Winter Love (Book Two)

28 | Words Unsaid

SAMI'S POV

"What's going on?"

I had just been jolted awake from a deep slumber by Jesse's sudden movements, discomfort setting in at the loss of my source of warmth. But upon gazing at my boyfriend, tripping and struggling as he attempts to gather his clothes, strewn all over the floor; his departure from the bed could very well be the least of my worries.

A frown takes the place normally reserved for his easy smiles and smirks, his eyes downcast, the usual sparkle seemingly lost. And despite his silence, the lack of any verbal response, I could sense that something was incredibly wrong.

"What's wrong?" I ask once again, clearer, sitting up and looking at him.

"Uhm-don't worry about it" he says lowly, "something just happened back home."

It was moments like these that made me wish everyone had some degree of Felix's straightforward nature, because Jesse had managed to say something but say nothing as well, all at once.

A huge gust of wind permeates through the ajar bedroom door, tempting me to bury myself under the warmth of the blankets and succumb to sleep, it's remnants still in my eyelids' grasp. But I couldn't just give in. Not when he looks absolutely distraught. Not when he's been there for me. So much to my heart's delight - and my body's dismay, I roll off the bed, and fortunately, I'd worn my pyjama pants before falling asleep.

I scurry across the cold floorboards, before stopping right in front of him.

"Come" I say, placing my hand in his and coaxing him to take a seat on the bed. The frown before seems to melt away momentarily, a distant look taking its place as if he's here, physically, but his mind may be miles and miles away. I sit down next to him, wrapping my hand around his larger frame, and he instantly drops his head on my shoulder. Something's definitely wrong...as if there was any doubt.

Immediately, questions befall me. Washing over me one after the other, but I hold my tongue. Not only to allow him to speak when he wants to, that's if he wants to. But because I know from my own tumultuous battle with severe anxiety, the last thing I wanted to deal with was endless and constant prying. So instead of asking all of the questions that lay at the top of my tongue, I settle on silence. My only saving grace being that I can say so much without uttering a single word.

So I do my best to assure him, running my hand up and down his back, settling it on his shoulder and lightly squeezing it, before doing the same thing over again. Truly, it isn't much...but I hope it could convey the sincerity of my actions. Reassure him that I'm here, and I'll always be, for as long as he wants me to be.

"I don't think I've ever told you about my mom" he starts lowly, his voice croaky, as if he'd break down and cry at any moment, "or at least, not in detail. I owe you an explanation."

"You don't owe me anything..."

"No, you deserve to know. It's the least I can do..." he chuckles, the sound everything but humorous, "...for her." He snuggles a little closer to me, his head still on my shoulder, "I told you about my dad, and I always neglected telling you about my mom, despite the fact that she was my last surviving parent." My stomach drops at his use of the word was.

"A few weeks ago, my step dad came back, from prison. He'd been there for the past four years, after nearly killing my mother" his body immediately tenses. "When he got arrested, I'd been left to basically pick up the pieces, help restore what had been lost with my mother, which wasn't an easy task with a demonic step-sister. And right as things started to mellow out, my mother was staring to come out of her shell...he comes back, and I was right where I started" a single cold trail rolls down my chest, forcing me to realise that he's crying, and all I do is squeeze his body a little tighter. "I fucked up. Big time. The one time I actually chose to do something for me, because I can't take fighting my mom's battles anymore this..." his body trembles with intense emotions, "...I'm such a fuck up."

His words force tears into my eyes, a deep pain evident in how his voice quivers. Honestly, there's something unnerving about the tears of a person who's never upset, and Jesse's one of those people. He may look intimidating and scary. He may look macho and mean, but he's everything but. He's gentle, caring, loving, funny, smiley, he's...awesome. He's the kind of guy you want your parents to meet. He's the best boyfriend anyone could ask for. He's the guy I'd like to spend the rest of my life with.

But my focus remained on his last words, 'I'm such a fuck up', and I instantly realise that the story runs far deeper than he may have let on. "Why do you always say that?"

He raises his head from my shoulder, looking at me with his tear stricken face, eyebrows furrowed in utter confusion: "What?"

"Calling yourself a fuck up." His eyes immediately fall onto his lap, "I'm dealing with my shit but I know you've been calling yourself...that quite a lot. Is there something to that?" I'd withheld the questions before but with his self-deprecation, something had to give.

"That's what he used to say."

I usually reserve the word 'hate' for prejudice and war, but upon hearing Jesse's words, the word slowly creeps to the forefront, befitting this man I've never met, and quite frankly, don't ever wish to.

"Jes" I start softly, "take it from me. I know I haven't been the best boyfriend. But despite that, you've never stopped being there for me. I don't know what happened with your mom after your step-dad was arrested, but from what you've said, you were there. And I believe you. What, out of all that you've done, makes you think you're a fuck up?"

"Because I don't try hard enough. I didn't try to understand your situation and look what happened. With my mom, I should've just put her first."

"But you explained your reasons, and I understand why you thought keeping your distance was what I wanted."

"And my mom?"

"What about you?" I fire back, "you've fought for me, you've fought for your mom, when are you gonna put yourself first? Jesse" I sigh, "what makes you think he's right? Give me one reason that'd prove you're that?"

"Because..." he starts defiantly, as if an answer, a quick retort had been resting at the tip of his tongue all this while. "Because..." he says, softer, as if he's actually giving himself the time to ponder over the question. Match the accusation with all he's done over the years, for his mother, for Colby, for strangers I've never met. For me. "I don't know" he finally says.

"You're way too good for your own good...and I'm gonna be honest with you" I say, running my fingers through his long, silky hair: "your biggest mistake in all of this was taking critique from an ex-convict."

A quiet chuckle bubbles out of his throat, but it dissipates as soon as it came out: "I think the biggest mistake was thinking I could go on this trip and he wouldn't do anything stupid" he says coldly, "you know I warned her, and now he's killed her."

A breath hitches in my throat, somehow the words of confirmation threatening to floor me at how terrible the situation actually is. How long has he been suffering in silence.

"I need to go back home."

"I'm going back too."

"No, stay here with Beau and Felix, enjoy the rest of your week here..."

"Jes..."

"...you've been through so much..."

"Jesse" I call out firmly, taking one of his hands in mine, "I want to go with you. I wanna be there for you."

He looks at me, a look of amazement flashing across those green eyes.

"We need to pack up, we'll head out as soon as we can." With a quick peck on his cheek, I grab the duffel bag nearby and start stuffing clothes in it. The warm and cozy bed, long forgotten, my only concern being the boy that has my heart.