Early Mornings and Late Nights Under Overcast Sky (Jensen/Jared RPS) -- 33/? (WIP)
Title: Early Mornings and Late Nights Under Overcast Sky
Characters/Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki; Jensen Ackles / Luanne (OFC); Jared Padalecki/Pete (OMC); Jared/Eric Kripke/JDM; 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?
Come on! Hop in the handbasket! There be room here for everyone!
Spoilers: Overall there’s really nothing to see here… there are a few very vague spoilers for “Bugs” and some minor spoilers for “Faith” and “Bloody Mary”.
-------------------------
Chapter Thirty-Three: Conversations Pt. 3: Turning Point
Rating: R for adult content, conversation, and the evil, evil cliffhanger
Mr. Sternfeld doesn’t run a pharmacy in Vancouver as far as I know (but maybe he does… *insert Twilight Zone music here*). I don’t know if there’s a Sentry Road.
Pairing: Jensen/Jared, as I keep promising, we’re getting there
Word Count: 2,570
Medium-type spoilerage for “Faith”
Chapter Thirty-Three: Conversations Pt. 3: Turning Point
“You were laughing at me.” I accuse while we’re stopped at a traffic light about five minutes from the pharmacy.
“Say what?” Jared turns to look at me, his fingers tapping to the beat of Live’s Selling the Drama. I left Throwing Copper in the cd player the last time I was in the car. I’m already flipping through the cd case to find something else. I’m just not in the mood for Live. Something harder. Linkin Park maybe.
Or Disturbed.
“You were laughing at me.” I repeat, debating between Meteora or The Sickness.
“Meteora. I’m not listening to Disturbed.” Jared says, making my decision for me. “What’s wrong with Live, anyway?”
“Nothing.” I mutter, handing him Meteora. Moments later the car is filled with the heavy bass of Don’t Stay. “You were laughing at me. You were calling me a faggot…”
Jared skips to Somewhere I Belong and looks at me. “I would never laugh at you, Jen. And I think I’m the last person in the world you ever have to worry about calling you a faggot. Besides… it’d be a little like the pot calling the kettle black, wouldn’t it?”
“I guess…” I break off, nervously knead my hands in my lap. “I just… I don’t know Jared… I mean… and you’re not really… gay? Are you?”
“Well… I could be.” Jared says. He sounds a little uncertain. “I’m bisexual. I like men, and women.”
I flush. “I know what bisexual means, Jared.”
“Just saying… I loved Sandy.” He swallows at the mention of her name. “I was going to marry her… and it wouldn’t have been a lie. I loved her.” He smirks. “I loved being with her.” There’s a leer in his eye as he smirks, lets me know what he means, specifically.
I nod. I can’t believe we’re talking about this. And while in my sportscar, speeding along the highway towards Mr. Sternfeld’s pharmacy. “Turn off here.” I point to the right at the upcoming exit. “I know you loved her… so why...” I’m not sure what to say-I want to ask why all of this happened, why he started calling my name while he was in bed with her, or if she was just saying that to be spiteful, because he fell in love with me-I don’t have words to express the question clearly. “Why… why all of this?” I hold my hands up helplessly.
Jared nods as I tell him to turn off, guides the car smoothly off the highway and turns onto Sentry Road. “Jen…” His voice is all serious, and as he parks in the parking lot of the strip mall where the pharmacy’s located, as well as a small grocery store, reaches over to stop me from getting out of the car. “Listen to me a minute, okay?”
I nod again, stare out the window. I can’t bring myself to look at him, though I can feel his eyes boring holes into me. His hand is hot on my arm through the jacket I wear.
“Jen… I didn’t expect… to fall in love with you.”
It’s the second time he’s said he fell in love with me. It’s still not any easier to hear.
“But I did… and… if that makes you uncomfortable, I’m sorry. I mean… I’m sorry it makes you uncomfortable. I’m not sorry I fell in love with you.”
I cannot believe I am here, listening to this. Listening to a man… my friend… my co-star tell me that he fell in love with me, and that he’s not sorry about it. At least the car windows are closed, no one else can hear us.
He pauses a minute, and I’m hoping he’s done talking.
“Okay, you-“ I don’t want to say he loves me, because maybe he doesn’t anymore-“fell in love with me… and you’re not sorry.” I put my hand on the door handle to open it. “Can we go get my prescriptions?”
