Jess
When I get a text from Skyler saying she’s staying at Clinton’s for the night, I breathe a sigh of relief, typing out a text to her that Jarrett and I are finally going to video chat in less than an hour.
She wishes me luck and then I plug my phone into the charger, letting it get juiced as I do my makeup in the bathroom.
The last time we were supposed to video chat, I had been so excited.
Now, all I am is sick.
I ended up texting Jarrett the day after Thanksgiving, apologizing for everything and telling him I would give him his space, and to just call me when he was caught up on the project and a little less stressed out.
I told him we could see each other over Christmas break, and that I understood, and that we would be okay.
I thought it was the right thing to do — the mature thing to do — but when all he wrote back was a simple thanks, I wondered if it was already too late, if he would ever forgive me.
Ever since he went back to New York after coming to visit, everything with us has been so rocky.
Between the communication breakdown and the long distance, my heart is raw and aching.
He can’t hold me to make me feel better, and I can’t kiss him with my apologies.
We can’t just jump in his truck and drive to the beach, splitting a joint and having sex until the sun rises.
Everything about our relationship is different, and I’m not sure who we are in this new space.
As shitty as it is, Greg has been a huge help keeping my mind off Jarrett the last couple of weeks.
He’s listened to me talk about Jarrett, offering advice when he had it and just a shoulder to lean on when he had nothing to say.
He’s funny, and kind, and I appreciate his company.
And maybe a small part of me realizes that I just enjoy the fact that a man cares about me, and is attracted to me, and is giving me attention.
Something else inside me, something deep in the trenches of thoughts I like to leave unthought, tells me this phone call is either going to make or break me and Jarrett.
And as much as I have a whole string of apologies ready to go, I also have questions, and concerns, and things I want to talk about.
I understand his side of things, how he needs me to be able to trust him and understand how demanding his job is, but relationships are about compromise — and I need love and support, too.
I feel so unlike myself, so vulnerable and defeated. The girls have started to notice, too — wondering where my spunk has gone, and I know I won’t get back to myself until I face whatever is about to happen with Jarrett.
When my makeup is flawless and my hair is straightened, I slip on a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top, propping my laptop up on my desk to wait for his call. And when his picture and name fill the screen at exactly ten o’clock, I take a deep breath and answer.
The screen is fuzzy at first, and when it clears, Jarrett is sitting at his small kitchen table, giving me a view of practically his entire studio apartment.
The city lights burn through the window behind him, mixing with the low light of his apartment to cast him in a soft glow.
Finally seeing his face, his lips, his eyes — it hurts as much as it heals.
“Hi,” I breathe, a weary smile finding my lips.
“Hi.”
I watch him for a moment, wishing so badly he was here. I just want to touch him, to hold him, to have him hold me. “I wish I could jump through this screen right now.”
His eyes are sad, defeated, and he only nods in response.
It’s strange, how someone you love can seem so foreign in moments like these, moments when everything hangs in the balance.
Steeling myself, I sit up a little straighter and start my long list of apologies.
“Listen, I am so sorry I went off on you for missing our date. That was an immature reaction and a little dramatic and I wish I could take it back. I know you had a long day and I know you can’t help what projects you get put on or whom with.
I want to be more supportive, but… I need you to understand my side of things, too. I need—”
“It’s over.”
I pause, mouth still hanging open, the words I’d planned to say next frozen in my throat. I close my mouth, open it again, nose flaring and eyes watering as I try to convince myself I didn’t just hear the man I love tell me he doesn’t want to be with me anymore.
“Wh-what?”
“It’s over, Jess. We, this,” he motions to the screen and back to himself. “I can’t… I won’t do this anymore.”
Shock rips through me, my head shaking of its own accord. I knew this phone call wouldn’t be pretty, I knew he was upset, I knew there were things to be said and to be decided but still, even if I pretended to prepare for the worst, I didn’t actually think it would happen.
How can Jarrett break up with me? After all we’ve been through, after all he’s said, after all we’ve promised?
“Jarrett, we can work through this. I said I’m sorry, I… I’ll try harder. I’ll do better. It’s just a silly fight, it isn’t—”
“I saw the picture.” His eyes bore holes through mine from thousands of miles away, the heart he always keeps sheltered now bloody and marred on his sleeve for me to see.
“I don’t play these games. I put up with you parading other guys in front of me last year, trying to make me jealous, playing me like I’m just another guy to you but I thought we were past that. ”
Panic rises in my throat like bile. “He’s just a friend, Jarrett. I met him that night, we just talked. I swear, that’s all.”
