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I rummage through the fridge and fix myself a plate, adding a couple of crostini with hummus and cherry tomatoes while I’m at it. Dinner was light and delicious, and without Jason joining us, we were left with plenty of leftovers. There’s more for him to eat when he comes back, so I don’t feel too guilty about loading up now. My soul is craving comfort food and I’m happy to oblige. I settle at the counter island and eat in silence, my mind wandering back to Cynthia and my earlier conversation with her.
Their combat trauma from serving in the Corps and their inability to maintain the relationship with Cynthia was never much of a concern for me. I’d thought nothing of it until she spoke about it this afternoon. Once again, going back to Providence is a looming possibility, though I haven’t got enough saved up for a deposit yet. I need at least another month to be able to afford something nice and closer to work. Kieran’s place put a hole in my wallet on account of the commute, so I figured I might as well pay a little bit more every month but spend less on gas, instead.
By the time I get to the cheesecake I’ve been thinking about for the past hour, the sound of the front door opening and closing has me sitting up straight. I listen carefully to heavy boot falls on the hardwood floor and harsh breathing. It’s Jason, I quickly realize, so I get up, forgetting all about my snack as I rush into the hallway to see him.
“You’re back!” I exclaim but freeze when I find him wobbling in the foyer as he struggles out of his boots. The smell of whiskey and tequila hits me like a hammer, and as soon as he turns around to look at me, I understand the tragedy of the moment. “You’re drunk…”
The words left my mouth as soon as they formed in my mind, and the shock caused them to just roll out of me unfiltered. Jason smirks, his blue eyes hazy and bloodshot as he glances sideways at me. “The wagon was shoddy,” he chuckles, as he struggles to get out of his coat.
“How did you even get back up here?” I ask, different scenarios running through my head. “You had the car, didn’t you?”
“Well, I didn’t park it in the mailbox, MOM.”
I know he’s trying to make light of an incredibly awkward and difficult situation. I remember the whole ‘falling off the wagon’ dance from years growing up with my dad, after Mom left us. More than once, I watched him stumble through the door and try to be funny about what was clearly another episode of him caving in. Those memories have long since slipped into the darkness of a past I never wanted to revisit, but seeing Jason like this is making them come back and with them, the painful feelings.
Repulsion. Disappointment. Heartache.
I thought better of Jason. I thought he was stronger than this.
“Are you okay?” I ask, wondering if I should get closer.
He shakes his head. “Nope. But I’m gonna be. I just need to sleep it off. What are you doing up at this hour?”
“I was hungry. Where have you been?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Jason laughs nervously, then runs a hand through his messy blond hair. He hasn’t shaved in a couple of days, and while I usually enjoy the feel of his sandy stubble against my fingertips, it’s making him look rather disheveled after hours spent drinking himself senseless. He looks at me with a sly look in his eyes. “Seeing as you’re up, why don’t you and I make the most of it?”
He chuckles and comes closer, but with him comes the alcohol vapors that I recognize from my own broken home. My stomach churns as disgust gathers in the back of my throat. I can barely look at him, and I don’t want him to feel rejected, but there is no way this is going to happen right now. “Maybe you should just get some sleep,” I try to say, but he closes the distance between us and kisses me.
“We’ll sleep after I’m done with you, baby…”
“Jason, please don’t,” I manage, gently pushing him away. “This is not alright, and we both know it.”
He stares at me, disbelief glowing furiously in his eyes. “I should’ve known it would get to this. Fine, Selina. Just take your judgement and go to bed.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just—”
“Listen, toots, if you’re not gonna let me have some fun with you tonight, there’s a bottle of single malt stashed away in the living room that will,” Jason snaps and brushes past me. “Actually, there are two bottles but I’m going to show restraint so you don’t think I’m a complete failure.” He stops by the sofa and gives me a long look over the shoulder. “Only a moderate one.”
“Jason, please—”
“No, no. I get it,” he waves me away. “Go. I’m fine.”
“Jason—”
“I said I’m fine!”
The thunder in his voice startles me. I forget all about my plate in the kitchen and any other thought I’ve been nursing this evening. The sight of Jason binge-drinking is enough to destroy my appetite and bring tears to my eyes as I nod slowly and run back upstairs. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I lock the door behind me, something I’ve never felt the need to do before. Damn Cynthia and her wretched diary, it’s like a frickin’ oracle, foreseeing the very downfall of the one good thing in my life.
Yet as much as I despise that damned book, I end up reading more from it as I sit by the window and turn the night light on. I’m shaking like a leaf as I flip through the pages, wiping the tears away in order to keep my focus on the scribbled words. I can hear Jason fumbling around downstairs, and I’m pretty sure the guys can hear him, too, but nobody comes out to check on him. They probably realize what’s going on. They’ve probably known since dinner, when Jason still wasn’t home, and that is why I ended up going to bed on my own.
“Sully’s mood has gone south,” Cynthia writes. “After Jason’s drinking episodes, Sully has gotten harsher, colder. He appears soulless. Almost threatening. It’s hard to describe this sense of danger I feel when I’m around him. It developed in subtle, almost unnoticed stages. He’s been letting this rage inside of him eat away at everything that is good in his heart, and Jason’s issues have reverberated across to him. The helplessness of watching his friend suffer like this… the helplessness of having to share me with his mates… it’s killing the kindness in him. I can tell. I can see the sadness festering, morphing into something mean and ugly.
“This morning, I offered to make breakfast for them. Sully snatched the pan from my hands with such speed that I nearly fell backward. Matthew jumped in to catch me at just the right moment, but I could see them glowering at each other. I’ve got a bad feeling that the built-up tension is going to explode soon.”
I shake my head, furious at what I’m reading. This can’t be right. This can’t be what’s happening tonight, too. It’s not fair. I’d only just found a small measure of peace in this place, this idea of love on another level, of a bond that could withstand the test of time and societal norms, somehow. Then again, living in isolation in a cabin in the mountains during the middle of winter could easily skew reality.
Maybe it was all just an illusion from the beginning. Maybe I’ve romanticized the entire dynamic solely for the purpose of falling in love after my disappointment with Kieran. Frickin’ Cynthia, man.
