Haze (14 page)

Chapter 7

Once we started moving around again, Jack made us steaks and a huge Cobb salad, one comprised of some of the freshest greens I'd ever eaten. I swear the food he made at home was almost better than the over-the-top expensive dinners he had treated me to. Funny that it took a supremely rich guy to teach me that great food could be had easily at home.

One-and-a-half glasses of wine down, and full of unflagging adrenaline, I decided to drill Jack for information.

"It's nothing," he insisted, my first wave of questioning behind us. He was a terrible liar, at least today.

"You're holding something back from me, Jack. What happened to you?"

He tensed up, wound tight as piano wire, holding his wine glass so firmly I feared it might shatter between his fingertips. "Effie, I know you're concerned, but I just... just
can't
." He was so frazzled by my inquiry that it made me wish I'd never asked at all.

Why was I doing this?

I couldn't believe how much it was affecting
me
to see him like this. He had been so brave when he came to my rescue—but now he was humbled, like a dropped popsicle melting in the hot, direct sunlight. I really didn't want Jack to wind up as a fruit-flavored stain on his expensive carpet. I would need a change in strategy.

"Fine," I said. "I'm sorry. Seriously." There was just a hint of a defensive tone in my voice—and he sensed it.

Jack fell silent and then jumped to his feet and walked to the closest window. He stared out into the city; perhaps the sprawling view was cathartic. Something was driving him crazy—and I wanted to know what it was. The problem was, I wanted to be sympathetic and let it go as much as I wanted to know what was plaguing him. What was he hiding? I swore this next try would be my last.

"Jack, this is killing you. What is it? I don't like seeing you like this." I put it out there and waited like a hunter, hoping that he would take the bait.

"It's stupid," he said. "I shouldn't care anymore. I always feel dumb when I get caught up in it."

"You obviously do care. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Dammit," he whispered. "I swore to myself that I'd never bring this up around someone else again. I just... just couldn't help but remember it all again at the coffee shop, when he—" He froze for a second. "It rushed back so quickly. I didn't expect this to happen ever again."

"Suppression obviously isn't working, Jack. Have you ever properly dealt with this?" I felt like a junior psychologist, even though that wasn't at all the intent of my questioning. I wanted to know, wanted to help, if that was even possible.

"I'm not so sure anymore." He picked up his wine and began, peeling back the protective layers of his mind until he reached his true focus."God, I can't believe I'm doing this," he remarked. "You really want a front row seat to my emotional baggage?"

"Why wouldn't I?" I asked. "I'm your—" I froze up for a second, not sure how to define myself.
Was I his girlfriend? Did I even want that right now? "I care about you, Jack," I said, correcting my potential folly before it began. He didn't seem to notice one way or another.

"Katy," he went on. "I loved her, okay? I can't take that feeling away, no matter what." His features and demeanor softened up so much I feared he might just curl up and die right in front of me.

I gulped, worried that I had indeed opened up a door that I shouldn't have. The last thing I needed was to find out that he was still in love with his ex, probably a beautiful woman—assumed to be more beautiful than me, of course; my own assumptions were never reasonable—and having to let me go in exchange for her.
Way to go, Effie!
I was a cat about to be killed by curiosity.

Deep breath.
I needed to relax since this was his moment, not mine.

I poured another glass of wine and took a sip. "Please, go on." I was at the top of the rollercoaster,
ready for it to plummet toward the ground at hundreds of miles per hour while people screamed around me. Oh yeah, and my hands were in the air.

He continued.

It
went back to his college days at University of Minnesota—that was sort of a relief since I assumed that meant it was a long time ago—when things had become uncertain in his life. He was writing music and wanted to pursue a full-time career of performing, yet he was also trying to keep his parents happy by completing the schooling they were picking up the tab for.

"College was their idea for me," he added.

On top of that, he had a long-term girlfriend since the age of sixteen, Katy, one who also contributed to the very complex mess that his life had become. She had followed him to the same university prior to choosing a major, and now that she had a more defined goal—and definitely some wanderlust—she was having second thoughts about her choice and wanted to move to Chicago.

His parents didn't like her, which didn't help the situation at all, especially not when she wanted to move out of state and he wanted to follow her. He was trapped between trying to satisfy their requests, his own aspirations, and his desire to be good to her, the ultimate conflict for a twenty-year-old.

They had wound up at a party one night, both far too drunk for their own good. She had to work in the morning ("It was a stupid, low-paying desk job where almost nothing went on, so it was even less important that she was there," he said), so after a great deal of deliberation, she ended up driving home while he slept on the couch. He never saw her again, except at her funeral, the open-casket
imagery something he'd never forget.

She slid down a hill and crashed on the icy drive home, a fatal, tragic accident. Thankfully, there were no other victims—well, except for Jack, who felt more mangled inside than the smashed car had been. Even though he couldn't change anything now, he still felt personally responsible for it—and
it
happened to be death. He was certain that there was
something
he could have done to prevent it, even though he had also been drunk and obviously not thinking straight.

"I could have called a cab. Or demanded that she stay. Was her job really worth her life?" His eyes watered as he spoke.

His parents basically celebrated the event—it freed their son from his only other obligation outside of school, after all—so he angrily dropped out of school and took off to L.A., abandoning their plans for his life.

"They acted like she didn't even exist, like she wasn't even a person. Didn't go to her funeral. They proved that they just didn't give a damn about anyone outside of their family. They knew I loved her, but they claimed it was just my hormones. It only made me love her more."

