My Flower

Chapter 36 - Jamison

~ ~ ~ 1999

   The air in Blossom's bedroom hung thick with unspoken words and a lingering sense of unease. It had been only a day since the disastrous mall outing, 1 day felt like a whole month since she'd last spoken to Hunter, but still she dodged his relentless attempts to connect. The 14-day bet, a ridiculous, love-fueled challenge he'd concocted, was officially off, declared dead on Monday amidst tears and harsh words. Now, on Tuesday, she'd spent most of today holed up in her room when she didn't attend school of course.

Her room turned into a fortress of teenage angst and regret. But her brother Ethan, ever the protector, refused to let her wallow alone. Instead, he'd dragged her down to the living room a few minutes after returning home, where he and Elena had set up a sanctuary of comfort: old Bewitched reruns and a seemingly endless supply of chocolate. The offer had been too tempting to resist, and for a few fleeting hours, Blossom had managed to find solace in the magical mishaps of Samantha and the familiar comfort of her siblings. But even the sugary sweetness and vintage charm couldn't fully mask the gnawing ache of her broken heart, the guilt that clung to her like a second skin.

   Hunter hadn't given up, of course. He'd called incessantly, even dared to show up at her doorstep, his face etched with a vulnerability that Blossom couldn't bare to meet. Each attempt only fueled her guilt, each unanswered call a testament to her inability to face the mess she had made.

   That's why after school, when she heard the sound of the doorbell going off, she had just assumed it was Hunter and was going to let someone else deal with him.

   Blossom was lazily lounging around on the couch. Their tv show re-run temporarily paused so Ethan could answer the door. Ethan opened, then swiftly stepped outside and slammed the door behind him. She could hear her brother outside, whisper yelling at Hunter, most likely telling him to leave and never come back.

   She couldn't bare the thought, Ethan pushing him around like that, his words weren't kind that's for sure. Blossom went to look out the window and yell at Ethan to leave him alone, she'd deal with Hunter afterwards. Knowing him once he saw her it would be harder to get rid of him. Maybe this wasn't a good idea...

   No, no Blossom forced herself to follow through. Hunter would just have to understand that she needed time to be alone and think of what she wanted to do next. She peered out the glass, expecting to see a mop of messy brown hair but instead saw a well groomed, short, black hair cut attached to a very expensive looking suit.

   Blossom tapped on the glass to grab her brothers attention, while simultaneously attracting the mysterious guest's gaze as well.

   A shock, bone deep and visceral, shot through Blossom. It was like a scene plucked from a dramatic movie, the sort she usually rolled her eyes at. This wasn't real, she told herself. It couldn't be. But there he was, his eyes fixed solely on her, a hint of something desperate beneath the charming facade.

   The man was none other than Jamison. Tall and lean, with his trademark old money attire and a disarming smile, he stood out against the whole surrounding neighborhood like a perfectly formed statue placed amongst the rough-hewn.

   Ethan yelled for her to close her to go back on the couch, immediately trying to cover Jamison's face with his large hands. It was no use, she had seen him and he had seen her. What was he doing here in America at her doorstep?! Against her better judgment, Blossom threw on a blanket around her shoulders and headed out the door. Blossom had to find out why he was here.

   She stepped outside onto the porch, Ethan immediately acting as a barrier between the 2, but Jamison was unbothered. His smile widened, It was a smile Blossom knew well, the one that had once made her heart flutter with an almost painful longing. "Blossom," he said, his melodious British accent a stark contrast to the flat American voices around them.

   It was the sound of that accent, the familiarity of it after all this time that was what brought her back to herself - that and the man's very audacity to come here. "Jamison," she replied, her voice sharper than she had intended, the shock making her words curt. "What are you doing here?"

   The harshness of her tone seemed to surprise Jamison. His smile faltered slightly, replaced by a look of mild confusion. He had expected a different reaction, or perhaps he had allowed himself to hope for a warmer greeting. He glanced at Ethan briefly, then back at Blossom, his eyes softening. "I have something very important I need to say to you, Blossom." He then turned his attention to Ethan, a polite request in his eyes. "Would you mind, just for a moment, if I could have a word with Blossom, alone?"

Ethan's jaw clenched. He didn't like the way Jamison looked at Blossom, the possessiveness that seemed to emanate from him. He didn't like the smooth, almost condescending tone in his voice. "No, actually, I think I'll stay." He said firmly, his gaze unwavering.

   Blossom laid her hand on her brother's arm. "It's alright, Ethan," she said, her voice softer now, though still tinged with a mix of curiosity and trepidation. "Go wait in the house, I won't be long."

Ethan hesitated. He hated the thought of leaving her alone with this guy, but he trusted Blossom's judgment, or at least he wanted to. He shot one last glare at Jamison before turning and walking towards the front door, his body stiff with suppressed anger.

   When Ethan was finally out of earshot, Jamison turned back to Blossom, his hands reaching for hers, gently taking them into his own. His touch was as familiar as a forgotten song, and Blossom felt a strange mix of comfort and unease wash over her. "I've been waiting for this moment for so long, Blossom," he said, his voice husky with emotion. "I had to come."

   Blossom pulled her hands away, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face. "What do you want, Jamison? Why are you here?" She asked, her voice flat this time, a wall immediately erected between them.

   Jamison's face fell. "Haven't you gotten my letters?" he asked, his voice laced with confusion and hurt. "I've been writing...every week, sometimes more. Telling you everything."

   Blossom frowned, her brow furrowing in confusion. "What letters? I haven't gotten any letters from you Jamison, not since we broke up." Her eyes searched his, trying to decipher the truth behind his words.