This would NOT leave me alone. If any of you were waiting for an update on Another Heart Calls, then I apologize. Let's just say my muse won't focus on that until I got this out of the way, so hopefully I'll be finishing the next chapter soon.
Inspired by the song "Sometime Around Midnight" by The Airborne Toxic Event. It's a great song that totally suits Jane and Lisbon, so give it a listen.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
You're not sure what leads you to that bar in the first place. If you believed in such things, you might think that God had sent you there for a reason. If you believed in such things. But you don't. Believe, that is. After all that's happened to you, you don't believe in much of anything anymore. All you know is that you need an escape—from your emotions, your baggage, your life.
So somehow, you're here. Clutching a glass of wine, knowing that you've had too much already. You can't bring yourself to care. You sit there, listening to the band, the buzz of the wine wiping away your worries. They're playing a song about forgetting yourself, if only for a while. The part of your brain that isn't affected by the alcohol thinks how fitting the song really is.
Because that's all you're here to do.
But then you turn, and somehow the world seems to slow down. Your impromptu decision is starting to seem more and more like a cruel coincidence, or maybe a blessing in disguise. You won't know until later.
Why?
Because she's here. She, the one who unknowingly pieced your heart back together and made it possible for you to love again. She, the one you have more than platonic feelings for, feelings you've never confessed. She, the one you left as soon as Red John was behind bars, leaving no reasons, no explanations.
Idly, you check your watch. It's 12:11 am. You can still feel the wine running through your system, but it seems less important now. It's been 2 years since you last saw her, and if possible she's grown even more beautiful. She turns slightly, so you can finally see her smile, and you wonder how you've gone so long without her. You're still staring when she notices your presence and comes over to greet you.
"Jane?" Teresa Lisbon half-yells over the music. "We haven't seen you around in a while."
The brightness in her eyes tells you that she's had a few, but she's still fully functioning, much more so than yourself. Even in your current state, you catch the cold edge to her voice. You understand it. You essentially abandoned her, leaving no reasons behind. Just when things between had a chance to move forwards. You have no real reason for your departure, other than perhaps cowardice and selfishness. You were scared of the possibilities the future held, so you ran before you could work them out. Her frosty demeanour is to be expected, you suppose.
It still hurts.
"Yeah," you hear yourself say. "'I needed some time."
You don't miss the slight raise of her eyebrows or the hurt in her eyes. You could always read her well, but not like the open book you claim she is. There were always some things you miss. Watching her now, you can't help but wonder if those feelings you have aren't so one-sided after all.
"You couldn't have called, maybe? Or at least let us know what was going on? God, Jane, we thought you'd done something stupid," she says, softer this time. The hurt is still there, this time accompanied by a look you can only describe as betrayed. Now you know you weren't imagining all those moments.
You want to say something, anything that will make that look fade from her eyes, to see her smile again and say the two of you'll be alright. You're normally a master of words, but this time all you can manage is, "I'm sorry, Teresa." The use of her first name catches her attention right away. "I didn't want to leave you, but I was scared."
You watch her trying to find the hidden meaning in your words. For once, there is none.
"Scared of what?" she asks, so softly you can barely hear her.
Your cards are on the table. It's time for you to be honest for once in your sorry life. To reveal a part of the truth, if not all of it. "Us," you say simply.
You want her to smile, to leap in your arms, to kiss away the sadness and cares. She does none of those things. She bites her lip and quickly glances around. "God, Patrick."
And then you can't help yourself anymore. You close the space between you in a stride and pull her against your chest. You just need to feel her again. Your face is nestled in the crook of her shoulder, and at that moment you catch a whiff of her perfume. It's different than you remember, it's not her usual spicy cinnamon. This time, you smell something sweet and citrusy, some intoxicating combination of vanilla and oranges. Against your will, the smell goes right to your head, and the only thing you can see now are your naked bodies pressed together, your arms holding her against you.
You stand there with her in your arms, waiting. You desperately want to kiss her, but you won't. That one, faithful step, you'll leave it up to her. You know she's a control freak. You've never told her, but you find it quite endearing.
You've been waiting for nearly 10 seconds when you finally pull away and look into her eyes. The look you see isn't the one you were hoping for. She looks confused, maybe a little regretful. You pull away from her sharply and wait for her to make the next move.
"I have to go," she excuses herself, practically running from you.
You watch dejectedly as she disappears into the crowd, your momentarily absent despair back with a vengeance. You can't help but wonder what you did wrong. Had you really managed to misinterpret the signs? Or was the timing simply wrong?
But then you catch a glimpse of her once again, and you feel like the world is collapsing in pieces around you. She's making her way to the exit, accompanied by a man you've never met. One look at the two of them dashes your hopes of a relative. They're lovers, you realize, you were too late. You suppose you were foolish to expect a woman as beautiful as her to remain single forever, you find that you were expecting her to wait forever. You were childish to hope so. And now you've lost your chance.
She locks eyes with you one more time at the bar door, a look you can't really describe in her eyes. She looks—bittersweet. Apologetic, regretful, maybe even nostalgic. But you can pretty much read the words in her gaze, we could have been so much together, but we missed our chance.
And then she disappears into the night.
You feel something break inside you, something that can't be your heart. It's been ripped apart and mutilated too much already, this new pain can't be that battered old organ. You stumble to your feet and chase after her.
You're sure you're only a few moments behind her, but when the night air hits you she's nowhere to be found. You wander drunkenly down the sidewalk, and you don't care what the world can see. You just have to see her, you just have to see if she's happy. So you hail a taxi and give the driver Lisbon's address.
When the taxi pulls up, you can see the two of them walking towards the building door, their hands loosely entwined. You watch from a distance as they exchange the typical after-date niceties, and you pray that's all that will happen.
Of course it's not. You feel sick to your stomach when you see him bring her in for a searing kiss, and even worse still when you see her melt in his arms and return the kiss with equal fervour. You turn away, tears of regret and disappointment pricking your eyes. You won't let them fall, you promise yourself.
Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you turn back to the sickening scene before you. He's halfway back to his car now, and you can see the smile that lights up her face from here. Unlike last time, her smile doesn't soothe you. It just makes you hurt even more, if that's at all possible. You won't go over to her, she doesn't need her life complicated any more. You've caused her enough headaches over the years, and for once you do something selfless and leave her. She would never know you were there. She would never know how she broke you in two. You drag your feet back to the waiting cab, where a sympathetic driver awaits.
"I'm sorry," he offers, but it doesn't do any good. You didn't expect it to, anyways.
Fin.
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