“But you went into that bar on a mission, didn’t you? A mission to find a poor sap to twirl around your finger and make me jealous. You thought it’d make me call you. You thought it’d make me, what? Worship you?”
I shake my head frantically, tears rushing my eyes and billowing down my cheeks before I can stop them. “I didn’t… Yes, I wanted your attention, but I didn’t do anything with him. I promise. And he posted the picture, not me.”
“But he tagged you,” Jarrett points out. “Which I’m sure you asked him to do.”
“Please,” I beg, reaching out to touch the screen. “Just let me come see you. Let’s talk about this in person. You don’t mean this, you don’t—”
“YOU HAD ME, JESS!” he yells, his face twisting as I choke on a sob.
“You had me, and now you don’t. It shouldn’t be like this, I shouldn’t have to choose between you and my career, or worry about how you’ll react to me working with another female.
It’s just like the surf lessons last year.
Nothing I say to you and nothing I do will ever convince you that I am yours, and I have continually paid the price.
Do you know how sick I’ve been, wondering what you did with that guy to get back at me? ”
“I didn’t,” I try, but my voice breaks.
“I love you. And you said you loved me, too.” He shakes his head, jaw tight. “This isn’t how you treat someone you love.”
“I’m sorry,” I choke, letting the tears run. “I’m so sorry.”
“Me, too,” he says, finally lifting his eyes to mine. He searches them, looking for the girl he knew, the girl he fell in love with. When he shakes his head, I know he’s come up empty handed. “I have to go.”
“Jarrett, please.”
But the screen just goes dark like the rest of my world.
***
I’ve read about these sensory deprivation tanks, where you lie in a tub of water filled with Epson salt to make you float in a soundproof pod with no light.
You just float there, completely weightless, emerging on the other side of the experience almost as if in a trance.
Some claim it has healing effects, others claim hallucination.
That’s the closest comparison I can make to how I feel right now, lying on my bedroom floor, in the exact same place I fell last night after Jarrett ended our call.
I only know it’s morning because light started breaking through the curtains at some point, though I have no idea how long ago that was.
Everything is numb. Everything is on fire.
My eyes sting and burn, my brain replaying every word he said, every word he didn’t.
But somewhere in the numb of the night, I came to a conclusion.
I don’t want to fall apart.
I earned my nickname, J-Love, because when I was younger I said I loved pretty much any guy who gave me his attention.
And though what I had with Jarrett was much realer than that, in the end, I can’t help but feel like I lost a little part of myself with him, too.
I don’t want to let the end of our relationship be the end of me.
I know I’ll need to break, and cry, and I know in the deepest part of my being that there is no getting over Jarrett. Not really. He will always own a part of my heart, and losing him will forever be one of my biggest regrets. But I want to grieve in silence, alone.
Jess Vonnegut is a bad ass. She is a vixen, a fighter, a man-eater, a tough bitch. She doesn’t stop the party for any drama, and she doesn’t stop her life for any boy.
Swiping at my face as if it isn’t already dry, I crawl to the desk and pull my phone down, sinking against the drawers as I type out a text to Greg.
- Take a break from studying turtle facts tonight and go to Semi-formal with me. -
I drop the phone to the floor beside me, kneading my temples, my head throbbing between my fingers. When my phone buzzes, I unlock it quickly, smiling as much as I physically can in this moment at his response.
- I’ll bring the vodka. -
And I’m not sure how much longer I lie there before eventually peeling myself off the floor, along with what’s left of my dignity, holding onto it as tight as I can.
Soon, the girls are all getting ready, music blasting, makeup and hair product everywhere.
I tell them about Jarrett with a straight face, my tears all spilled last night, and they console me.
Ashlei asks if I want to skip Semi. Skyler wants me to talk about it.
But I decline both offers, telling them I already invited Greg, and I’m fine.
It’s a lie, and they know it, but they don’t press me on it.
At least for tonight, I’m going to be okay. I’m going to dance and sing, laugh and party, and pretend like everything will be okay. I’ll fake it until I make it — make it back home, that is. And then, I’ll have three weeks of winter break to get over it.
That’s that.
When the limos are pulling up outside, I pull up Jarrett’s name and type out one last text before blocking his number and tucking my phone in my clutch, ripping the Band-Aid off, ready to scab and heal.
- I will always love you. -