help. Things go (rapidly) downhill from there…then fester… then get better?
*Holds out handbasket if you'd like to join us. It's getting cozy in here*
Spoilers: Nothing to see here, folks...
-------------------------
Chapter Twenty-Six: Two Steps Forward...
Rating: PG-13 for some conversation and a panic attack. Semi-adult content.
And ‘cause I have Jensen say he passed out from the panic attacks again. And again with the two Xanax. For the purposes of continuity, mmkay? willing suspension of disbelief… willing suspension of disbelief
Pairing: Jensen/Jared-we’re getting ‘more closer’-really! We are!
Word Count: 2,865
Chapter Twenty-Six: Two Steps Forward...
“I…” I start. “I get panic attacks.”
I take another deep breath, focus on my fingers as I weave them together in front of me, resting my elbows on my knees. I can’t look at Jared. “…which you’ve seen…” I continue. “I could… tell you all the symptoms, but you’ve seen most of them… rapid heartbeat, sweating or chills… nausea… they’re the common ones… feelings of losing control, chest pain, numbness… nightmares… fear…” I pause. “I’ve exhibited those too, to a lesser degree, but sometimes… Sometimes they get bad.”
“Los Angeles.” He says quietly.
I nod. “Like in LA… and… individually… I get thirsty after having one… and in the case of a more severe one, I won’t remember things... like you touching me, talking to me…” I stare at my fingers. “I passed out in LA… they… took me to the hospital… that was the worst they’ve ever been.”
“Jensen…”
“It was three years ago.” I interrupt him, not wanting to hear the shock in his voice. My fingers are still sweaty, still feel thick and swollen as I work them together, knead them in front of me. It’s an effort to stay focused, think of the words I need to say, because there are so many things I know I have to say whether I want to or not-too many words and too many thoughts, and I have to squeeze my eyes closed again.
I tell him little bits here, little bits there, just about the nature of panic attacks… symptoms and such and how I first found out I was susceptible to them, my first one. It’s something I can do on autopilot, and do. My mind wanders, to what parts of last night that I can remember were parts of my dream, and what was real.
I vividly remember tucking Jared in. I remember the window was open-but why would it be? It was cold last night. Maybe that was part of the dream.
Jared asking if I was going to call Luanne? Definitely nightmare material.
My memories are hazy though, and can’t be trusted. I think Eric called… I think Jared did cough up some blood and I’m pretty sure I tucked him in. Beyond that I’m not too sure of anything. Maybe I went to bed after tucking him in.
“…they’re something I’ve learned to control… learned to live with… Like said… I haven’t had one… not even a minor one… since LA…”
Silence falls as I squeeze my eyes closed, and Jared lets it settle around us before breaking it with a gentle question, a gentle touch of my arm that sends shivers up and down my spine that I can’t identify as good or bad. “So what was the nightmare about?
I snort lightly, take deep, slow breaths, raise my head and turn it towards him, so I’m looking up and sideways at him. He still looks somehow both pale and flushed, tired and not at full strength, and it makes me remember that he’s still sick, and it’s still supposed to be me taking care of him.
He coughs, and while I’m thinking of it, I reach to grab his medication and hand it to him. “Take your antibiotics.”
He smiles, takes the container from me. “So… what was the nightmare about?” He repeats, swallowing two of the pills without water, making me cringe. He replaces the hand on my arm. “Gonna tell me?”
I don’t want to tell him, but I do, anyway. It has to be said, this has to be discussed, whether either of us want to talk about it not-it’s beyond the point where either of us ever may have had a choice. I swallow hard, looking down, but look up at him, hands kneading in my lap as I say softly, “You.”
His eyes get wide as saucers, and he backs away, takes his hand away. My arm is instantly cold, icy fingers wrapping around the skin where his used to be. “I… me?”
“Well, your mom…” I sigh. “She… well…” I think of how to put it so it’ll make the most sense to him, and rub my palms to my temples, squinting. “She… We… me and her… We’ve been talking… and…” What am I going to tell him?
He smiles, but it’s forced. He seems less than happy as he says, “I know my mother, Jen… putting words in your mouth?”
“Not really.” I stare at the carpet, take a deep breath and just let it out, figure I’ll deal with the consequences as they come. “She was telling me I’ll never be good enough for you… that I don’t know what you’ve been through…”
He doesn’t say anything.
“I’ll hurt you, Jared.” I whisper. “I’ll hurt you.”
“Only if I let you.” He counters softly.
“You would.” It’s not a question. I’m just stating what I already know to be the truth. He’d let me hurt him, and I know it-it didn’t take my nightmare version of his mom to point that out.
This time, he sighs, and looks away. “I would.” He admits.
“Jare…” I whisper, and my voice cracks on his name as I look up. He’s turned to his left, his back and shoulder to me, and glances over his shoulder when I murmur his name. “I don’t want to hurt you.” I tell him, in a voice that sounds stronger than I feel.
