Forget Me Not (11 page)

His words sting my eyes but I fight through it. "Do you still have it? The bar?"

"Of course. I changed its name to Vera, though." He smiles, wistfully.

"And you made your money from just the one bar?" I can't get my head around it. He has done so well, so quickly.

"Pretty much. Vera owed nothing on the place, so I owned it outright and any profit was mine. After a few years of saving hard there was enough in the bank to buy another and then it just...spiraled." He seems so blasé about it all, as if anyone could do it if they had a little common sense.

"It doesn't just spiral for other people, Jesse. Others spend their whole lives trying to make a living from places like that and you did it so easily. It’s like you’re building up your Monopoly board, not your own little empire.”

"It’s not that simple, Mickey." All of a sudden his voice hardens and I worry that I’ve annoyed him. "There have been times when I thought I was going to lose everything, but I just kept pushing it, risking it all. I mean, what did I really have to lose? Money, that's all it is. Shit, I’ve been without it before.”

This whole conversation has flipped. The answers I’ve wanted are beginning to present themselves and now I feel unprepared. The emotion is thick in the air and I feel like I’m working too hard to keep it all tucked away.

He leans in, watching me intently. “I could lose it all and it wouldn’t be as hard as it was losing you."

My throat tightens, but it's through anger rather than upset.

"You never
lost
me, Jesse," I whisper, staring down at my glass.

"Yes, I did. I had to lose you."

My eyes dart back to his face, laced with confusion.

"Why?"

"It was in your best interests," he answers. He finishes his glass and places it back on the napkin, gazing at the table, not willing to look at me.

"Just stop! Stop bullshitting me and give me a straight answer!" My voice is louder than I intended and I’m momentarily aware of the snooping onlookers. Not wanting to put on a show, I lower my head and try to escape their prying eyes by covering the side of my face with my hand.

"Please, Jesse," I manage, my voice now a mere whisper. "I’ve waited ten years to know why you left me. Why you broke what we had. The least I deserve is a genuine answer." I look up from the table and I’m taken aback by his pained expression.

"I’m trying! Stop acting like you’re the only one who hurt. I went through it all too, Michaela. I didn't leave Starling without giving you a second thought. I grieved for you, everyday."

I feel as though I’ve been slapped. His booming voice has recaptured everyone’s attention. I don’t like the volume let alone the context of his words. He doesn’t deserve to compare the end of our relationship to a death when he was the one that killed it.

"I wasn't dead," I snap.

Jesse’s breath becomes harsh but I can’t decipher whether his unsteadiness is due to anger or upset. "I know." He leans back in his chair and straightens his shirt out. "Look, this is getting pretty intense,” he mutters, eyeing the curious crowd around us. “Can’t we just...”

"What? Talk another day?" I interject, nodding sarcastically through my irritation. I can't keep doing this. I stand up and grab my jacket from the back of the chair before turning to leave.

"Michaela."

Jesse is right behind me as I walk onto the street. I don't want to cry again, I hate crying and that’s all I seem to have done lately. But, I'm far too angry to fight the upset and within seconds tears are falling down my cheeks. I can't let him see me like this. I continue to walk away from him, doing my best not to fall in these damn heels.

"Michaela, please don't walk away from me." He calls pleadingly from almost directly behind me. I ignore him. "For fucks sake, Mickey, STOP!" he barks. His voice is angered and aggrieved, trembling in the still air between us.

I stop.

My feet are immobilized under the shock that he has just shouted at me. He takes my arm and manoeuvres me into a dark alley directly next to his wine bar. I’m immensely grateful for the darkness for masking my tears, but my relief is exiled when Jesse steps back and raises his arm. He waves it aggressively in front of a security light and it reacts by casting a harsh brightness over us.

I wipe my tears quickly, but it’s too late. His brow drops when he sees the wetness layering my face. He has never before seen me properly cry. Not like this. I had no reason for tears before he left.

Turning his back on me he brushes his hands through his hair, in exasperation, I think, and then turns to look at me again. Anxious eyes fixate on me as his hands remain knotted behind his head. He’s completely out of his depth.

As he studies me I can only imagine what he sees. A fool stood in the street in the early hours of the morning, crying over a boy who left her ten years ago. I agree, I’m a fool, but now my boy is back, disguised as a new man who won’t open up to me when all I want is to unearth the Jesse that I know I can help. It's as though he is a different person and no longer has the answers that I’m looking for. I cry for the Jesse I want him to be. My Jesse would never watch me hurt like this.