“No. Not yet. I’m not done talking, Jensen. Yes, I fell in love with you. No, I’m not sorry I did. As for your… fear of me laughing at you, or making fun of you… for-“ he breaks off, shakes his head and I look again out the window-“for whatever you may or may not feel for me-“ very diplomatic of him-“believe me when I tell you, Jen… I am the last person you have to worry about calling you a faggot… or a homo… or anything like that, okay?” He pauses again, continues when I don’t acknowledge his words. “I would never do that to someone… Not just because I’ve been there, though I have.”
I nod, go to open the door.
“Jensen, stop.” He sighs. “I’m not done… Hear me out.”
I slump into the seat, not really wanting to hear this. Any of it. I just want to get my drugs, get whatever it is we need at the grocery, and go home. To sleep. But I won’t sleep. I know that much.
“Jensen… look… I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t know what you want to hear.” Maybe he can tell I really don’t want to listen, maybe he just decides to have pity on me. “Just… believe me when I tell you that I’ll be honest with you. If you have questions, ask them. I’ll answer you. As truthfully as I can.”
“Will you tell me what they did to you?” I ask, and I’m not sure where the words came from, and I’m not sure why I asked. Part of me wants to take it back-it’s too much to ask, too personal.
He sighs this time, a quiet and defeated sound. “Yes.” And there’s a pregnant pause, before he opens the driver’s side door and swings one long leg out of the car. “But not here, and not now. When we get back home.”
Home.
My apartment is home. To him now as well as to me. And for some reason that I can’t put my finger on and that I don’t want to think about at the moment, that doesn’t scare me… doesn’t freak me out quite as much as I think it should.
I get out of the car, follow him into the pharmacy, where I approach Mr. Sternfeld. “Jensen Ackles. Dr. McKayne called in my prescriptions-are they ready?”
He retrieves the two bottles from the shelf, scans them and asks if I need direction or counseling on their use. “No thanks.” I tell him, check off the appropriate box that notes I’ve either been advised or declined counseling with regards to the medication I’m picking up and make payment on my bank card.
Jared whizzes through the local grocery, buys milk and a dozen eggs and some butter, a loaf of bread, cold cuts and other things that get tossed into the cart too quickly for my tired eyes and brain to notice or comprehend. I think he buys soups, some canned vegetables and some microwavable TV dinners, and I remember seeing a gallon of vanilla/chocolate ice cream get added at the last minute.
I’m exhausted, and admittedly little to no help in getting the groceries into the trunk of my car. Jared tells me to buckle myself up, he’ll finish. I ask him to stop for coffee on the way home, tell him there’s a Dunkin Donuts and a Starbucks on the way, right off the highway.
“No. No caffeine, Jen...” He whispers. There’s something in that voice, behind his blue-green eyes that I don’t want to hear, don’t want to see. Something that sounds far too much like concern and caring that I’ve previously only gotten from mom, and only when I was in grade school. It hurts, tugs at my heart in a way little has in years.
“Come on, Jared. It’ll help me stay awake.” I argue.
“You need to sleep. And caffeine isn’t going to help the panic attacks. No coffee.”
I sigh and close my eyes, lean my head back against the headrest as he turns the key in the ignition and the car jumps to life.
He shakes me awake when we get back to my apartment, watches as I drag my body up the stairs, open the door and stumble inside. “Lie down.” He directs. “I’ll take care of the food.”
I wake in a cold sweat on the couch not twenty minutes later. Jared’s packed away the groceries and is reading, curled at my feet on the opposite end of the sofa. My eyes are wide and I’m breathing heavy, and I can feel the sweat on my forehead, the chill crossing my skin, settling deep into my bones.
Jared marks his page, puts the book down when I wake up. “Another nightmare?” He asks needlessly.
I nod, swallow a few times and stare at him, unblinking, as I concentrate on getting my breathing back to normal.
“Want to tell me?”
“Not really.” I don’t remember much of this one, other than that it was scary-aren’t all nightmares? It was Jared again of course, I remember that much.
He lets it go this time, asks if I’m hungry. We make sandwiches and eat in the living room. Jared shuts off the playstation without asking after I turn it on.
“What’d you do that for?” I ask around a mouthful of half-chewed turkey breast, bread and mustard.
“We’re not playing games, Jen. If you’re not going to sleep, we’re going to talk.”
