AN: So, I finally got around to editing this. Hopefully, it contains fewer errors this time around and is a bit more consistent. Credit goes to Emelie, as before, for helping me out with the old version, and to furre, who actually took the time to sit down and MST the whole thing.

More extensive Authors Notes can be found at the bottom.

Nocturnal

The kitchen is cold and dark, the only light-source being the streetlight outside. For some reason the window is open, making the floor in here even more freezing than in the rest of the apartment. I make my way towards the table as fast as I can, clutching my packet of cigarettes and my lighter in one hand and slumps down in one of the chairs, dragging my bare feet up under me. Not much better, but it will do. It’s not like the thin shirt I’m wearing is going to provide any heat.

I turn on one of the tiny lamps that’s standing in the window, almost immediately regretting it. The sudden flood of light is painful on my eyes, making me squint like an old lady. Somewhere in the back of my head, a headache is starting to form.

When the spots in front of my eyes finally disappear, I glance around the kitchen. It’s not as horrible as it could have been, although I’m pretty sure that’s not because of Jamie. There are no huge stacks of garbage and all of the cupboard doors are actually closed, not hanging ajar like they usually do. The clock, hanging slightly askew above the door, is ticking loudly, breaking the eerie silence. It’s half past two in the morning and I should really be in bed – preferably my own – sleeping, like a good little girl.

Lighting up a cigarette and ignoring that particular realisation, I look around for something to use as an ashtray. The plants in the window is out of the question, even if they do look like they won’t survive for much longer. Even if I am a lowlife dirt-bag, using Jenna's precious flower pots as ashtrays is too low, even for me. Which is funny, considering I’ve just spent the last few hours fucking her boyfriend on various locations in their apartment. Apparently, my sense of morals works in disturbing ways.

Spotting an unwashed glass on the counter behind me, I reach over and grab it, leaning as far back on the chair as possible, so I don’t have to touch the floor. There’s still some traces of dried up milk in it and I cringe at the smell. Obviously, Jamie still hasn’t gotten over his dislike for doing the dishes. At least that explains the smell of rotting food that’s been bothering me since I stepped into the kitchen. He’s probably hiding the dishes in the oven as usual.

Tugging his shirt closer around me, I try to get my mind of inconsequential thoughts like dishes. Right now, I’ve got more important stuff to focus on. Like, did I take my pills today? Of course not. That means yet another trip to the pharmacy tomorrow, picking up a morning-after pill. Great.

I bite my lip to stop myself from cursing out loud. Stupid pills, they’ll make me feel nauseous for days. I’ll probably have to call in sick to work again. But, at least that’s better than another abortion. That’s an experience I never want to repeat, no matter what the circumstances. Especially since I couldn’t tell Dean what was wrong with me. He’s always so careful, using condoms every time, even though he knows I’m on The Pill. He’d known something was damn wrong if I had told him I was pregnant. And I’m a terrible liar.

The thought of my fiancé brings my conscience back from la-la-land, hitting me like a ton of bricks. Nice, understanding, wonderful Dean. The greatest guy I’ve ever met. One quick glance at my left hand confirms that he is, in fact, still my fiancé, as he has been for the last five months. Five wonderful months, preceded by two equally as wonderful years. That makes almost two and a half years of joyful bliss, interrupted every now and then by my run ins with Jamie, after which I can’t look Dean in the eyes for weeks. And when I avoid him, he takes it as calmly as anything, writing it off as mood swings and doesn’t even mention it when I finally comes crawling back to him, determined to be the best girlfriend in the whole world. And being the bitch that I am, I didn’t even bother to remove the ring before jumping in the sack with Jamie.

The sound of feet prodding against the floor interrupts my wallowing in guilt. Staring out the window I desperately try to mentally convey the message that he’s not wanted here. I want to keep guilt tripping myself and I can’t do that with Jamie around. He never let’s me.

Of course he doesn’t give a shit about me pointedly ignoring him. Not surprising. He never did give a rat's ass about how I felt. Instead, he jumps up on the counter across from me, sitting there with his feet dangling and looking at me. For a moment, I’m tempted to just keep ignoring him. It would be terribly satisfying, in an immature school-girl sort of way. But it would just lead to him forcing me acknowledge him and that could end badly in several ways. So I give up and look over at him.

He’s only wearing his pants - apparently he didn't bother to dig out a new shirt after realising I stole the one he had been wearing. Either that, or he’s just messing with me. Neither one would be very surprising.

For a moment, my gaze lingers at his abdomen. He’s still too skinny I realise, as I notice the faint outline of his ribs. But skinny suits him. Funny, as I usually only like muscular guys. The sort that you see on the beach, with six-packs, nice tans and completely hairless chests. Like Dean who has the body of a Greek god. Quite the opposite of Jamie, who probably hasn’t had a decent tan in years. Not to mention the small spots of dark hair that’s scattered across his chest and abdomen, turning into a line below his navel, leading down towards...

