Jingle Bell Roc

5

Knock-Knock. Fuck Off.

Jane called and left messages. She wanted to know if I'd located Jack, if he was okay. My reply text was a terse explanation of the situation, and I only sent it because I didn't want her to worry about him.

I holed up in my apartment. I blinked back stupid tears and stared at the bare bulb above the kitchen table until the white recessed light blurred red and burned into my retinas, drying the surface of my eyes.

Jack had texted me too. He must've found time to leave his lover's bedside. He probably wanted to make sure he had a place to bunk down later. I did not reply to him. He cottoned on quick that something was wrong because the upbeat tone of his texts quickly turned anxious

. . .

then pleading.

What's wrong, cher? Are you okay? I'll be there soon.

Good. Let him be the one worrying for a change.

I should've texted back that he wasn't welcome, no need to turn up for his nightly fuckfest with Beef. I didn't. Part of me—childish, selfish, and spiteful—wanted to see his face when I told him I was onto his game and I wasn't gonna be his sucker anymore. I wanted to see if the end of our short affair tortured him as much as it did me. I wanted to hurt him.

I eventually turned off my cell after calling in sick to work—a first. I went on a bender, drinking beers and baking goddamn muffins. Slamming sticky bowls into the sink, because I knew I wouldn't lay my fists on Jack, I filled crackling muffin papers and tin upon tin of gooey blueberry batter. When the kitchen got overheated, I jerked up a window and hung my head outside in the crisp air. I gulped in icy breaths that froze in my lungs and made my heart run sluggish.

Jack showed up on my doorstep, way earlier than usual that night. He knocked and waited. Pounded and waited. I peered out the peephole just to see his distraught features, the handsome angles twisted in anguish. My fists curled into big slabs that could pummel and bruise but had always cherished and caressed him, even when the fucking got exquisitely rough.

He could stay out there all night for all I cared. There was nothing I could give him he didn't already have, including my heart. Tears leaked down my face. I wiped my nose.

The rap at my door didn't let up and then he really got pissed, shouting, "Brian goddamn Carroway, open this motherfuckin' door right now!"

I swung the door open so hard it bounced back and almost smacked Jack in the face.

Good.

Up close he looked even worse. Sunken eyes, sallow skin, he looked like shit.

Even better.

I didn't move out of the way or invite him inside. "No, no, no. You are

not

coming in."

He skimmed his hair back. I bit my tongue, opening and balling my fists again. The ever-present ache for him eviscerated me.

"Jane said you went to the hospital lookin' for me. Then you didn't turn up at work."

I slammed my hands against doorframe. "Do you have any fucking idea how scared I was about you?"

"What did you see, Brian?"

I gritted my teeth. I looked away from his enchanting lying eyes. "I'm sorry your

other

boyfriend's sick, but—"

"Brian."

"I can't do this!" I grabbed his collar and pulled him close. "Don't you get it? You made me fall in love with you!"

I shoved him away, ignoring his choked gasp.

"You need money for

his

hospital bills . . ." I watched a sole tear slide down his cheek. "Get in touch with me through Jane. But don't contact me again."

I slammed the door in his face.

I cut out my heart. I closed my eyes. I cried.

He railed on my door, thundering against it. "You don't know what you're talkin' about! You think I go home with guys every night, Brian? You think I give it up for just anyone?"

No, I think you have someone you love already, and I'll never be that person for you.

I heard him slide down the door and hit the floor. I imagined him sitting the same as me—head down, knees up, eyes clamped shut. Parted by only my thin door, the distance between us was wider than any gulf.

I heard his whisper:

"You made me feel like I was worth somethin'."

I listened to him falling apart on the other side.

I got wasted.

Stay tuned for the finale, chapter six . . .