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“Oh, my God, poor Jake. Emma, really? In less than five minutes, I can only imagine the crazy mess he’s dealing with. All those versions of you colliding dramatically with hormonal imbalance thrown in, and you’ve probably no idea how to handle it at all. No wonder you’re being so pissy.” Her tone seems to quell my anger, and despite myself, I smile. Sarah, of all people, knows me well, and she’s right.
My life has been turned on its head, and every version of who I was or am has me so upside down and back to front I’ve no idea who I am anymore. All I know is graceful and cold PA Emma would never be in the crazy mess I’m in now. I haven’t worn any of her clothes in weeks, let alone those stilettos, which I’ve kept with me almost like a protective talisman. I wear flats now … flats! Girly clothes, cute jumpers, and goddamn summer dresses in romantic fabrics. Hell must have frozen over, surely.
“I’ve been a nightmare, Sarah. It’s a wonder he’s still here.” I cast my mind back to the tearful sobbing, angry shouting, and smashing plates of crazy Emma, who has been occupying the apartment with him. The woman who woke from a nap on the couch to find Jake had set up the bathroom with candles, music, rose petals, and a gorgeous bubble bath for me and told him I hated him before breaking down in sobs.
I am a mess. Jake is in pain too, but I’m selfishly stomping all over him, ignoring what he’s feeling, marking it as invalid because he hurt me and ruined things because he took my trust and ripped it into tiny shreds.
The stuff with Marissa still claws at my brain every day. It’s completely unhealthy, hanging over me like some doom and gloom cloud of tension. I’ve spent the last two weeks knowing he’s been avoiding her contact, and it only adds to the build-up inside me; that somehow, the moment he sees her will make me break. It intensifies my anger when it hits, and I know a time will come when I’ll blow up at him, an outlet for all the crazy inside me.
“Jake loves you, and he’s repenting for his sins. If he can’t handle all you’re throwing at him now, babe, he’s not the man for you.” Sarah laughs and jokes, but I know she’s being serious.
Jake is handling all I am throwing at him, bringing home my favorite foods when he goes out to meetings and pampering me with gifts and love notes to find whenever I open a drawer or use the bathroom. He leaves little surprises for me to find whenever he goes out. He’s trying so hard to show me that I am loved and wanted, yet all he’s getting in return is an unhinged emotional psychopath who occasionally shows hints of the girl he loves. I need to stop pushing him away and acting so hostile, or I’ll be chasing Jake to win him back. But I can’t help it. Something in me in the last two weeks has grown overly uncontrollable, with an emotion bubbling inside of me that I can’t pick out, an aching cavern of emptiness that I have no way of dealing with or know how to deal with.
“I think he might get sick of how I’m being,” I verbalize my inner doubt without thinking. Shivering at the thought.
“No, he won’t, Emma. You’re pregnant, and you’re grieving over what he did. I’m sure even Jake has the intelligence to see that, and he’s sure as hell got the sense to let you do it. Are you back? I mean, are you … intimate again?” Her question surprises me, but with Sarah, she does like the juicy details.
“I let him touch me; occasionally. We share a bed, and sometimes he reaches for me in his sleep but other than that, we don’t go near each other. I can’t let him kiss me or get too touchy-feely just yet, and definitely no sex.” I can’t even begin to explain the heartbreak I get whenever I contemplate kissing him. She’s always there in my mind, pushed up against him. It’s all bound up with my trust in him and my inner need to inflict punishment on him. I can’t even dissect it myself, and I haven’t let him try in weeks. I’ve been too scared to let him if I’m being honest, because that bitch being in my head causes so much pain.
“It’s normal, Ems. He betrayed you. All that stuff isn’t owed to him … it’s earned. He needs to earn back the trust to let him go there again. I completely understand.” She sighs.
I’m glad she does, as I have no idea.
I catch the noise of Jake coming into the apartment and the shuffle of bags as he strolls in; he and Mathews are laughing over something. He sounds happy, tugging at my heart and lightening my mood. The voice and laugh that has so much power over me. I miss that laugh lately; it hasn’t been around much.
He had an early meeting at his father’s building and was gone for hours. There’s a rise in my stomach, the lightening of the heavy pit, and the urge to go to him overwhelms me. At least a part of me still wants him just as much as I did before; it reminds me every time he’s been away. I miss him when he’s not here, even if I am being a complete bitch to him when he is.
“Sarah, I need to go. I’ll text you later, okay? Jake’s home.” I suddenly have an unyielding urge to see him.
We say our goodbyes, and as I hang up, Jake sweeps past, carrying many shopping bags with various brands and designer names emblazoned across them. I sigh and hope he’s not brought home another mountain of gifts like he did last time he was in the city. I don’t want gifts and trinkets; I want my head to stop with all its confusing crap.
He heads into the bedroom with a smile my way, and I get that surge of disappointment that I’ve been getting a lot lately. Sometimes I miss the forceful Jake who says, Fuck this shit, and pushes me to a wall kissing the hell out of me. I miss him that way, and part of me wonders how I would react if he did just that, if he took away my choice to kiss him and just did it. If he took away my choice and just forced physical contact again.
Would I push him away?
You chose to keep him at a distance until you can handle this Marissa shit!
I stare down at my phone to distract my thoughts, contemplating calling Leila, swiping to her face among my contacts, and telling her when I’m suddenly hoisted up mid-air off the couch with a squeal. Jake doing his best ‘ bride-to-be’ hold, plants a kiss on my cheek with the most gorgeous smile I’ve ever seen. I melt a little inside and can’t help but smile back at this forbidden contact. My inner stomach flutters crazily, and a tiny sparkle of something else, something warm and tingly.
“Did you miss me? I missed you.” He’s obviously in a very good mood; this spontaneous grabbing has been lacking lately.
Severely lacking.
“Maybe,” I reply softly, looking away shyly. I’m suddenly nervous and awkward like I used to be before I knew he loved me. It feels weird to be nose to nose again. It feels like an age has passed since we were this close while awake.
“I come bearing gifts.” He grins, trying to tilt his head around to get me to look at him. His cuteness has me shaking my head and giving in to his intoxicating mood.
“Stop spending money on gifts. I told you I don’t need them,” I huff lightly. But the inner swell of joy I’m getting from being in his arms is nudging away the anger so I don’t sound mad. I sound like the old me.
“Technically, they’re not for you, Bambina.” He winks cheekily and plants another kiss on me, this time on the corner of my mouth, his eyes focusing a little too long on my lips. I can feel myself urging him just to do it. I can’t think straight as I take in those perfectly chiseled kissable lips so close to me. I clear my throat and bring my attention back to his eyes.
Oh, those eyes.
“Who are they for?” I sound childish, and he only smiles harder, a look of adoration evident on his face. He’s chipping away at me, melting some of my ice with his current behavior and mood.
“I’ll show you.” He turns and carries me to the bedroom, gently laying me on the bed beside the bags. Yet as he does, I instantly return to cold and upset, that inner swell of warmth dissipating fast, my mood trickling away, and I realize what it is almost immediately; a clarity or epiphany like a lightning bolt out of the darkness.
I miss Jake’s affection! His touch, his caresses, his hugs. I miss us! That’s what this constant anger is.
I miss him touching me freely, without permission or needing to ask for it. I miss the spontaneous, arrogant, ‘I can touch you because you’re mine’ Jake. I miss being picked up, hauled around, and grabbed. I miss the way he would kiss me a million times a day just because he had to, and I miss that body molded to mine, making me feel complete. I miss that I belonged to him, and he never sought my permission to possess me. I owned him, and he owned me, and neither ever needed any urging to take what we needed from one another.
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