Jesse’s morning rituals were simple and predictive, shower first, then fresh brewed coffee, and no part of it ever involved someone else in his space. There was no room for drunk boys passed out on his couch, no one else slept in his bed, and for the most part no one else knew where he lived. Isolating, maybe, but safer.
It was unsettling just how quick he was to start breaking his rules for David.
Last night everything had felt strangely easier; David intoxicated, the hand Jesse rested against his throat both gentle and proprietary. The onset of morning only reminded him that nothing was simple with the boy who’d blacked out on his couch. His teeth still sharp, something terrible hidden behind those blue eyes that looked like the same pool he’d drowned in.
It might make Jesse too eager to see him leave, or at least to rid himself of the uneasiness that had settled over his shoulders. He could make all the wishes he wanted, toss coins into still waters and pretend they weren’t prayers, but it didn’t mean he should expect a single one of them to come true. It didn’t mean that he could start trusting any of the words past David’s lips, especially when there was more liquor than blood in his veins.
If nothing else, it has him moving more quietly when he goes about his morning, and when the coffee’s made he sits himself on the edge of his living room table, his own mug resting comfortably on his knee. The other he dangles from his fingers as he offers it out. “Good morning."
( @notdavidstea ) The bar was mostly empty, which made sense for a week night, but it didn’t mean that her night had to be just as dull. After all she was sitting with David, the one person that she found pretty damn fascinating. He hadn’t done anything, as far as she could tell. And even though they’d spent some time together in San Fransisco, she didn’t know him as well as she wanted to. Any friend of Sebastian’s was supposed to be a friend of hers. That was the new rule she was trying out anyways. So she ordered shots and turned to her companion, holding one up for him to take. “I’ve got to be the bad influence in your life.” Not that there was any trouble to get into in fucking Tromso, but at least feeling like there was excitement to what they were doing would make the night bearable. “Don’t tell Sebastian.”
It shouldn’t have been this hard, to walk through the halls she’d once memorized, to see the people she used to know. Some of them she still kept in touch with, but others had become blurred faces in a sea of memories that she kept blocked away. Working as a freelancer had freed up her time more than enough, but Darcy still hadn’t been able to stay away. Two years later and it was like nothing had changed, the paint still mind numbing, the lounge bare and pristine because people preferred to eat at their desks instead of looking like a slacker for taking a lunch break.
She’d stopped in to see the few people that mattered, the ones who still remembered her and kept in touch even when she barely made an effort. And it was no longer her home, no longer the place that held so many memories in nearly every room, one in particular catching her eye. Everyone was already gone for the day, and Darcy had only come in to hand in her reports to Wren after hours like she had for the past year. She’d told Wren it was because she didn’t want to have to explain herself, but deep down they’d both known the real reason. Seeing him...knowing that he could still go on without her in his life, it hurt. Darcy had never been naive about her relationship with David, he was older than her, and he’d had his own complexes about relationships. But after a year, then two, she’d started to believe that she’d been the one to change him, to show him that love didn’t care about your past. Come to find out, she was so wrong she wanted to go back in time and hit herself over the head with it before she let herself let him in so deep that he was still ingrained into every part of her soul.
Their old office looked almost exactly the same, although her old desk now held another name, one familiar to her that made her smile a little to herself. Brandon Cheslyn. She’d always known he’d make it to where David was, considering how much Brandon idolized the man she’d used to know. Even with everything that had happened, Darcy still felt a sense of pride when she saw his name on the plaque that had replaced hers. The other desk however, was a different story. She could still remember every distraction, every promise that they were going to finish the reports after just one more kiss, yet he still hadn’t let her go.
It evoked a pain in her that Darcy hadn’t quite prepared herself for, brow creasing as she held tight to the papers in her hand, swallowing past the lump in her throat as she looked over his desk. It was just as clean as always, although the picture that had once held the two of them was gone, and not a speck of dust in it’s place. She wanted to stay there longer, to try and remember every scent of his, the way his touch had felt after a long stressful day, but that was no longer her right. For all she knew, he’d moved on, gotten married....there was no telling. All she did know was that as fast as she’d removed herself from his life, it seemed as though he’d done the same.
Wiping a tear away that fought past her stone walls, Darcy took a seat in his chair, the same one he’d had for nearly five years since she forced him to buy it after replacing his old task chair that had been made in the eighties. With the picture in hand, she took his pen and a slip of paper, before she started to write in perfectly scrawled cursive.
This is not a cry for support, or money. I don’t want to ruin any life that you’ve created with someone else, or any happiness that you found...
Simply the thought of him being happy made her pause, closing her eyes for a moment as Darcy blinked back tears and took a shuddering breath before she continued.
You deserve at least the opportunity to know your daughter. To see her laugh for the first time, and to see her take her first steps. I don’t want anything from you, and she doesn’t need anything. But keeping her from you for as long as I have was selfish, and it would be even more so if she came to think that her father didn’t want to know her because I couldn’t face what you left behind. My number hasn’t changed, and we are living at [insert address here].
Sincerely,
Darcy Adams
Short and sweet, Darcy wiped her eyes quickly as she looked over the letter once more, the words lacking everything she’d wanted to say for two years. But it wasn’t about her, not this time. It wasn’t even about him. It was about Lily, the beautiful little girl that had learned to say ‘Daddy’ for the first time, and had no one to say it to. Enclosing the letter in a small envelope, she looked down at the picture of her daughter, with Lily Grace Cheslyn scrawled on the back in her own handwriting, before she tucked both into the envelope and set it between the keys on his keyboard, pushing herself away from the desk and out of his office once again.
Eight hours was a normal shift, but it allowed too much time for doubt to settle in. Especially in the early morning hours after midnight, when Jesse had little else to do but refill ketchup bottles and sit alone in his thoughts. There was a reason he worked the hours he did, a reason why he didn’t keep any close friends or make any real attempt at relationships. Things felt easier, safer, when no one knew who he was.
At least a half dozen times he found himself pulling out his phone, determined to tell David to forget about it, he was too tired, they’d meet up some other time. Something vague and nondescript that he never had to follow through on. It felt like the safe, smart thing to do, and a thousand times harder than it should’ve been.
He sends him the diner’s address instead, and tries not to dwell on it anymore.
It’s a failed endeavor from the start, but four o’clock comes and strips away the option of backing out. He makes coffee instead, says goodbye to the morning shift when they come in the back, and settles himself to wait by the counter. Even if the harsh liquid does little to settle those nerves in his stomach, memory constantly wanting to replay the curve of David’s lips when he smiled, how smoothly mio caro had rolled off his tongue.
“Hey.” He straightens when the door chimes, turning slightly to grab the two insulated cups before offering one out. French vanilla seemed safe, though it seemed pathetic that for as long as he’s been here it’s still a fight with the cappuccino machine every time.
I'm so frustrated and angry at myself for being so childish and immature. I've never behaved like this. I've never been like this. I'm disappointed in myself. I'm ashamed of my behavior, I'm ashamed of my thoughts and beliefs that are governing this type of behavior.
I am not helpless. I am not a helpless little child. I am an adult. I am an adult with over 15 years of therapy under my belt.
I am not helpless. I have the power to enact change in my behavior and my life. I am not helpless. I'm not. I'm. Not.
