Track 10
JAKE
IT'S BEEN FIVE long days since I’ve seen Alana.
I’ve tried to ignore how it’s felt like much more, the same way I’m ignoring how dim each day has been without her.
There’s no point in dwelling on it. I’m in no place to keep her, all battered and bruised, confused in my own head.
I’d only bring her down right now, and she deserves a hell of a lot more from someone than that.
I picked up extra shifts at the bar just to avoid my thoughts of her.
Well, not her necessarily, but all the things about her that I shouldn’t be thinking about.
The way her lips curtain her beautiful smile.
How her head tilts back when the laughter is just too much to keep herself upright.
The gemstone-like glimmer in her eyes, and that little dimple that only shows on the left side but fades the moment her smile subsides.
These are things I shouldn’t be noticing, details I shouldn’t have trouble shaking from my head when she’s out of sight.
In no way should I be memorizing or craving them.
I shouldn’t be counting the seconds until I get them again.
But I have. I’ve kept track of every second and wished for nothing more than the sweet relief of having her near me.
I take the stairs to her apartment two at a time, the climb doing nothing to steady the shake in my chest. By the time I reach her door, my hand hovers before I finally knock.
My stomach twists with nerves. I’m here to fix what I broke, to reach for the light I let slip through my fingers.
I silently pray it can be fixed at all, that I haven’t run out of the grace she so willingly gives me.
“Come in,” she calls from behind it, so I do. She’s stuffing the last of her things into her bag when I enter, her hair still wet from the shower.
Wet hair looks good on her. Just like everything else.
I add it to the list of things I shouldn’t be noticing.
It’s hard not to see everything about her.
Alana is a beautiful woman. Stunning, honestly.
She holds the kind of beauty that stops your heart the second your eyes catch hers.
But it’s not just that she’s beautiful, it’s how effortless her radiance is.
How humbly she carries it. The way she turns heads in every room but never once seems to know it.
For a moment, I just stand there, watching her as that familiar ache settles somewhere deep in my chest. The kind that reminds me how easy it is to want her, and how impossible it is to let that want show.
“Sorry. I’ll be ready in a minute,” she says hurriedly.
“It’s fine. I’m early,” I offer. It’s the only thing I can come up with that's not saying you can take forever, I just want to be near you.
I survey her apartment as I walk to meet her at the counter. It gives me something to focus on.
Her place is sleek and a bit more modern than I originally expected, but the warmth of her is there in the small things. A plant that cascades down from the top of a corner cabinet. A throw pillow that says Happiness in bright yellow along the back of her teal couch.
Her eyes meet mine curiously, and I give her a small grin that tilts her lips up at the corners.
My heart gets that warm feeling again, so I direct my attention elsewhere, spinning the candle that’s on the counter before lifting it to my nose.
A soft blend of rosewater and sandalwood fills the air, reminding me of her immediately.
She taps the screen of her phone to see that I am, in fact, fifteen minutes early.
“Oh, you’re super early,” she says. “What, are you trying to make up for being so late on our first date?” Her eyes sparkle with a forgiving teasing, and the tension in my chest loosens.
The way she says it, so light and easy, tells me she’s not holding the other day against me.
That small grace feels bigger than it should.
Because I need it. I needed to be back here.
“First of all, I wasn’t late. And second,” I pause, placing the candle down between us, “our first date would be much better than the library.”
Her hands stop moving, and her smile waivers as she studies me.
Her eyes narrow slightly, as if she’s trying to read my tone, my relaxed change in demeanor.
Maybe she’s trying to figure out if it’s safe to fall into our language again, or if I’ll just pull out when it goes too far.
Considering our last interaction, I don’t necessarily blame her, but it stings a little, anyway.
She’s probably right. I probably will give a little before I take it away again.
I’m becoming an asshole.
“Look,” I start, shaking my head as if I can erase the self-deprecation from my mind. “I came early because I want to apologize.”
Her eyes stay on me a second too long before they fall to her hands that begin moving again, her bag slowly being filled with random items I can’t imagine she really needs: a single index card, a pen with no top, a crumpled piece of paper.
Remnants of her smile are there, but it’s lost its shine.
It’s as if it’s being forcefully placed.
“Apologize for what, Jake?” she says flatly. Unaffected.
“For being an asshole. Again. And then copping out about it.” I take a deep breath, knowing I’m probably not ready to say what I’m about to, but accepting I should if I want to maintain any form of the light this girl has unknowingly given me.
“The thing is, I like you, Alana. A lot.” Her body freezes again as her eyes shoot up to mine. “I just—I have a lot that I’m dealing with. Or rather,” I shrug, hating how small the motion feels, “a lot that I need to deal with, and—”
“Jake, you don’t have to explain—”
“No, I do. I want to. Because I want you to know it’s not you. It’s me. I have a lot going on in my head, and I’m trying to sort it all out because…I like you,” I explain, forcing the barred words out. “I like spending time with you. I like talking to you. I like just…being with you.”
“I like all of that, too.”
Relief flickers in my chest. “Okay, good. That’s good,” I exhale, trying not to sound too hopeful. This is all so new to me, and I’m just trying not to fuck it up while also keeping it in a safe bubble. Apparently, that’s not an easy thing to balance. I try again. “It’s just that—”
“Jake,” her voice is soft, but steady. “I’m happy to be your friend. This is more than enough for me, and really all I can handle. I get that you have stuff going on. I have stuff, too. You don’t have to worry about me, really. I mean, thank you, but it’s okay. I’m good with the way things are.”
“You’re…fine with just being friends?”
“More than fine,” she agrees.
“And that’s all?”
“Yes.” It’s so matter-of-fact. No hesitation.
I nod, swallowing the lump rising in my throat, desperately needing an escape from whatever is beginning to stir inside me. “Okay, well…” I look to my feet, trying to ignore the sting in my chest. I try to pretend what she said is a good thing. That it’s what I wanted to hear.
“Friends is good,” I start, my eyes catching hers on their way up.
My smile twists with an opportunity, and I follow it, hoping for the sweet relief of her rose-tinged cheeks and her full pursed lips. “So, can we go back to doing our laundry together? I really miss your underwear.”
Her smile breaks free—gemstone eyes and all—and her cheeks pink as she slaps me in the arm with her bag. My heart nearly soars.
“Shut up! That was one time, and it was an accident," she groans, and I laugh.
“Suuure,” I sing. “You just happened to forget those lacey red panties in the dryer with my clothes.”
“I did!”
“Whatever you say, baby,” I tease.
“You never gave those back, by the way,” she says accusingly.
“I’m keeping them for my shrine of hotties.”
“Ugh, I hate you,” she laughs. “And don’t call me baby.”
She shoves my shoulder, and we smile widely at each other, the air lifting back into place.
We’re laughing again as I follow her out of her apartment, closing the door behind me. We’re back to what’s safe. Comfortable. Back to where I told myself I wanted to be.
This is supposed to feel good. Secure.
But instead, it just feels like I’m giving her up. Like somehow, I’m letting her go…
And I… I don’t want to let her go.
Not ever.