“Can we read?” Hopefully. I just really want to avoid this-whatever ‘this’ is that he wants to talk about. I admittedly would like to hear what happened to him… what was done to him to put him in the hospital for a week… though the sheer thought of Jared in a high, thin hospital bed does strange, painful things to my insides. Picturing him in any way similar to where I was for the filming of “Faith”-in hospital garb with tubes and machines and buttons and things to keep someone’s spirit from leaving their body-makes my heart twist, makes my stomach clench in ways that in short mean ‘oh my God, Jared’.
“No.”
Damn. Though, if we’re talking, maybe it’ll be more about him. I’m not sure what there is to say about me. Or my feelings. Maybe it’s because I’m still not quite sure what I’m feeling. Or that I’m not willing to acknowledge it. I’ve tried not to think about it. Thinking about it gets me into trouble-gives me panic attacks.
But Jared wants to talk. About feelings. “Okay then, Sammy.”
“Stop it, Jensen. I’m being serious. We have to be back on set tomorrow.”
“So am I. Jared, please.”
“No. We’re having this out, Jensen. I need to know how you feel. Or if you’re not sure, how you think you feel.” He looks at me. “There are things you’re asking to know about me… things I haven’t told anyone-not even my mom. But I’ll tell you, Jen…”
I interrupt him. “You don’t have to tell me.” He doesn’t, though I’d like him to. I’m saying it more as a way of hopefully getting out of telling him anything of how I feel. My heart’s already racing inside my chest, because I’m thinking of the words that I may or may not have to say.
“No, I will. So God help me, I will, Jensen… Because you asked.”
Again with the use of my full name. I miss my nickname. He keeps wavering back and forth between the two-Jensen and Jen. And sometimes he calls me Jenny. It used to piss me off. Now it warms my heart.
“You…”
He plows on like I never said a word, repeats himself. “God help me, I’ll tell you, Jen… But I need to hear from you… need to know...” He pauses, and I’m not sure if it’s for dramatic effect or if he really needs the moment to take a breath and compose himself. He doesn’t look all that shaky, but I can see the glimmer in his eyes that says maybe he is. “I have to know…”
“What? What do you want to hear from me?”
He sighs. “Truth. What’s going around inside that head of yours… Really… I’m not asking for a lot.”
Maybe he doesn’t think he is. “You are, Jared. You are asking for a lot… You’re asking me to think about what I’m… maybe… feeling, when I don’t even know myself. You’re asking me to tell you the truth when I don’t know what that is yet.”
He reaches out suddenly and takes my hand, leaving me to stare at our now joined hands, intertwined fingers as he moves to link them. I’d ask what he’s doing, but I have a feeling he’s about to tell me.
I move my fingers in his. It’s different from holding hands with a woman. His hand is larger, stronger. His fingers are longer than any woman’s whose hand I’ve held. There are more calluses on his fingertips, the skin is rougher, drier. I can feel the ridge along the side of his middle finger, a cut from the set when he tripped up the stairs in “Faith”. It had required stitches, and scarred into a fine white line that’s more tangible than visible.
He runs the pad of his thumb along my skin. “So are you okay with this?” He asks.
I hadn’t really thought about it in that way. “It’s different.” I tell him. “Not necessarily… bad… just different.” Which isn’t really an answer to what he asked me.
He takes his hand from mine, drags it the length of my arm to my shoulder, over the thermal material of the long-sleeved shirt I’d shrugged into earlier. It feels… nice. Pleasant. I don’t draw away from his touch-in fact, I lean into it, my body inclining towards his.
“Jare…” I whisper. “I don’t… know what you want me to say, and I don’t know what you want to hear. I’m not going to pretend to know what you need. I can’t promise you anything.”
“I’m not asking for promises.”
“Good, because I don’t have any to give you.” And I don’t. I can’t even promise him that I won’t hurt him. I don’t even think it’d be fair to promise him that I’d try not to hurt him.
“Can you try?” Jared asks, and that question holds so many possibilities, could mean so many different things.
As I’m trying to figure out what he exactly means by that-closing my eyes and turning my head away from him for a moment’s pause, because my heart’s still racing and I can feel the slow burn of panic slowly rising inside-his hands turn me gently back towards him. I find myself staring wide-eyed at him, and just then it gets hard to breathe.
“Can you try?” He whispers, one hand on my shoulder still, from where it trailed a feather path up my arm, the other cupping my cheek.
My chest constricts, and it’s harder still to breathe.
