From The Wreckage - Complete (11 page)

For one quiet, scary moment Jules wants to take the words back. She knows she doesn’t have the right to say what she said. She is taken – long-term-boyfriend-taken — and admitting to the inexplicable feelings West Rutledge makes her feel isn’t smart.

She can tell by the look in his eyes that her admission touched him. The problem is, it touched her too. From the moment he gave her his little grin and called her Buffy in his sarcastic tone, she began to lose herself. She can’t explain it because there’s no explanation for it. Some things just happen.

"Why did you speak to me that night?" she asks, and now it is his turn to look away. 

Sitting up, he pulls a knee towards his chest and rests his arm upon it. His other hand never letting go of hers, although only their fingertips touch now.

"You all but slammed the door shut on everyone when we started back to school in the eighth grade. Why?" she asks and stares at the black tee shirt stretched across his back and shoulders. She resists the urge to brush the specks of dirt away as she waits for him to answer her.

"A lot of things changed back then." He picks up a stone and absently throws it into the row of cornstalks to their right. 

"I remember the last time we talked. I mean
really
talked." Jules smiles and sits up; folding her legs to the side and facing his profile. She has to let go of his hand to get situated, and she grins when he catches it again without so much as turning his head to look at her.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Karen Wade's going away party, July before eighth grade started."

He offers her a small smile of acknowledgment, a light chuckle escaping his lips, as he turns to Jules. "You remember that night?"

"Of course. You were my first real kiss."

"No way. I call B.S. on that."

"You can't call B.S." 

"There is
no way
I was your first kiss, Jules Blacklin," he insists and continues to stare at her incredulously.

Irritated, Jules tries to pull her hand away. "Yes there is, and you
were
, West Rutledge," she spits in the same tone he used. "Gimme back my hand if you’re going to call me a liar," she demands. Jules tries to tug her arm away again and pokes out her lip in a pout, but West resists.

"No." 

"No? Damn it, West, let go of me."

"I can't," he grinds out between clenched teeth and she stops pulling away. "I can't seem to let you go, Jules. I can't stop thinking about you, and about those hours we spent trapped together." His voice cracks and tears spring to her eyes as his face falls. "Your hand was an anchor.
You
were an anchor. I had you to keep safe, and it kept me focused." 

He takes a deep breath. "Man, this sucks."

He rubs a palm across his red eyes and Jules leans forward; her free hand reaching across and touching his forearm softly. She pulls his hand from his face to stop him from covering the tears. Her eyes are now overflowing.

"It does suck," she agrees, and allows her fingertip to brush his cheek.

West blows out a harsh breath before he hauls her into his chest and hugs her tightly. He rubs his cheek against the top of her hair and Jules’ arms go around his waist as she ducks her face into his chest with a sigh.

"I spoke to you that night because I was tired of pretending to ignore you. I've never truly ignored you, Jules. Never."  

They sit there, tucked into a ball without a word for quite some time. Jules has no words to respond to what he said. She revealed something to him and he returned the sentiment. What do you say to that? She feels his chest quiver under her cheek, as well as the deep breaths he takes in and out as he tries to calm himself. She's cried so many times in the last five days, she isn’t sure how she has any tears left to shed.

Jules can tell he's pulled himself together when he clears his throat and runs his fingers over the top of her head to comb through her long hair.

"So I was your first kiss, huh? How is that remotely possible?"

She laughs under her breath at his awkward 'change the subject' tone.

"I don't know. I mean, I never paid much attention to boys back then."

"You've
never
paid much attention to boys."

"What? Sure I have."

"Ha!" He eases his grip and she pulls back slightly at his laugh. "Not since Mr. Football moved here. Stuart had your attention from day one."

"Whatever. What? Were you stalking me or something?"

"I noticed you." He says with a shrug.

"Creeper," she teases, crinkling her nose. "Besides, that's not true. I went on dates before Stuart."

"Everyone knew those were mercy dates, Buffy. We all knew you were biding your time waiting on Stuart. He's your Angel."

"What in the world? You're so weird. What's up with you and ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’? You're a guy! Where did you learn all this Buffy talk anyway?"

Although they are no longer hugging, they remain close enough for Jules to gape at the red flush that travels up his neck and ears.

"Oh!" she practically shouts. "Don't answer that — I already know... Carley." She does a little 'I knew it' wiggle when West's eyes roll in confirmation. She laughs and teases, "Your little goth girlfriend made you watch it, didn't she?"

His shoulder bumps into hers. "Oh, shut up. It was tenth grade. What's your point?"

Jules falls to her back giggling as she envisions West Rutledge with his black combat boots, messy, devil-may-care hair and sinful grin sitting in a living room somewhere watching 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' with Carley Raine. She pictures Carley in her mind: her jet black straight hair, purple lipstick and depressing obsession with all things black. 

"Let me clarify things. First, the guys I dated before Stuart weren't 'mercy dates'. Second, Stuart is not my 'Angel', whatever
that
means."

"You guys have been together for, what — two years? He's your Angel; the guy you're hopelessly in love with. Whether he's right for you or not." He mumbles the last bit, but Jules hears it and her curiosity wins out.

"Why would you say he's not right for me? You don't know him."

"Forget it. Sorry."

"Forget it? Tell me what you meant."

West pushes up from the ground in one swift movement, walks up to a cornstalk and takes a swipe at it.

"I should get you home. I don't want your parents to worry about you."

"Did I do something wrong?"

"What?" He spins around with his hands stuffed in his pockets, and his face is a canvas of confusion.

