callie june. (scible) wrote in cosmologies, @ 2011-05-02 17:49:00 |
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Entry tags: | callie june, jack o'leary |
WHO: Callie June and Jack O'Leary.
WHAT: Snowed in.
WHEN: The weekend of the blizzard.
WHERE: Callie's apartment.
STATUS: Complete.
Jack felt like he was crawling out of his skin. He’d been stuck in the apartment for days and at first it had been alright, they’d just argued like they always did, but now - now it was starting to get complicated. He had been trying to ration his cigarettes; it had been difficult, being around Callie nonstop was making him incredibly nervous. There were too many emotions involved, too many that he’d thought he’d put in check after the divorce. Apparently he hadn’t.
He flipped the egg in the pan, he needed to focus on something else and not the way her hair smelled or the way she smiled. He had cheated on her, he knew the only way this would go. It would build up into something and she would laugh in his face and he didn’t know that he could handle that. So it was just best if absolutely nothing happened, he thought it might even be best if one of them killed one another than anything happening between the two of them.
He heard a noise. He figured that must be Callie coming back with the wine. He used a knife to take his annoyance with the entire situation and himself on the Canadian bacon he was going to add to the omelet.
Callie descended from the sort of shaky pull-down ladder that led up to the cramped attic space of her apartment, cardboard box grasped in her arms. “I don’t know how long this has been up there, it’s from--” she stopped herself before finishing the sentence, since it accurately ended with our anniversary, “--like, years ago.”
She set the container on the coffee table and walked towards him into the kitchen. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut--but you’d need more than a knife. Maybe a machete. Callie didn’t know if she wanted to hit Jack over the head with a frying pan or start a fight so she could have a break from the weird not-talking. Either would work. Her hand crept towards the cupboard where she kept the cookware, but she stopped herself and cleared her throat.
She leaned against the wall beside the stove. “So um,” she started, but her train of thought wasn’t really going anywhere, so she stopped altogether, and simply watched Jack cook, his hands moving deftly over the tools and ingredients in a way that made her ache with familiarity.
“Wine lasts a good long time, I just hope it hasn’t turned to vinegar,” he told her. Although he doubted it was vinegar, it was just something to say.
Jack had watched Callie out of the corner of his eye and when he started to admire the way she moved, he decided that turning the oven all the way up to 500 degrees and throwing himself in, was perhaps, not the worst idea he’d ever had. Sure it might hurt for a little bit but he’d be dead soon enough and then he wouldn’t really care that much either way. After all third degrees didn’t matter so much when you weren’t alive. His other option was freezing to death, but he thought that would take longer and Callie could follow him outside.
“Yeah?” Jack asked, clearing his throat. He glanced up with her for a moment before he turned back and started to cut up some peppers, anything to do with his hands and anything that didn’t mean he had to look at her.
Although he’d been awkwardly avoiding her since their surprisingly tender moment that morning, Callie felt Jack tense even more as he cooked. She stared at him intently. “Oh, uh. Do you want me to help?” She asked, standing behind him on the tips of her toes so peer over his shoulder--she lost balance, though, and in resting her feet firmly on the floor again, placed her hands on his back for support.
“Sorry,” she chimed, and crossed her arms quickly, brow furrowing. Callie moved to the other side of the kitchen and twisted her hair into a quick knot behind her head before reaching up to the cupboard to grab two glass tumblers. She walked back out to the living room and cracked open the seal on the wine, pressing down on the spigot to release some of the wine into each glass. She sipped from hers at first, but then plopped down on the couch and surreptitiously drank a large gulp.
“I’m doing alright,” he told her, giving her a little smile before she lost her balance. The moment where he relaxed slightly of the memory when the fire department called made him smile. Jack froze when he felt Callie right behind him. He didn’t move, he just froze. There were too many reminders of the times she’d kissed him when they had been making dinner and shared moments. Sure he had been the one who had fucked up their relationship utterly, but he still missed her. “It’s alright,” he muttered.
He heard her pour herself a glass of wine and finished the omelets before he moved to follow her. Carrying two plates with two forks he handed her a plate before he went back to get a drink for himself. He poured himself a drink and drank it immediately before pouring another. He joined her on the couch. “Eat up.”
Callie scooted over on the sofa so they sat on opposite ends and picked at the omelet. It was good, at least compared to what she could make--toaster pizzas, popcorn, salad. They sat in silence and Callie finished her glass of wine while they both ate. She sighed, the expelled air lifting a lock of hair that had fallen on top of her face from her bun.
Finally, she turned to him, placing her half-full plate on the table. “Do you want to talk about it?” She inquired, and moved closer, pulling her legs up on the couch and resting her chin on her knees.
Jack was concentrating on his food. It was easier than the woman at the end of the couch. When Callie spoke, he glanced up at her when she spoke. No he didn’t want to talk about it. He absolutely didn’t want to talk about it. “I don’t know what we have to talk about,” he muttered although he was certain she didn’t - no, he wasn’t going to put himself there. He didn’t want to have that conversation that could be the only thing that could possibly make this worse.
He finished his glass of wine and wished that he had another one. “More wine?” he asked.
She bit her lip and took his glass from him, filling it and handing it back before refilling her own. “You know what I mean,” she pressed. “This morning. We should talk about what happened.” She was surprisingly calm about it, although she was pushing his buttons, but it was really just because she was confused. Emotionally, physically, mentally. She downed some of her wine.