“Breathe, Jenny…” He instructs gently, leaning closer, so close I can feel the warmth of his breath on my lips. Closer and closer until the warmth I feel no longer comes from his breath, but from his lips. “Breathe…”
-------------------------
Characters/Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki; Jensen Ackles / Luanne (OFC); Jared Padalecki/Pete (OMC); Jared/Eric Kripke/JDM; 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?
Come on! Hop in the handbasket! There be room here for everyone!
Spoilers: Overall there’s really nothing to see here… there are a few very vague spoilers for “Bugs” and some minor spoilers for “Faith” and “Bloody Mary”.
-------------------------
Chapter Thirty-Three: Conversations Pt. 3: Turning Point
Rating: R for adult content, conversation, and the evil, evil cliffhanger
Mr. Sternfeld doesn’t run a pharmacy in Vancouver as far as I know (but maybe he does… *insert Twilight Zone music here*). I don’t know if there’s a Sentry Road.
Pairing: Jensen/Jared, as I keep promising, we’re getting there
Word Count: 2,570
Medium-type spoilerage for “Faith”
Chapter Thirty-Three: Conversations Pt. 3: Turning Point
“You were laughing at me.” I accuse while we’re stopped at a traffic light about five minutes from the pharmacy.
“Say what?” Jared turns to look at me, his fingers tapping to the beat of Live’s Selling the Drama. I left Throwing Copper in the cd player the last time I was in the car. I’m already flipping through the cd case to find something else. I’m just not in the mood for Live. Something harder. Linkin Park maybe.
Or Disturbed.
“You were laughing at me.” I repeat, debating between Meteora or The Sickness.
“Meteora. I’m not listening to Disturbed.” Jared says, making my decision for me. “What’s wrong with Live, anyway?”
“Nothing.” I mutter, handing him Meteora. Moments later the car is filled with the heavy bass of Don’t Stay. “You were laughing at me. You were calling me a faggot…”
Jared skips to Somewhere I Belong and looks at me. “I would never laugh at you, Jen. And I think I’m the last person in the world you ever have to worry about calling you a faggot. Besides… it’d be a little like the pot calling the kettle black, wouldn’t it?”
“I guess…” I break off, nervously knead my hands in my lap. “I just… I don’t know Jared… I mean… and you’re not really… gay? Are you?”
“Well… I could be.” Jared says. He sounds a little uncertain. “I’m bisexual. I like men, and women.”
I flush. “I know what bisexual means, Jared.”
“Just saying… I loved Sandy.” He swallows at the mention of her name. “I was going to marry her… and it wouldn’t have been a lie. I loved her.” He smirks. “I loved being with her.” There’s a leer in his eye as he smirks, lets me know what he means, specifically.
I nod. I can’t believe we’re talking about this. And while in my sportscar, speeding along the highway towards Mr. Sternfeld’s pharmacy. “Turn off here.” I point to the right at the upcoming exit. “I know you loved her… so why...” I’m not sure what to say-I want to ask why all of this happened, why he started calling my name while he was in bed with her, or if she was just saying that to be spiteful, because he fell in love with me-I don’t have words to express the question clearly. “Why… why all of this?” I hold my hands up helplessly.
Jared nods as I tell him to turn off, guides the car smoothly off the highway and turns onto Sentry Road. “Jen…” His voice is all serious, and as he parks in the parking lot of the strip mall where the pharmacy’s located, as well as a small grocery store, reaches over to stop me from getting out of the car. “Listen to me a minute, okay?”
I nod again, stare out the window. I can’t bring myself to look at him, though I can feel his eyes boring holes into me. His hand is hot on my arm through the jacket I wear.
“Jen… I didn’t expect… to fall in love with you.”
It’s the second time he’s said he fell in love with me. It’s still not any easier to hear.
“But I did… and… if that makes you uncomfortable, I’m sorry. I mean… I’m sorry it makes you uncomfortable. I’m not sorry I fell in love with you.”
I cannot believe I am here, listening to this. Listening to a man… my friend… my co-star tell me that he fell in love with me, and that he’s not sorry about it. At least the car windows are closed, no one else can hear us.
He pauses a minute, and I’m hoping he’s done talking.
“Okay, you-“ I don’t want to say he loves me, because maybe he doesn’t anymore-“fell in love with me… and you’re not sorry.” I put my hand on the door handle to open it. “Can we go get my prescriptions?”