Jules sits there and thinks about what West said…about how he finally talked to her last Friday night because he was tired of pretending to ignore her. She can’t figure out why he would ignore her, so as she sits there watching him beat up the cornstalks, it occurs to her that perhaps she did something to make him dislike her all those years ago.

She can’t recall a single thing she could have done. She remembers their kiss at Karen's party, which was the last time they truly spoke. It was during a game, “Seven Minutes in Heaven”, and somehow Jules ended up with West. They were pushed into a small storage closet before she could refuse. Although when she thinks back to it, she never tried to back out. She didn't want to. She always thought West was cute, and was nauseatingly excited to give him a kiss.

"Have fun, you two," Karen sings as she pulls the door closed; leaving them with merely a sliver of light coming through the crack at the bottom.

She stands there in the dark, wiping her sweaty palms on her bubble skirt when West pulls out his cell phone. The screen illuminates the closet enough so they can see each other.

He smirks at her and raises his brows. "Wanna sit?" he asks. 

Back then Jules thought he seemed so cool about it all, but her memory reminds her of his awkward stance and the nervous shrug as he slid to the floor.

"Sure."

"How's your mom?" she asks before she thinks better of it. It isn’t a secret that his mom was diagnosed with ovarian cancer the year before. Everyone knows it’s fatal. Although she’s fighting her hardest, the cancer keeps spreading.

"Oh, well..."

"OMG!"
Because apparently it was cool to speak in text speak when you were twelve.
"I shouldn't have blurted that out. That was rude." She sinks to the floor next to him, miserably embarrassed. 

"It's fine. She's alright," he mumbles and touches her forearm lightly.

Jules looks up at him to see him smile and lean towards her. The screen on his phone dims in his lap and his lips part slightly. That is the last thing she’s cognizant of before his light goes out and his lips touch hers.

It is a perfect, soft caress; his parted lips pulling hers between his, the tip of his nose skimming hers. The hand that touches her forearm moves down her arm to find her hand; their fingers weaving together.  

Jules gasps as she pulls out of her memories. She looks at West and the urge to kiss him is overwhelming. 

"Wow — I can remember it so clearly, yet I haven't thought about it in years." She stands and bends down to brush the dirt from her calves.

"Remember what?" 

"My first kiss," she hints.

West's hand moves from his pocket to cross over his chest and rub his bicep. For someone who stopped playing football four years ago, he sure is in great shape. She walks over to him and places her hand on his forearm in a mimic of his gesture. West's arm drops and he locks his dark eyes on hers as she slides her hand down his arm, searching out his hand. 

They stare at each other and wrap their fingers together; their warm palms touching as their lips once did.

Her voice wavers as she speaks. "You held my hand back then, too."

"I know," he admits. "There's something magical about your hands." 

If the memory wasn't so poignant, she would have laughed. Instead, her throat burns as emotions swirl through her. She leans in and rises up on her toes slowly. Her free hand closes on the hem of his tee shirt to help her balance, and his eyes widen as she begins to inch forward.

Without warning, West blinks, mutters a curse under his breath and pulls back from Jules. Shaking their hands apart, he clenches the hand she held into a tight fist and walks over to where his shirt is; bending down to pick it up.

Jules stands there with her empty hand dangling at her side. Tears burn in her eyes while shame burns in her heart.

"Let's get you home," he says and starts walking back the way they came, leaving Jules to follow without another word.

The ride to her house is made in silence. They have to take several detours around the midtown area in order to get to her neighborhood, and Jules looks forlornly at the devastation as they pass it. People litter the streets, going through belongings not one mile from her own home.

As they pull up to her drive, she sighs inwardly. She isn’t sure what to say anymore. She tried to kiss West!
Good Lord, Jules! What were you thinking?
she thinks to herself as he flicks the bike engine off. He leans forward and hangs his arms over the handlebars, and she swings her leg off the bike, careful not to touch the tailpipe with her bare skin.

She quietly pulls the helmet off and hangs it from his handlebars the way she saw him do at the farm. She stands there for a moment and runs her fingers up and down the leather strap of the purse she wears across her chest, waiting. When he keeps his eyes down and doesn’t speak, she decides to leave.

Two steps away, she stops and takes a deep breath. She’s opening her mouth to apologize when he speaks first.

"Where's Stuart?" His voice is flat.

Guilt makes her want to cry when she faces him. "His parents freaked out and took him to his grandparents’ house in Houston for a few days."

"You're still together, right?" His eyes are sad. She knows he already knows the answer to that question, so she only nods.

His head drops and he runs his hands through his hair before sitting up and sliding off the bike, and Jules’ hopes soar as he does so. He steps up to her and blows out a deep breath before taking her hand again.

"I won't mess with what you have with him, Jules. That's not my style. But..." She holds her breath at the 'but'. "I don't know if I can stay away from you. Can we be friends, at least? I can't imagine not being able to look at this hand, even if I can't hold it again."

She nods again, unable to speak for fear of breaking down.

"Give me your cell." 

She wrinkles her brow as she pulls the cell phone from her purse and hands it to him. Jules watches as he silently types something and then lifts the flap of her bag up and drops the phone back in.

"My number, in case you ever need anything. You know, since we're friends and all." 

All she can do is mumble “Thanks”. She’s in shock at his request that they be friends. She doesn’t
want
to be friends with West…does she? No. She wants to kiss him. She wants him to hold her close and keep her safe. Heaven help her, she is confused! His next question only makes her more confused.

"Tomorrow is going to be hard for you. Will he be there?"