“What do you want from me, Mickey? Huh? There’s nothing I can say to make this all okay.” He shrugs, not out of indifference, but out of resignation.

“I just want the truth. I want answers,” I reply, suddenly uncaring about the telling instability of my wavering voice.

In one action he drops his arms and clenches his fists. His wild blue eyes flash bright as he paces. His rage is palpable, but I’m hypnotized by him.

“If you’ve waited ten years for answers why can’t you wait just a little longer? Why are you
so
eager
to relive it? I don’t want to! Fuck!” he roars, stopping to conduct a perfect right hook, aiming for nothing, hitting nothing. He doesn’t know how to suppress his anger and I don’t know how to help him, other than to let him vent. His beautiful blue eyes are brought to life by a veil of tears that has yet to fall and his jaw is set into a hard line.

“I don’t want to talk about it all, about why I had to go, about how I had to leave but by leaving I was giving up the one thing…the
only
thing that made me happy. I can’t talk about it, I can’t relive it. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, Mickey, and the most pain I’ve ever felt.” 

Knowing just how much pain he’d endured at the hands of Dale, brings even more depth to his words. My sobs arrive fast and heavy at Jesse’s revelations and clear distress. I try desperately to comfort him but he restrains me with his hands gripped tight around my wrists. He’s shaking with decade old rage, but I don’t fear him. I just fear not being able to help him.

“Then why did you go? I wanted to be with you like we planned. You should’ve taken me with you,” I cry through a wall of tears.

“And take you away from a good life, a loving family and security? I couldn’t taint your perfect life with my shit. How could I do that to you? I loved you too much, Mickey, I couldn’t let you throw it all away for me and my problems.” His voice is no longer blaring, but it’s no less pained.

“They weren’t
your
problems, they were
our
problems.”

“No, Mickey.”

“When you love someone you share your problems.”

“But you didn’t have any problems!
I
was your only problem, and when I left I solved it.”

“You weren’t a problem to solve, Jesse, and that wasn’t your decision to make.”

“I had to make that decision on behalf of us. You had everything going for you and I would’ve just held you back. What could I possibly have offered you?”

“I didn’t need you to have a career plan or money, Jesse, I just needed you. I needed…I
need
this.” I jerk my hands free from his grip and press them caringly on either side of his head. “And this,” I whisper, moving them cautiously to his chest, letting them hover there until the thumping tattoo of his heart lessens.

Jesse’s hands ascend to my own and he cups them with urgency, as if they offer him relief. I can only hope they help ease his pain.

“I don’t know why you think either of them is so great,” he mumbles.

This man before me, with his expensive clothes and commanding presence, is nothing but a wounded and insecure boy
. My Jesse
. I have wanted to see him so desperately, but when confronted with such powerful insecurity there’s a part of me that wishes I could still believe the façade.

“I could talk all night about why they’re so great, why
you’re
so great, but be with me and let me show you. Come to Starling.”

The sudden flinch is undeniable. I’ve asked too much. With his chin resting on my forehead I can’t see his face, but I can feel the apprehension rise within his chest.

“Ask anything else of me but that,” he sighs. He presses his lips to my head, apologetically, kissing away any hope that I had and casting it into the city’s sewers.

Our passion is quieter now and my sobs have transcended to teary sniffles. Jesse’s wild blues have been tamed, but their sadness is stubborn.

“I waited for you, ya’ know. I looked for you,” he says, his tone gentle.

“What?”

“Why else did you think I chose New York? I knew you were going to NYU so I went past there searching for you almost every day. I never saw you,” he explains softly into my hair.

My body sags with his words as I’m confronted by the idea that I could’ve seen him sooner if I’d only kept true to my initial plans.

“I never went. I wouldn’t leave Starling in case you came back for me.”

He shakes his head regretfully. “You didn’t go to college.”

“I went to community college, for a little while.”

He shakes his head again. “You deserved better. You should’ve forgotten about me.”

“Did you forget about me?”

“Never,” he mutters.

“You think you did right by me, Jesse, but you did me no favors by leaving. Every day since you left I have wished for you to come back.”

“I’m back now.”

Jesse leans in and kisses my tearstained cheek. His arm wraps around me and the fingers of his free hand manipulate a loose curl that frames my face. I feel the warmth in his embrace, but not in his words.