I mentally slap myself and look up at his face, hoping that my thoughts aren’t too obvious. The lazy grin he’s wearing tells me otherwise. Shit. He’s watching me now, eyes half closed, the shadows of his eyelashes adorning his cheekbones. It really is horribly unfair that a boy should have eyelashes that long and dark. Which I’ve told him on several occasions. He always just laughs at me.

A flood of memories starts welling up, of better days and moments passed and suddenly the kitchen feels small and cramped. Jamie’s too close and for a moment I consider throwing the glass at him and making a run for it. Maybe I’d even make it to the hall before breaking down. Functioning, or even thinking straight has never been something I can do when he’s around. Of course, by “around”, I mean “the same hemisphere.”

As if feeling the change in my mood, he jumps off the counter and takes a seat in the chair opposite of me. Now he’s even closer, but the claustrophobia is starting to go away. From this angle, I can only see the top half of his chest and that makes rational thinking at least a bit easier. There are degrees even in hell.

“Were you planning on smoking that or did you just light it to wake me up?” he says and nods towards my cigarette.

With a start I realise that it’s burned down completely and that the horrible smell of burning filter is starting to rise from it. With a shaking hand, I crush the burning piece of plastic towards the side of the glass and drop the remains into it. Then I light a new one. My nerves could use some soothing right about now.

Jamie takes out a cigarette from my pack and lights it up without even asking. He never asks. Not that I care that much. It’s just that it would be a nice gesture. A sort of proof that I at least have some sort of right to decide what I do with my life and my stuff, even if I’m with him. Apparently, that’s not the case, since I don’t even bother to mention it.

“You know, Jenna’s going to be awfully mad that I’ve been smoking in the kitchen again,” he says, looking at me as if this is supposed to be my fault.

Which, of course, it is. At least partly. Not that I’m going to let him make me feel bad over something as insignificant as that. I have other things to feel bad about and I would like to keep focusing on them.

“If that’s the only thing Jenna’s going to be mad about, you can consider yourself very lucky,” I respond blankly, staring out the window again.

He shrugs.

“I already told you, I really don’t care if Jenna finds out about you and me. I’d much rather be with you instead,” he says pointedly.

I laugh at this, a cold, humourless laugh slipping from my lips before I can stop it. Biting my tongue, I look over at him. Jamie doesn’t appreciate being laughed at, even in the best of times and making him angry will do nothing to improve the situation. One of his eyebrows shoots up, but he doesn’t say anything. He just sits there, as if waiting for an explanation.

“I’ve told you a thousand times, it’s not going to happen,” I say, not believing that I’m actually having this conversation with him again.

“And why the hell not?”

He’s still looking as calm as ever and his voice has a serene quality to it, but his eyes and choice of words give him away. He’s getting annoyed.

“For the same reason I’ve told you all the other times you’ve asked,” I answer, trying to put a stop to this discussion before it gets out of hand.

“And that would be?”

He’s messing with me right now. We both know exactly why we didn’t work out and why we never will, no matter how many times we try. Of course, this doesn’t concern him. All he cares about is the fact that I’m refusing him something he wants.

“I’m not talking about this again,” I say, averting my eyes.

His hand twitches on the table and I know that he’s fighting urge to make me look at him.

“Come on, humour me,” he says, refusing to give up.

I sigh. I’m fighting a losing battle here and we both know it.

“Look, do you even remember what it was like when we were together?” I ask, almost pleading with him now.

Please understand, please just give up, leave me alone, let me have my own life.

“I remember that we had fun.”

“No, you had fun,” I respond. “I did not have fun, considering I had to spend every other week testing myself for various diseases that you might have picked up from some of the other girls you were fucking.”

Yet again he shrugs. Right now, I really envy him his complete lack of a conscience.

“So I did a couple of stupid things...”

“A couple?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t believe in second chances?” he says, smiling again.

“Second chances, yes. 111th chances however...”

He growls at this and stands up. I shrink back in my chair. With just one step he’s around the table and by my chair, towering over me, invading my personal space in that way only he can do.

“Would you stop being so fucking difficult already?” he spits out, eyes now blazing with anger.

And the next thing I know, we’re kissing, his lips hard on mine, teeth clashing against each other. Funny, I didn’t even realise that he had bent down, which he would have had to, considering he is quite tall. But if he didn’t bend over, then... Shit. I realise that I’m standing up, my feet firmly planted on the cold floor. Traitorous fucking legs, I’m so having them amputated. Them and my hands, who didn’t waste a moment in getting caught up in Jamie’s hair. His black, smooth hair, that feels like silk under my fingers. How come it’s so soft when everything else on him is just hard angles? Or raspy, like his beard. The same beard that’s probably leaving scratches all over my chin right now.