“That’s not really a choice you can make.” He replies. “The only…”
“How can you say that?” I ask him. “Jare…” I shake my head. “Jare, you should go… when you’re strong enough… I’ll help you find an apartment… I…”
“Do you think asking me to leave doesn’t hurt?” He asks, his voice steadily rising until he’s nearly yelling. “Jensen!” It’s more than anger in his voice, there’s pain and hurt, too-things I didn’t want to hear.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” I whisper.
“You are!” He yells. “Asking me to leave… hurts! Okay?”
I just stare at him. He’s yelling at me. I don’t know what to say. It’s almost funny. I don’t think I can remember Jared ever yelling at me. I don’t think I can remember Jared ever yelling at all-at least not this way, not like this. Finally, I say, pointedly, “You wanted to leave.”
My voice still sounds dull through the pounding of my heart in my ears. Jared yelling at me has managed to make things worse-my breath is hitching, and the tightness around my chest makes me not want to breathe at all, rather than taking the quick and shallow breaths I usually do when having a panic attack. I don’t want to pass out like I did in LA, so I concentrate, force myself to breathe, slow and deep, try to slow my heart, swallow the nausea that’s settled painfully in my stomach.
“You would throw that back in my face.” He sighs. “You say you don’t want to hurt me… but you do know that’s all you’ve been doing, right?”
Again, I find myself just staring at him, and I can feel the shaking start in my hands, move its way up my arms until my shoulders are tense with the effort to keep from rocking back and forth.
“Asking me to leave? Hurts!” He’s still yelling. “It hurts, Jensen! Do you get that?” He’s staring at me, wide-eyed, and I swear his eyes are glassy, like they’re glazed over with just a hint of tears that won’t fall but are there nonetheless.
“Jared.” I want to say ‘you said that already’, but bite my tongue, and probably for the best-my voice is none too steady, it’s hard enough to say his name. I can feel chills running up and down my arms, my back, my spine… the sweat along my forehead, my neck, feels cold, then hot again. My body trembles.
“Jen…” My nickname again, finally, and I don’t know why, don’t know what I did or what I said to finally get him to use it again, but maybe it doesn’t matter, because at least he’s not yelling any more. “Jen… the only reason you can hurt me… is because I let you.” And after a pause, and a deep breath, “…the same reason I can hurt you.”
His words barely register, and my hands are still shaking and my breath is coming short and shallow, too fast, even though I still feel like I don’t want to breathe at all. I’m not sure which is better.
Jared notices immediately.
“Jensen?” He turns to me, and takes my hands, and that just makes the shaking worse.
“Jare, please… Please… I need…” I need him to get away from me. I need to be able to think. I need to stop shaking, to stop sweating to stop… Just to stop. I need to stop. To back up. To think. Without him here. I swallow, try again.
His hands find my shoulders, and he’s close to me-too close. “Ja… Jare… Jared…” I stutter. My breath comes faster and I close my eyes, force myself to breathe-in and out… in and out… “…in and out…” I whisper under my breath.
“Jenny, breathe…” Jared whispers, and then he echoes my “…in and out…”
I push at him, shove him away, needing space, needing room to breathe. “Please… just…”
I’m gasping for air at this point, my heart is pounding, and I can feel the sweat on my forehead, drop by drop sliding down my skin, slowly, over heated cheeks to my lips, and I think that maybe it tastes like tears. Every one of my senses is on overdrive-a pinch feels like a knife digging into my skin, the sweat feels like I’m in the shower. I’m hyper-aware.
“Jen…” Jared reaches out to me, and that’s when everything gets fuzzy.
I start keeling over, falling forward, falling towards him, and his hands are suddenly on my shoulders, gripping my shirt, my skin, tight, so tight. Fingers dig into the muscle, into the bone. My breath stops in a gasp, and my body lurches again, it feels like I’m going to throw up, but I don’t.
Suddenly, I’m lying back against the pillows, and there are hands skimming over my body, warm and gentle hands that soothe and calm. Fingers press against my lips, push into my mouth, a voice I recognize but can’t identify whispers quiet in my ear, words that I don’t consciously understand. “Swallow these… swallow, Jenny...”
I cough, instinctively, convulsively, and the hands are stronger, something holds me up, keeps me stilled when my body curls against the invasion. The voice returns, still soft, and I’m reminded of my mother when I was in my teens and having a panic attack, soothing, pleading, almost begging, but the voice is different.
“Shhh… Jenny… Jen…” I try to focus on the oddly soothing voice, the words, but can’t, and when I open my eyes, the world is swimming around me, and my head starts pounding in time with my heart. “Jen… just swallow these, okay? Shhhh…”
“Jared?” My voice sounds far away as I let my eyes slip closed again, grateful when the pain in my head follows the loss of light and dancing, blurred images. I’m not sure it’s Jared’s name I called, but I hope it was, think it was. My throat feels thick and dry as I try to swallow.