“No. Not yet. I’m not done talking, Jensen. Yes, I fell in love with you. No, I’m not sorry I did. As for your… fear of me laughing at you, or making fun of you… for-“ he breaks off, shakes his head and I look again out the window-“for whatever you may or may not feel for me-“ very diplomatic of him-“believe me when I tell you, Jen… I am the last person you have to worry about calling you a faggot… or a homo… or anything like that, okay?” He pauses again, continues when I don’t acknowledge his words. “I would never do that to someone… Not just because I’ve been there, though I have.”
I nod, go to open the door.
“Jensen, stop.” He sighs. “I’m not done… Hear me out.”
I slump into the seat, not really wanting to hear this. Any of it. I just want to get my drugs, get whatever it is we need at the grocery, and go home. To sleep. But I won’t sleep. I know that much.
“Jensen… look… I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t know what you want to hear.” Maybe he can tell I really don’t want to listen, maybe he just decides to have pity on me. “Just… believe me when I tell you that I’ll be honest with you. If you have questions, ask them. I’ll answer you. As truthfully as I can.”
“Will you tell me what they did to you?” I ask, and I’m not sure where the words came from, and I’m not sure why I asked. Part of me wants to take it back-it’s too much to ask, too personal.
He sighs this time, a quiet and defeated sound. “Yes.” And there’s a pregnant pause, before he opens the driver’s side door and swings one long leg out of the car. “But not here, and not now. When we get back home.”
Home.
My apartment is home. To him now as well as to me. And for some reason that I can’t put my finger on and that I don’t want to think about at the moment, that doesn’t scare me… doesn’t freak me out quite as much as I think it should.
I get out of the car, follow him into the pharmacy, where I approach Mr. Sternfeld. “Jensen Ackles. Dr. McKayne called in my prescriptions-are they ready?”
He retrieves the two bottles from the shelf, scans them and asks if I need direction or counseling on their use. “No thanks.” I tell him, check off the appropriate box that notes I’ve either been advised or declined counseling with regards to the medication I’m picking up and make payment on my bank card.
Jared whizzes through the local grocery, buys milk and a dozen eggs and some butter, a loaf of bread, cold cuts and other things that get tossed into the cart too quickly for my tired eyes and brain to notice or comprehend. I think he buys soups, some canned vegetables and some microwavable TV dinners, and I remember seeing a gallon of vanilla/chocolate ice cream get added at the last minute.
I’m exhausted, and admittedly little to no help in getting the groceries into the trunk of my car. Jared tells me to buckle myself up, he’ll finish. I ask him to stop for coffee on the way home, tell him there’s a Dunkin Donuts and a Starbucks on the way, right off the highway.
“No. No caffeine, Jen...” He whispers. There’s something in that voice, behind his blue-green eyes that I don’t want to hear, don’t want to see. Something that sounds far too much like concern and caring that I’ve previously only gotten from mom, and only when I was in grade school. It hurts, tugs at my heart in a way little has in years.
“Come on, Jared. It’ll help me stay awake.” I argue.
“You need to sleep. And caffeine isn’t going to help the panic attacks. No coffee.”
I sigh and close my eyes, lean my head back against the headrest as he turns the key in the ignition and the car jumps to life.
He shakes me awake when we get back to my apartment, watches as I drag my body up the stairs, open the door and stumble inside. “Lie down.” He directs. “I’ll take care of the food.”
I wake in a cold sweat on the couch not twenty minutes later. Jared’s packed away the groceries and is reading, curled at my feet on the opposite end of the sofa. My eyes are wide and I’m breathing heavy, and I can feel the sweat on my forehead, the chill crossing my skin, settling deep into my bones.
Jared marks his page, puts the book down when I wake up. “Another nightmare?” He asks needlessly.
I nod, swallow a few times and stare at him, unblinking, as I concentrate on getting my breathing back to normal.
“Want to tell me?”
“Not really.” I don’t remember much of this one, other than that it was scary-aren’t all nightmares? It was Jared again of course, I remember that much.
He lets it go this time, asks if I’m hungry. We make sandwiches and eat in the living room. Jared shuts off the playstation without asking after I turn it on.
“What’d you do that for?” I ask around a mouthful of half-chewed turkey breast, bread and mustard.
“We’re not playing games, Jen. If you’re not going to sleep, we’re going to talk.”