One of his hands sneak inside my shirt and around my waist, while the other is holding onto my hair, making sure I don’t try to back off. Not that I would, or even could, but that’s one of the things I prefer to keep to myself. If he hasn’t realised yet exactly how much power he has over me, then I’m sure as hell not telling.

I’m still pressing as close to him as possible, one hand still in his hair, the other around his neck, digging my fingernails into his skin. Hopefully I’ll draw blood. As if he knows what I’m thinking, he bites down on my lip, hard. The tinny flavour of my own blood fills my mouth and I pull back. He’s smirking again, looking extremely satisfied with himself.

“Fucking bastard,” I mutter and disentangle my hand from his hair.

Hoping to catch him off guard, I swing my hand towards his face, aiming for his nose. Of course, he’s too fast for me. He always is. He catches my hand with his own, the one that just a moment ago was pulling at my hair. Twisting my arm around behind my back, he kisses me again, moving his other hand up to behind my neck. Ignoring my attempts to squirm away from him, he reaches around me and grabs a hold of my other hand, pinning both of my arms behind my back. Then, as if he’s evaluating the situation, he removes his lips from mine and gazes down at me. Hopefully, I still look defiant, but I doubt it.

Without any warning, he hoists me up on the dinner-table. In the back of my head, an amused little voice points out that this is indeed one of the few spots we missed earlier today. I wonder if Jamie realises this and figure that he probably does. That would be a very Jamie-ish way of pointing out that I belong to him and if he wants to fuck me at every possible place in his apartment, then he will. Before my mind goes completely blank, I remember that none of us bothered to pull the curtains in front of the window. With a quick thought to all the higher powers I normally don’t believe in, I pray that none of Jamie’s neighbours are awake. Knowing my usual luck though, they’re probably already at the windows, binoculars in hand.

----I----

Afterward, I hang onto him. Not for any need of closeness, or attempt to cuddle. Cuddling is one of the things we do terribly badly. I simply can’t let go, because I’m sure that the second I do, I’ll fall flat on my face.

Jamie stands in front of me, his forehead against mine. His shoulders are damp and there’s a slight flush on his face, reaching down to his throat. For a few seconds we stay like that, completely still. Then he starts moving, zipping up his pants, buttoning up the shirt I’m wearing. I’m thankful that he didn’t see any need to start removing clothing. He couldn’t care less about his neighbours watching, but he knows I’m not that fond of displaying my body to random people and for that, I’m grateful.

He’s starting to get nervous now, like he always does right after sex. Slowly I remove my hands from him, making sure that I can still keep my balance. Muscles still working. Check. I lean back a bit, signaling to him that it’s okay to move now. Immediately, he starts wandering around the kitchen, looking for something to eat, or possibly drink. I stay put, not doing anything so stupid as to try and stand up right now. Besides, if I manage to stand, I might do something stupid, like starting to clean the table. And cleaning the table is very much Jamie's concern, not mine, which I’m planning on telling him later.

My lip is starting to feel sore and I realise that it’s probably going to be bruised for the next few days. Yet another reason to stay indoors and avoid all human contact. Especially Dean. Being the nice and considerate guy he is, he would immediately want to know what had happened and I can’t even begin to imagine lying to him about it. At least that means I’ll be spending the next few days at home, plagued by guilt. Good. I always feel terrible when I have to be alone in my apartment, and it serves me right for doing something so utterly stupid as following Jamie home.

At the moment, Jamie’s still rummaging around the kitchen, pointedly not looking at me. It’s his way of trying to deal without actually having to leave the apartment. He needs to put some distance between us, to slip back into his facade of always being in control, never letting his guard down. Never mind the fact that I have actually seen him without his carefully perfected facade. I know what he’s really like and trying to hide now won’t do him any good. But I guess some things never change.

One specific memory of a party we went to once surfaces. A few hours after getting there, he had disappeared into one of the bedrooms with the hostess, leaving me alone with a bunch of drunken boys who was desperately looking for someone to screw. When he returned, it had been in a flash of movement, still buttoning his clothing, fixing his hair, collecting stuff that belonged to him and waving goodbye to the people he knew, while dragging me along behind him.

Not until he had reached the door had the confused girl managed to make it out of the bedroom, staring after him with a dumbstruck look. When she noticed me however, she did have the time to shoot me a deadly glare before the door slammed shut. As if it somehow was my fault that she had been abandoned.

Come to think about it, all the girls I have ever met while with Jamie have taken an instant dislike to me. Maybe it’s easier to blame everything on the quiet little tag-along girl, than on the boy who breezes trough their lives, leaving confusion and disarray in his wake. Or maybe they really think it is my fault that he acts the way he does.