“It’s me… I’m here… shhhh……shhhh…” Soft skin presses to mine, fingers work their way into my hair, trace gentle and warm patterns against my scalp, calming and easing away the fear. “It’s okay… It’s okay, Jen… …No… let me hold on to this… you’ll spill it, Jenny…” he continues softly as I try to take the glass of water from him with trembling hands. “It’s okay…” And he keeps talking, but it’s no longer words I hear, just sounds.
I don’t know how much time passes before I’m able to open my eyes again, before the pain is less and I can breathe again. It’s an unnatural heat that’s both dry and damp against my forehead that brings me around, and I leave my eyes closed for a minute when I realize the heat is Jared-his lips-pressing a light and tender kiss I’ve never known before to my skin.
Comforting noises, murmurs and whispers become words again, my name, nickname, spoken lightly, softly in Jared’s Texas drawl. “Jen… Jenny…” His fingers are still in my hair, and I allow myself to feel for a minute, feel comforted and safe, at ease and warm. “Wake up, Jenny… please…”
He’s not quite begging, not desperate yet, not scared, and I find myself thankful for that. I shift on the couch, open my eyes, and Jared sits up quickly, taking with him the warmth of his fingers from my head and his gentle, even breath from my face. “Jare…”
“Jensen.”
I just look at him for a time, and it’s he who breaks the silence, as it’s been often of late. “I gave you two Xanax…” He offers quietly. “That’s… what it said on the bottle…”
I nod. “That’s right…” I whisper, and lean my head back against the armrest of the couch with a heavy sigh.
“Jen…” He’s still pretty freaked-out, though he’s trying to stay calm. I think that’s partially for me-and I appreciate the effort-but I can see past the façade. “Jen… are they always…?”
I shake my head ‘no’ as I raise an arm to lay it over my eyes, still far too conscious of the in-out, in-out of my now slowed breathing and the pounding of my heart, the feel of air against my skin.
Jared reaches out and touches my arm, and it’s almost painful. “Jen…” He tries my name again. “Jen… are you okay?”
I manage a smile. “Yeah… Getting there, at least… thanks… for the…”
“Yeah, no problem…” Jared says, and then there’s silence again. I wait for him to say something, to break the silence, and I’m not disappointed. “Um… Jen?” His hand slides from my arm across my shirt to rest on my chest, over my heart.
I lift my arm from over my eyes, glance at him from under half-closed lids. “Yeah, Jare?”
“What we were talking about...”
I barely remember. Everything beyond the nightmare-beyond waking up in the kitchen-is blurred. There are bits and pieces of telling him about my panic attacks, something in the back of my mind telling me that I told him what the nightmare was about, but nothing clear, that I can hold on to and really call real.
“My panic attacks?” I guess. “Something… about them.” I venture quietly.
His fingers tighten in the cotton of my shirt, then loosen, and he smoothes the fabric, gently patting my chest before removing his hand. “Jare…” I whisper.
“Yeah, Jen?”
“Are we…” I want to ask him if we’re okay, but I already know the answer. We’re not. We haven’t been-not for a long time. I just hope we can get back there-to okay-to wherever that is. “Are we… going to be okay?” I amend the wording mid-question.
“I think so.” Jared answers softly. “I hope so.” And there’s more than hope in his voice, there’s belief and trust and what I want to think is an honest wanting to work things out. “Hey Jenny? Don’t ask me to… leave again, okay?” He pauses, looks down. “Unless… you know… you…”
With that, what we were talking about floods back to me. I remember. Remember him yelling at me, saying that me asking him to leave hurts… me telling him I didn’t want to hurt him… “I won’t.” I breathe. “You… you’re welcome here, Jared… always.”
He nods thoughtfully. “Jen?”
“Yeah, Jared.” I smile this time-it’s getting redundant.
“Nothing.” He smiles, and both of us chuckle at the shared amusement. Our eyes meet, and there’s laughter in his eyes, and in mine, and things feel like they really are getting back towards ‘okay’.
We sit there in silence for a long time. Hours pass, during which time he gets a book from the guest room, and I pick up the book I’d been reading and left on the coffee table. He settles opposite me, and we both stretch out our legs so they’re intertwined along the middle of the couch. He leans against the wall. I only have the armrest to lean back against, so I end up curled forward, but it’s comfortable enough when I settle to my right, against the cushions.
His legs are freakishly long. I swear his feet reach my hips, stretched the full length of the sofa. My feet reach his thighs, and I wiggle sock-covered feet. He swats at them idly, not looking away from his book. “That tickles, Jenny.”
I smile, and do it again. This time he looks up, lowers his book, and smiles back.
Three hours later, we’re still reading, still glancing at each other over the tops of our books when we think the other isn’t looking.
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