“You’re not back. You’re in New York, and tomorrow I’ll be in Starling.” I turn my head away as I’m reminded again of why our relationship is doomed.

"Then come back to mine, be with me for as long as we can," he purrs against my ear.

"I can't. I have to get back to Zoe."

"You can get back to Zoe in the morning."

His kisses continue their desperate dance down my neck and I have to fight harder in my resistance.

"No, in the morning I need to get home. Please," I say, pushing him away softly.

"Mickey, I don't want to let you go yet."

"Then walk me back," I plead, somehow feeling responsible for this goodbye.

He sighs, frustrated I think, but he gallantly walks me back to the hotel with his arm around my shoulder and frequent kisses at my ear. We don’t talk. I don’t have the strength for it. A goodbye is imminent and I need all the courage I can muster for it.

Standing in front of the hotel anticipating another heart wrenching farewell, I pull Jesse desperately close to me.

“Promise me this isn’t goodbye,” I say. My voice is low and pleading as I look down and fiddle with one of the buttons lining Jesse’s chest.

“I promise. Please stop worrying that I’m going to leave you again.”

I roll my eyes and sigh heavily. “I just can’t see how…I mean, we can’t…”

He lifts my chin up to face his beauty. “We can. We’ll work it out.”

His thumbs wipe at what I can only imagine is unflattering dry mascara on my cheeks. His forehead touches mine and his lips meet my own with a force so strong it pushes me back. He holds the back of my head with one hand and the other wraps around my waist. I’m blown away by the passion, the dominance, the public display of affection so unlike Jesse, and then I finally remember to kiss him back. My hands twist desperately into his hair and my body presses into him with a frantic enthusiasm. The momentum gradually slows until what started so eagerly and hard transgresses to an embrace that is tame and loving.

With one last kiss I turn and leave him without saying goodbye. I don’t think I can handle another.

Chapter 13

The drive back home is painfully slow. Zoe and I have barely spoken all morning. She briefly questioned me about what happened last night with Jesse, but she must have judged from my reaction that this wouldn’t be a great topic of conversation. Since then she’s wisely left me alone to sulk.
             

My eyes are underlined with heavy shadows from lack of sleep and my recently manicured nails have been bitten down to mere stumps. Jesse is to blame, of course. He hasn’t left my thoughts all night. I’ve been mourning yet another goodbye, regardless of his claim that I’d be seeing him again. How can I believe him? He lost my trust when he left the first time and he can’t earn it back with words alone.

Last night we began to break down the communication barrier that’s been keeping us apart and as painful as it was, it was what we both needed. We still have a long way to go and I still don’t know the catalyst that drove Jesse to finally make the decision to escape, but I do know that he feels remorse for leaving me, that he didn’t abandon me without a care. He felt the pain like I did, maybe not as radically, but he still wanted me and apparently still does. I now want to be with him more than ever, but last night was just a prelude to what could come. His heartbreak lies deep within the walls of Starling and knowing this only fuels my belief that Jesse will never be strong enough to come back. And, if he doesn’t come back then how can a relationship be possible?

After dropping Zoe off at Joanna's, I collect Benjamin from my parents. They are so enthusiastic with their questions about the exhibition they thankfully forget to mention anything Jesse-orientated. We slip away quickly and purposefully. I need to forget about New York with its damaged entrepreneurs and Benji with his infectious happiness is the perfect distraction.

We park up outside our house but instead of carrying our bags inside and moping around until bedtime we walk the short distance to the cafe where I get my morning coffee. I treat us to chocolate milkshakes as we sit outside in the rare but cleansing sun.

I vow to forget about last night, hell, the last week. This whole exhibition has been exhausting and after what I hope is a restful night tonight I plan on spending tomorrow enjoying the simple things in life.

"What would you like to do this weekend, Benji?"

"Can I play on my computer?"

"Well, yes but that's not what I meant, sweetheart. Let's go out for the day. We could go anywhere you like." I enthuse.

"Like Disneyworld?"

"Um…maybe somewhere a bit more local."

Slurping at the last dregs of his shake I can see him thinking hard.

"What about the sand dunes?"

"Didn't you go there yesterday?" I ask.

"Lily was too tired so we just stayed on the beach," he moans, pouting cutely.

"Okay, what if we walk through the dunes and carry on to the rock pools, see what we can catch?”

"Cool!"

"Cool, baby."

This will be a good weekend, exactly what I need to get my head cleared, Time out, just me and my savior.