“Neither of us was awake, we were confused,” he said, although his tone was anything but convincing and he would have been shocked if Callie had believed him. What happened this morning wasn’t supposed to happen. They were divorced and yeah it was because of him but still things weren’t supposed to happen to them.
Callie rolled her eyes and cuffed him on the shoulder. “You are an IDIOT,” she said loudly, and grabbed her cup before storming off into the kitchen, where she stood facing the counter, arms crossed. She didn’t understand how he could be yelling at her one second, kissing her and cooking for her the next, and then being stoic and annoyed one second after that. Yes, she had left him. No, she didn’t particularly want him back. But it was Jack--not that she knew exactly what that meant. Despite their divorce, the separation of their lives, their existences were still intertwined, and Callie didn’t quite know what to make of it. She pouted, fidgeting with something laying out on the countertop.
Jack exhaled and ran his fingers through his hair. “Fuck,” he muttered before he got up and followed her into the kitchen. He slammed his cup down next to her. “What the fuck do you want me to say Cals?” he asked. “No matter what I say, it doesn’t fucking change things, does it? So I don’t know what you expect me to say.” He looked at her. His muscles in his back were tense and he was close to just throwing himself out the window. “We aren’t we anymore,” he said, motioning between the two of them. Part of him thought that maybe she was playing a game with him to humiliate him and the other part of him didn’t give a shit and just wanted to fuck her on the counter.
Callie’s voice rose. “I don’t understand you!” she shouted. “YOU are the one that did this to us, Jack. We aren’t ANYTHING.” She was practically screaming, her eyes blotchy from withheld tears. It was his fault, but she was the one who was a wreck. And their split was so long ago, but they were both too stubborn and too sullen to even communicate their fears to one another. “WHY ARE WE EVEN FIGHTING ABOUT THIS? WHY ARE YOU EVEN STILL HERE? WHY ARE YOU HERE?”
Jack ran his fingers through his hair. “I KNOW I FUCKED IT UP CALS, YOU DON’T HAVE TO FUCKING REMIND ME.” He was exasperated and he hated still being in love with the person who hated him, who had left him, even if he’d fucked them up so bad, it wasn’t fixable. He hated the entire fucking thing. “I don’t know, Cals, I just don’t fucking know why I’m still here except there’s fifty fucking feet of snow outside and I’d rather not die getting lost in a snowdrift.” That didn’t really answer the question that she had asked, but that was all he was willing to admit. He wasn’t going to let her turn him down, he wouldn’t be able to take it.
“NO, I’m pretty sure I do have to remind you, seeing as you are DOWN MY THROAT and--fuck--I didn’t even do anything and all day you’re not being yourself--” Callie’s hair was frazzled from the way she was pulling at it, and she started to break into tears. She felt like an idiot, crying in front of him, so vulnerable. Cowering, face in her hands, she was unable to look at him, or even at anything other than the cups of her own palms.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Jack said. He ran his hands through his hair before he put his arm on Callie’s back. He was an ass and everyone knew he was an ass, but he didn’t want Callie to cry in the middle of the kitchen. Not when he couldn’t go anywhere because there was a hundred feet of snow outside the apartment and not when things were complicated. Maybe if he thought he wouldn’t get rejected he would have said more, but for now he just wanted her to stop crying so he hugged her.
Surprisingly, Callie didn’t tense up, but turned into his embrace, her head nestled into his chest--he was tall enough and she was small enough that she barely made it to his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said into him, sniffling, “I’m so sorry that this happened to us. That we’re so broken.” She had left. He may have broken them, but she dealt the last blow. They were so impulsive, the two of them: their relationship, their marriage, his indiscretion, her decision to divorce him. Nothing they did was planned or logical. Although Callie didn’t know if she would prefer it the other way.
Jack kissed her forehead and pulled her close, despite the back of his head screaming to push her away, to hurt her. “Don’t cry, Cals. It’s not your fault.” He rubbed her back. He knew that they would never get to be how they were before, they were fucked up and broken and nothing would be able to heal them because they would always bring up whatever mistake the other made, it was a game in a way. They would always push each other back and forth, to see how far they could push, how many buttons they could press before the other one snapped.
Quickly, Callie wrapped her arms around Jack’s waist. It was almost like old times--the scent of her own shampoo mixing with his sort of manly mix of soap and sweat, familiar, distinct to them only. Who were they kidding, really, though? They were idiots, embracing like this, pretending they liked each other or could stand to be around one another. She wanted to recoil from his arms and punch him in the gut and storm away to her bedroom, where she could pretend he didn’t exist, maybe take a bath and read the novel she’d been engrossed in--but then Callie looked up at him. And instead, she raised herself slightly and kissed him, very, very lightly, at the crease between his neck and jaw.
Jack inhaled, that felt good, as much as he didn’t want it to feel nice that felt nice. He knew he was fucked and didn’t think about how it was the wrong thing to do or how he shouldn’t be doing that and he leaned down and kissed her. It was the only natural thing to do, it was all he could do, after all, she’d started it and maybe they could agree that whatever happened between them during the snowstorm could be chalked up to cabin fever and/or some kind of snow madness. Either way, right now he didn’t give a shit.