Her Melting Point

That's How It Is

The walk helped. By the time she returned home, Jackie had a plan. It wasn't a good plan; but, any way you slice it, in the current circumstance, nothing 'good' was in the books for her.

She started by taking a long luxurious bath, with bubbles and oils, and as she'd once told Alexander, a cup of tea and biscuits. She scrubbed and washed; applied masks and treatments; came out; bundled up in her robe; tended to her hair and nails; moisturised; and finally sat down on her sofa. Tartufo immediately took his favourite spot, his backside tucked against her.

She had to look up the first number she needed, in her laptop. It had been more than eight years since she'd dialled it. The conversation was short, after all Jackie needed only one question answered.

The second number she remembered by heart, which was unnecessary, since her mobile had added it to her favourites automatically.

"Hiya," Alexander answered after a rather long time.

"Hi," Jackie said - and folded in half, pressing her forehead to her knees. "How are you doing?" She was going to give him time to respond, but words poured out of her. "Alexander, I'm– I feel awful. And I might be in trouble. Actually, scrap that, I am definitely in sodding trouble. I'm scared, terrified even. And I tried to fix it, and I don't think I did. And I've been thinking, and overthinking; and I keep running scenarios in my head. It's like a quicksand. The more I flounder, the worse it gets. And I'm not sure what to do– Could you, please, come over?"

He was silent on the other end. Jackie focused on her breathing, counting her exhales.

"I will be at your place in twenty."

***

By the time he rang the bell, she'd changed into a modal hoodie and her soft velour bottoms, which he liked so much that, when she wore them, he tended to sink his teeth into her buttocks at every opportunity. She couldn't bring herself to make any food. She'd gotten to the stage when smells and textures and the sheer thought of an effort it would require made her nauseous. Instead, she'd sat on the sofa and counted minutes.

When she opened the door and he walked in, Jackie had a sudden and chilling realisation: all through these days and nights that she'd struggled and worried and devised, she hadn't given a moment of consideration to what Alexander would think of it all. She sort of automatically assumed that he'd be on her side and support her in whatever she'd decide to do. Except, now, seeing his dark face, his eyebrows drawn together, his jaw set, she remembered that the last thing he'd heard from her was her suddenly changing her mind and telling him not to come back to her place and then dryly thanking him via a text for the gorgeous bouquet that he'd sent her. Conversely, it had been exactly a week since then.

Her suspicions were immediately confirmed by the fact that instead of his usual grabbing and snogging manoeuvre, he stopped in the hall. His gaze was fixed somewhere above her shoulder.

"It just dawned on me that I might have cocked it up," she squeaked. "Um– I see that you're angry. Alexander?" She wasn't getting any answer, which of course prompted more blabbering from her. "You are, innit? Because I didn't call you for a week? And I didn't explain anything, and– How angry are you?"

"More than before California."

The underlying emotions made him sound gravelly; and Jackie wrapped her arms around herself.

"Right, yeah, it makes–"

"I told you," he interrupted her. He'd never done it before. Jackie sucked a shaky breath in. "It fucks with my head when I'm left hanging," he gritted through clenched teeth. "I'm–" His chest rose sharply, and then he slowly released an exhale through his rounded lips. "I'm not angry with you. You aren't obliged to report to me. But it would've been an easier week if you had."