Benjamin insists on tacos for dinner, so we have tacos. He insists on ice cream for dessert, so we have ice cream. He insists on watching his Transformers DVD before bed and he falls asleep ten minutes into the movie. My little distraction has bailed on me.

Once Benji has nestled into his bed I creep back downstairs, but find that without him to occupy my attention I have nothing to do. I have no work that can be done here and I can't sit and stare at the television all night. Deciding that there is nothing that can help me right now, I head to bed early despite knowing that I will not be lucky enough for sleep to take me.

I turn out the lights and slip into the cold sheets of my bed. It takes several punches of the pillow and many tosses and turns before I can get even remotely comfortable. The second my eyes close I am aware of a clicking, a tapping, a sharp knocking at my window. I try not to kid myself but there really is no denying the sound. I’ve heard it so many times before, but not for a very, very long time.

I jump out of bed in a hurry and cross the room to my window. When I sweep back the drapes and look to the street below, there he is. Jesse. Looking so out of place against the backdrop of Starling, dressed in a black suit with a white dress shirt and the biggest smile I’ve ever seen.

After a little struggle I open the stiff window and lean on the ledge. “Ya’ know, we’re not seventeen anymore.” I look both ways down the street to check if we have a nosey audience.

“You’re not embarrassed, are you?”

“Er, YES!” I call, but the smile says otherwise.

“Wow, good job I didn’t go with plan A.”

“What was plan A?”

“A stereo held over my head, blasting out The Calling, of course.”

“Of course. Maybe you should just stick to doors?”

“Now, there’s an idea.” He nods to my front door and crosses his arms over his chest, mocking a little impatience. I laugh at the very vision before closing the window and racing down the stairs to the front door.

Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I double-take at the mess I see. My hair is tied in a clumsy ponytail, I’ve already removed my makeup and I’m wearing the kind of sweatpants purposely reserved for nights alone. Oh, and I’m bra-less.

The door is unbolted, unlocked and forced open, revealing Jesse stood at the bottom of my steps like Prince Charming. He’s thrown his jacket over his shoulder and from this angle I can notice the touch of dark hair that peaks out from his open collar, begging to be touched. The fact that he looks as though he has just stepped out of the pages of GQ magazine only highlights how shabbily dressed I am. I fasten my arms around myself in a desperate attempt to hide my shabby clothes, but eventually admit defeat.

He glides up the steps, stopping when he is only inches away, so close that I can feel our connection pulsating as he breathes his current through me. He’s stood a step down from me, allowing me a perfect view of his face. He looks nervous but he carries it so much better than me. Those blue eyes still twinkle and those dimples from his mischievous smile are disarming. I actually feel light-headed in his presence. It’s ridiculous.

“Is this a bad time?" He bites his full bottom lip warily.

"Yeah, actually,” I fib, as straight as my girlish glee allows. “Can you come back tomorrow?"

His face drops immediately and I regret my pretence. He’s about to argue when I take his hand and lead him up the concrete steps.

Welcoming Jesse into my cozy little home feels bizarre. A man of such brilliance should only be surrounded by the finest things, and unfortunately his presence in my humble house only exaggerates its simplicity.

I leave him standing in the middle of my living room, in need of chilled drinks to dampen the heat that blazes between us.

“Beer?”

“Yes, please.”

Eyeing him from over the breakfast bar I watch him sit on the couch with his elbows balancing on his knees and his fingertips rubbing at his stubbly chin. Unaware of my scrutiny, he lets his guard slip and looks troubled.

Is he planning on staying? Am I okay with him staying? I don't know how I feel about this. To allow him to stay the night here would be to welcome him into Benjamin’s life as well as my own. This last week has seemed like something I dreamt up and now to have him here in my residence of reality makes it hit home that he is back in my life. Back in Starling, something he said he wasn't ready for. What's changed?

Offering him his bottle, I sit next to him on the couch. Minutes pass in complete silence with the only sound coming from the chugging of my beer. The tension is suffocating me as the quietness throbs between us. He doesn't seem to know what to say and I mentally urge him to at least say something, anything. Unwilling to make the first move he sips gingerly from his bottle until I can bare the silence no more.

"What are you doing here, Jesse?"

He sighs heavily and leans back into the couch. “I don’t know.” As the light graces his face I notice the shadows under his eyes and realize that I wasn’t the only one denied sleep last night. “I've wanted to see you all day. I thought about asking you to come back to the city." He tightens his lips into a thin line and shakes his head. "But I didn't deserve that kindness."

