Spitfire | JTK

VII

Warnings: sadness/depression, insecurity, anxiety,  breakup talk, unhealthy coping mechanisms, long emotional talks, smoking (marijuana), crying, angst, fluff, sorry if i miss any!

The days passed slowly, dwindling down into one big, long, never ending cycle. Your clothes were piling up in the laundry basket, there were empty fast food bags littering you floor, and the steady stream of unanswered texts and calls seemed to never stop. It was nearing a week since the 'Twitter incident' (which was the only was it was allowed to be referred to) happened, and you hadn't broken the radio silence with Jake yet. He never gave up, though. Through everything, you did have to admire his persistence. It was the day you were originally set to fly to Atlanta, and it was taking every ounce of your strength to not tear up the plane ticket and throw it in the garbage.

Jake's name was a taboo subject in the house, and your friends knew that. When you had taken almost permanent refuge in your bed, they had practically given up hope that the situation would ever resolve. You rarely left your room unless it was to use the washroom or grab a food delivery from the front door. Your laptop remained in your bed and you worked from there. Hiding away was easier than facing the hard conversations, you decided. You were heartbroken, definitely, but more angry at yourself that you couldn't get over your fear and just answer his phone calls, even just to end things maturely. You'd convinced yourself it was easier to end things on a what-if, rather than a certainty.

All of the items Jake gifted you were neatly placed on your desk, his sweater on the bottom and his cologne on top. The small box containing the ring was loudly laying next to it, and the plane ticket in the envelope was gently resting at the top of the pile. You had no idea what to do with them. The sight of them alone made your stomach turn. You wanted to throw them all in the trash, or burn them, just so you never had to see them again, but there was a bigger part of you that wanted to put the sweater back on and remember him for a little while. It was a hateful battle you were fighting with yourself, and there seemed to be no end in sight. You wanted to feel close to him, but you didn't want to think about him. You wanted to love him, but every part of your body was holding you back.

Your end of day meeting wrapped up and you closed your laptop, wondering if you would be able to get some shut eye. You were teetering between not sleeping at all and sleeping only when you shouldn't be. As you shoved the computer to the side and turned towards the wall, you reached to the corner of the bed and pulled a pillow into your chest. It was a much neglected one, lost and forgotten in the mess of all of the others. When you buried your head into the pillowcase, your breath caught in your throat. The scent was familiar, but extremely faint. Even so, you'd recognize it anywhere. The ever so subtle hint of his shampoo dusted with the remanence of his cologne felt like a punch in the stomach. You wanted to throw it away, to get rid of it completely, but your arms wouldn't let go. The longer you breathed it in, the more the tension left your body. Your eyes fluttered shut, feeling more comfort than you had in days.

A little while later, you woke up to the sun setting outside of your window. The golden glow cast a peaceful aura over the otherwise gloomy room. You stretched, taking in a deep breath before rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You were stiff and beyond sore from laying in bed so much. The blankets were tangled around you and your head felt a little bit clearer; it had been a few days since you'd gotten any amount of sleep that was actually restful. Unwillingly, you hauled yourself out of the bed. You found your cigarette pack and pulled out a joint, placing it between your lips. You figured that you'd be able to get some more sleep under the right circumstance.

You hoisted yourself up on the deep windowsill, swinging your legs up and resting your back against the wood. You slid the window open, feeling the fresh air hit you in the face. You let out a sigh of relief, enjoying the moment of clarity. You lit the end of the joint after you popped the screen off the window. You let your hand rest outside, trying your best to keep the smell minimal. You pulled your phone from your pocket, clicking the screen on and checking the time. Before you put it away, you attention was grabbed by your last received text message.