“Can we read?” Hopefully. I just really want to avoid this-whatever ‘this’ is that he wants to talk about. I admittedly would like to hear what happened to him… what was done to him to put him in the hospital for a week… though the sheer thought of Jared in a high, thin hospital bed does strange, painful things to my insides. Picturing him in any way similar to where I was for the filming of “Faith”-in hospital garb with tubes and machines and buttons and things to keep someone’s spirit from leaving their body-makes my heart twist, makes my stomach clench in ways that in short mean ‘oh my God, Jared’.
“No.”
Damn. Though, if we’re talking, maybe it’ll be more about him. I’m not sure what there is to say about me. Or my feelings. Maybe it’s because I’m still not quite sure what I’m feeling. Or that I’m not willing to acknowledge it. I’ve tried not to think about it. Thinking about it gets me into trouble-gives me panic attacks.
But Jared wants to talk. About feelings. “Okay then, Sammy.”
“Stop it, Jensen. I’m being serious. We have to be back on set tomorrow.”
“So am I. Jared, please.”
“No. We’re having this out, Jensen. I need to know how you feel. Or if you’re not sure, how you think you feel.” He looks at me. “There are things you’re asking to know about me… things I haven’t told anyone-not even my mom. But I’ll tell you, Jen…”
I interrupt him. “You don’t have to tell me.” He doesn’t, though I’d like him to. I’m saying it more as a way of hopefully getting out of telling him anything of how I feel. My heart’s already racing inside my chest, because I’m thinking of the words that I may or may not have to say.
“No, I will. So God help me, I will, Jensen… Because you asked.”
Again with the use of my full name. I miss my nickname. He keeps wavering back and forth between the two-Jensen and Jen. And sometimes he calls me Jenny. It used to piss me off. Now it warms my heart.
“You…”
He plows on like I never said a word, repeats himself. “God help me, I’ll tell you, Jen… But I need to hear from you… need to know...” He pauses, and I’m not sure if it’s for dramatic effect or if he really needs the moment to take a breath and compose himself. He doesn’t look all that shaky, but I can see the glimmer in his eyes that says maybe he is. “I have to know…”
“What? What do you want to hear from me?”
He sighs. “Truth. What’s going around inside that head of yours… Really… I’m not asking for a lot.”
Maybe he doesn’t think he is. “You are, Jared. You are asking for a lot… You’re asking me to think about what I’m… maybe… feeling, when I don’t even know myself. You’re asking me to tell you the truth when I don’t know what that is yet.”
He reaches out suddenly and takes my hand, leaving me to stare at our now joined hands, intertwined fingers as he moves to link them. I’d ask what he’s doing, but I have a feeling he’s about to tell me.
I move my fingers in his. It’s different from holding hands with a woman. His hand is larger, stronger. His fingers are longer than any woman’s whose hand I’ve held. There are more calluses on his fingertips, the skin is rougher, drier. I can feel the ridge along the side of his middle finger, a cut from the set when he tripped up the stairs in “Faith”. It had required stitches, and scarred into a fine white line that’s more tangible than visible.
He runs the pad of his thumb along my skin. “So are you okay with this?” He asks.
I hadn’t really thought about it in that way. “It’s different.” I tell him. “Not necessarily… bad… just different.” Which isn’t really an answer to what he asked me.
He takes his hand from mine, drags it the length of my arm to my shoulder, over the thermal material of the long-sleeved shirt I’d shrugged into earlier. It feels… nice. Pleasant. I don’t draw away from his touch-in fact, I lean into it, my body inclining towards his.
“Jare…” I whisper. “I don’t… know what you want me to say, and I don’t know what you want to hear. I’m not going to pretend to know what you need. I can’t promise you anything.”
“I’m not asking for promises.”
“Good, because I don’t have any to give you.” And I don’t. I can’t even promise him that I won’t hurt him. I don’t even think it’d be fair to promise him that I’d try not to hurt him.
“Can you try?” Jared asks, and that question holds so many possibilities, could mean so many different things.
As I’m trying to figure out what he exactly means by that-closing my eyes and turning my head away from him for a moment’s pause, because my heart’s still racing and I can feel the slow burn of panic slowly rising inside-his hands turn me gently back towards him. I find myself staring wide-eyed at him, and just then it gets hard to breathe.
“Can you try?” He whispers, one hand on my shoulder still, from where it trailed a feather path up my arm, the other cupping my cheek.
My chest constricts, and it’s harder still to breathe.
“Breathe, Jenny…” He instructs gently, leaning closer, so close I can feel the warmth of his breath on my lips. Closer and closer until the warmth I feel no longer comes from his breath, but from his lips. “Breathe…”
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