"I wouldn’t have been able to come anyway."

"I know."

"So, you came back to Starling? I thought you said you weren't ready?"

Leaning forward again he takes a deep breath, as if trying to inhale courage for what he’s about to say. “Last night, saying goodbye to you again, it was too hard. I stood there thinking how weird it is to go from being insanely happy to completely depressed within minutes, seconds even. I’ve never felt a shift like it. You were that shift. I’m the happiest I have ever been when I’m with you, and the saddest when we’re apart. I don’t want us to be apart anymore.” He runs his hands through his hair, speaking as he thinks. “I have to make this work, Mickey, and if that means being here then that's a small price to pay.”

His words hold so much promise and yet his body looks wounded. He’s large in stature, tall and broad with solid muscles, but his body is hunched over in such a way that he seems small and fragile. From his pained expression I know that coming here hasn’t been an easy decision for him. I want to reach out and comfort him, but I need answers first.

“And guilt doesn’t play a part in you being here? I don’t want you to feel forced into a reunion.”

My body stills as I await a response that could potentially decide our fate.

"Of course I feel guilty. How I left you was unacceptable. It’s haunted my new life, every damn day. I have to make it up to you. But, my decision to come here wasn’t entirely selfless. I need to find happiness too, and I can only find that with you.”

Our knees are now touching as he inches closer to me on the couch. He puts down his bottle and places his hand in front of us, palm up, an invitation.

"You're the only person that knows me. All of me," he says, his words powerful but his tone soft.

I place my hand in his, but doubt echoes in my voice. "No, I don't. I know the seventeen year old Jesse. You, sitting in front of me, sometimes you feel like a completely different person."

"It's just me, Mickey. I just have better clothes and more money in my wallet."

"I don't care about that."

"I know," he says through the faintest of smiles.

“And that’s not what I’m talking about,” I continue, placing my bottle on the floor. “The only time I feel like you’re
my
Jesse is when you let your guard down and allow yourself to be vulnerable. My Jesse never struggled to open himself up to me. I loved that you felt like you could talk to me. Now, it’s like you don’t want to share anything.”

“I know, I’m working on it, Mickey. I’ve kept things bottled up for so long, it’ll take some time. But, I want to be open with you again, if you can wait?” He lifts his hand to slide a stray strand of hair from my face, instantly doubling the tension.

“Longer than I already have?”

“I know, I’m a dick for even asking.” His words come fast but staggered, unrehearsed and honest. “But, there’s no going back now. I swear that we’ll work this crap out. I will work
my
crap out. It’s going to be hard and I’m scared shitless, but I have to do this for you, for me, for us, so that we can be together like I want more than anything in the world. If you can just…bear with me?” He tucks his imaginary hair behind his ear and lowers his head. “If you can’t…then I can go.”

“Don’t go,” I plead without hesitation.

Leaning in so that his mouth is mere inches from my own, he breathes heavily. His proximity entices me to close the gap between us, but when I lean in I can feel the faint shake of nerves coursing through his body. His head is down and his eyes are on our interlocked hands rather than my eyes. It takes me a second to see the single tear descending down his face.

He’s terrified
.

Terrified of what he is promising and terrified to bare his soul.

It both pains me and humbles me to know that he is willing to do this for me; to open up like he has done to no other. Part of me feels as though I should stop this in its tracks. I don’t want him to confront his issues if it’s going to bring him so much anguish. But, I know firsthand that it’s unhealthy to keep everything bottled up. He needs to confront his demons, and if I’m the stimulant he needs to do it then I’m glad I can help. 

“Tell me to go," he whispers heavily.

I wipe the tear from his cheek and kiss the dampness left behind. My fingers move to stroke the back of his head and his body sags into the comfort.

“Stay,” I beg.

“What?”

“Stay," I repeat, but our lips have collided before I can even finish sounding out the command. Our mouths move with the same passion found in his words. They feed off of our mutual need for this. He needs this for comfort, I need this for reassurance. 

Leaning me back until I meet the sofa, Jesse continues his wet kisses down the length of my neck, the pace easing until his mouth and tongue are at a standstill at my breast. I arch my back in immediate response, needing the pleasurable ache to deepen. He teases my vest over my head, only releasing his lips to let it pass. My eyes are closed as I concentrate on the feel of him, rather than my nakedness.