That was more or less
exactly
how I had felt about my first boyfriend, the whole hormones-only thing. But it had been almost a decade ago for Jack, a good indicator that he was
pretty serious about this. No misinterpreted teenage lust here.

"Have they ever tried to make peace with you about it?"

Jack shrugged. "I guess. They've written me letters and stuff. My brother has told me they regret what they did, that they just wanted the best for me. Everyone always says that when they mess up."

His heart shattered, he made L.A. his new home, drowning himself in drugs and alcohol while he worked shitty jobs and performed at coffee shops. And then one magic evening he ran into—and
impressed—one of the top producers in the business, a man that both saved him and made him hate the basic framework of the industry more than anything.

"He took eighty-percent of what I was making for three years," Jack said. "I lost so much money those first years. I fulfilled my contractual obligations and saved the big hits until I was a free agent."

"At least you got to live in L.A.," I said. "I'd love to live there."

"We'll go there," he said suddenly. "Soon. I have some business to take care of." And with that announcement, he was back to his lamentations and rants about his past—and I was as giddy as a schoolgirl, trying hard to hide it and maintain the somber mood.

The catharsis seemed to be working, no doubt. "Girls hate it when I talk about this stuff." He paused and ensured that we weren't making eye contact. "I still love Katy, Effie. I'm always going to feel something toward her. But I think it's because I never got to close the door with her, never got to really say goodbye. It's just something that lingers, a feeling that won't go away."

It made me think about how different things had been with Timothy. We had ended everything officially, signing the figurative paperwork and then physically moving apart. And then Timothy moved here and then attacked me. I guess the two situations couldn't be more different.

From what I could gather, it was the potent cocktail of chaos, uncertainty, and his parents' behavior that made this so difficult for him. He would always wonder what life would be like had Katy lived, and rightfully so. I was fairly certain we wouldn't be sitting here together if that had been the case. I didn't entertain that thought any further, nor did I need to.

"The grief," he said, pausing to sip his wine, "motivated me to write. It motivated me to master my craft. So one way or another, I feel like I owe a lot of my success to her."

He was describing an absolute tragedy, one that definitely tore me up a little too. "It's okay, Jack." All I had in me was that stupid platitude. I really wished that I could say something to change his life instead of the things that
everyone says
. Oh well. I was honest, even if I was just being predictable.

"I've never told anyone I was dating the whole story. I swear. That was
really
hard for me." He poured himself some more wine and took a tentative sip. "I wanted to be totally honest with you for some reason. My relationships haven't been that serious since Katy."

I stood up and hugged him, doing my best to comfort him. "Thank you for telling me. It really means a lot, seriously."

Jack raised one eyebrow. "You don't care about what I said? It doesn't bug you?"

Although it would probably made any woman a little jealous to hear that her man had a thing for someone else, this just wasn't anything like that at all. It surprised me that he was so concerned about not hurting my feelings.

"You were honest. It's a rotten situation. You're not a robot or something. You
feel
." I was just talking, but it sounded like I had really worked on my speech.

"When Timothy lunged at you, I heard that phone call again. I was talking to Katy's parents, listening to them sob on the phone, reliving that horrible moment. I punched a mirror and then cried for over an hour straight. I wouldn't recommend it."

"The crying or the mirror-punching?" I glanced down at his hand, concerned that I hadn't noticed him breaking a mirror this time around. Thankfully, it was free of any fresh marks.

He laughed, lightening up for the first time since our
session
had begun. "Neither. They're bad for your health. I couldn't play guitar for two months."

"Crying will do that to you." I gave him the most sarcastic smirk I could muster. The alcohol had definitely loosened me up, but not so far that I was wasted.

"I wish the high school counselor would have told me that.
Some
practical advice would have been nice." Jack was lightening up on his end, but I still wasn't totally done yet. "At least I know not to
attack
my ex-girlfriends. I did learn that."

Although Timothy was far from redeemable in that moment, I still felt motivated to speak the truth. "He was never violent with me, Jack. I swear. Tim yelled sometimes, but he normally kept his cool much better than I did." My reflections seemed to perplex Jack. Rightfully so given today's events. I wasn't sure why I felt the need to defend Timothy. I guess because I thought it would assuage Jack's fears.

We cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. I wanted to deal with the clean up since he had cooked, but he refused.

"Don't run it yet," he said, my hand on the button ready to start it. "We need to take a shower. And that means we need
water
."

"Are you sure?" I let out a quiet laugh. "About the water?"

"I've never needed a shower with
water
more in my life. C'mon."

A shower sounded like heaven, actually.

***

The water washed our troubles away. My hair had been on the floor of a New York City coffee shop, so I figured the cleaning was for the best.

Jack washed my hair and body for me, his efforts so delicate and concise. I gave in, allowing him to take his time on my body. It was just one of those little things that I swore would make me join the water and head straight down the drain. I held together and returned the favor, the difference in our heights making it slightly more of a challenge for me.

There was nothing but silence between us, the only real sound the ebb and flow of the water as the streams struck the bottom and then faced interruption from our bodies as we moved.

Jack had broken down in front of me after coming to my rescue, and I just didn't know how to feel about it. God, I felt like we were moving quickly, no doubt. He had admitted his desire to be honest with me, admitted that he hadn't ever told another date that haunting story from his past.