Jenna doesn’t like me either, something I’m eternally grateful for. I don’t think I’d be able to live with myself if she did. She doesn’t actually know that something is going on with me and Jamie. Hell, she doesn’t even know that there used to be something going on with me and Jamie. He’s never told her how we know each other and I’m not sharing that particular piece of information with her. Besides, I’ve never told Dean either. Some things are just best to keep quiet about. The only reason Dean even knows Jamie exists is that we ran into each other once, all four of us, whereupon I quickly introduced Jamie as a childhood friend of mine. Dean, being Dean, never questioned that story. Which is funny, I suppose, seeing as how I’ve always claimed that I don’t know anyone else in this city. That goes a long way to show precisely how much trust he puts in me. Or that he’s the biggest fool on the planet. Actually, it’s probably both.

But Jenna isn’t that easily fooled, she knows that something is off. However, since she’s only met me a few times, often with my fiancé, she won’t say anything. And for some reason, I think she trusts Jamie. Possibly even loves him. And, as much as I like to consider that stupid, my overblown ego forbids me to do so.

“You want a beer, pet?”

Jamie’s standing over me again, looking amused. Dammit, I zoned out. I know he finds it adoring, so I desperately try to not do it when he’s around. Besides, I need to be on my toes. He’s always trying to come up with some new way of screwing with me. In more ways then one. At least he seems to be past the nervous and awkward phase for now. That’s something, I guess.

“So we're on nickname basis now?” I ask, grabbing the beer he’s holding out to me.

“Well, we could be calling each other by our full names, but that seems a bit tedious for you to be screaming,” he says, leaning on the table.

I almost chokes on the beer. I had completely forgotten his inability to get his mind out of the gutter, even for a second.

“So, when is Jenna coming back?” I ask, trying to get his thoughts on to another track.

“Sometime tomorrow, I think, so you don’t have to worry.”

“Tomorrow as in, tomorrow, or as in later today?” I ask, wanting to make sure she won’t come barging in any second.

He smiles at me now, knowing how nervous this apartment makes me.

“Tomorrow, as in Monday my little pet,” he answers.

I let out the breath I didn’t know I had been holding. Since it was still Saturday when I got here, that makes for at least a whole day to get out of here, before she gets back.

“So what do you say, pet?”

I stare at him, confused and annoyed. Confused, because I have no idea what he’s talking about, and annoyed because he keeps calling me Pet. For some reason I actually liked that nickname once. It made me feel like I belonged to him – which I did – and therefore that he belonged to me – which he certainly didn’t.

“Say about what?” I ask, feeling stupid and now even more annoyed because he’s making me feel stupid.

“Jenna’s not home until tomorrow. We could spend the whole day here, you know. Eating dinner, watching movies, possibly taking a bath... Like we used to do.”

I will not be tempted. I will not be tempted. I will not... Crap. My mind is already painting up lovely images of how it will be. Just him and me, hanging out in his apartment. Laughing, talking, fucking like rabbits. Like it used to be. Well, like it used to be on the good days at least. My mind is filling up with wonderful, pink and fluffy little images.

And for the first time in ages, I feel good, like everything is okay. Ha! The reality check hits me like a baseball bat to the face; It’s not okay. I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t be with Jamie, I should be at home, or at Dean’s place. And Jamie... Well he should be with Jenna.

The sudden realisation makes me double over in pain. Actual, physical, pain. Stupid fucking fairytales never told me this would happen when you found the boy of your dreams. They never even told you that the boy of your dreams could turn out to be your worst nightmare. I want to scream and I want to be angry, but I can’t. All I can do is cry, big silent tears that cloud up my vision and let me pretend that I’m not here.

I can feel Jamie moving besides me, his arms encircling me and lifting me off the table. If I could, I would fight him, but right now, it feels like I’ll never be able to move again. And besides, the smell of him is like coming home. He carries me into the bedroom, takes off the shirt I’m wearing and puts me down on the bed. Laying down beside me, he pulls the cover over both of us, so that it feels like we’re in a huge cocoon. And in the warm darkness, I fall asleep.

AN: A heartfelt thanks to everyone who commented on this the first time around. The changes might not have been that big, but hopefully they made the whole thing a bit easier to read.

This story was an experiment for me when I wrote it. I wanted to try a different style of writing, dealing with a different set of circumstances. It was never intended to be more then a one shot, a sort of epilogue to a story that I will never write. Since then however, the whole thing has grown on me. And for some reason, I started a second chapter.

I’m not saying that there definitely will be more to this. I’ve written about half of a possible second chapter and I sort of like it. But I may never get around to finishing it, since I am the most procrastinating person on the planet. So, no promises, just a heads-up, in case the characters harass me into writing more.