“So I see. Why the fucking hell would you do that?”
“Jimmy… ”
“Don’t “Jimmy” me. We aren’t together Chelsea and I have no intention of getting back together with you.” I put my hand in my pocket and feel around for my ring. I hate the fact that I took it off, but the last thing I want is for the paps to see it and start digging around, looking for Jenna. She needs to be stress free, well as much as she can be when she’s married to me.
“Well I thought you’d change your mind after I shared some news with you.”
“I doubt it,” I say, moving away from the door. I lean against the wall which separates the kitchen from the rest of my living space. My fingers play with my wedding band, wishing she’d leave so I could put it on and call my wife.
“I’m pregnant, Jimmy, and it’s yours.”
You know that moment when your heart and stomach fall to the floor and you feel all empty inside? Yeah, I’m having that moment.
ONLY after I drop my mom off at Liam’s do I let a few tears fall down my face. I didn’t think I’d care that Jimmy went back to LA without me, but I do. The nagging voice in the back of my head won’t stop yelling at me that something’s wrong. Why didn’t he take me with him and why didn’t I insist on going? Because I’m not sure this marriage will work, that’s why. Tabloid images of him with various women are at the forefront of my mind. We don’t know each other and yet here we are, married and having a baby. There are so many reasons why I don’t want his identity to be known and this is one of them. He’s famous, I’m not. No one will ever take my child seriously and he or she will always be considered a product of a one-night stand. I never thought drastic measures would have to be taken, such as marriage, but they have and he knows I’m powerless to say no to him. Just like that night. I wanted him and for the first time in years I was ready and willing to give myself to another man. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, not the way Damien had. I wanted the pleasure I knew he could bring and he fulfilled my fantasy. He did so willingly without even knowing he existed in my thoughts. That’s how we should’ve left it.
Things should not be this way. I should not be driving back to my apartment wondering what my husband is doing. Wondering whether or not he’s going to call me when his plane lands or when he’s about to go to sleep. I shouldn’t care if he’s thinking about me because honestly, he’s only married to me because of the baby. He doesn’t love me and I don’t want to love him. At least that’s what I’m telling myself, but those feelings don’t hold true. The way he makes love to me and touches me, the way he holds me in his arms – like he’s afraid I’m going to disappear – I’ve never had that before. With Damien, everything was automatic. We met, dated, fell in love. Marriage was the next step in the equation. At night, we went to our sides of the bed, crawled in together and made love because that was what we were programmed to do. Damien only held me after he hit me, never after sex or before and definitely not while he was sleeping.
But with Jimmy, everything is different.
Each caress is done with feeling. Each kiss is done with the intent to show me that he’s real, that we’re real. These feelings building up inside of me are about to explode and I think he knows that. I think he’s waiting. I can’t give him what he wants though. I can’t go through the hurt or the pain. I’ve been there and I have a feeling he has too, because a few times he’s acted like our bubble is going to burst at any moment and everything will come crashing down around us. He’s holding on for dear life and as much as I want to hold on with him, I’m afraid.
I’m afraid of what Los Angeles holds for him and I shouldn’t be. I need to stand tall and not worry about what he’s doing there because I know in my heart he’s doing what I think he is. If I don’t admit it, if I don’t see it, it doesn’t happen and we can pretend that this happy union is perfect and nothing can tear us apart. I need to be the trusting wife because he hasn’t given me any reason not to trust him. Yet.
I pull into my designated parking spot and realize that I shouldn’t be here. I’m supposed to stay at Liam’s, but I need some time to myself. Ironic, since I just returned from a long vacation. I sit and stare out the window of my car. When we went to Liam’s today,
I handed Jimmy my keys out of habit even though we’ve never had that routine. With Damien, he controlled everything. No, I shouldn’t say that. In the beginning, things were very equal. It was only after we were married that my life suddenly changed.
I know I only have minutes before Liam comes barreling into this parking lot to save the damsel in distress. I’m not his damsel to save though, and the one who should be saving me when I need it is hundreds of miles away without a care in the world. I look down at my phone knowing he hasn’t texted, but secretly hoping that I just missed it. My head moves forward on its own volition, resting against the steering wheel. I need to stop getting worked up over something I can’t control. I knew about Jimmy’s reputation when I said I’d marry him so if anything, it’s my own fault.
Sighing, I get out of the car and walk somewhat quickly to the entrance of my apartment. Even though Paul said Damien isn’t around anymore, I can sense him close by. He may not be standing behind me, but he’s watching, reminding me what he’s capable of. When I open the door to my apartment building the first thing I notice is that the hall light is out. No biggie, except there’s someone sitting on the steps. This is where my fight or flight instinct should kick in, but it doesn’t. I stop and stare at the figure on the steps, letting my fears come to life. I can’t look behind me because there’s no one there. My nightmare is staring right back at me. Even with the tiniest of light coming through the entrance window I can make out his features.
“Where ya been, Jenna?”
The way he says my name used to make me soft inside. I used to want to hear his voice whether on the other end of the telephone or when he’d wake me softly in the mornings. I close my eyes and count to ten. What are my options? I have none because I was too stubborn and stupid and now here I am face-to-face with my ex.
“I asked you a question.” He doesn’t yell or even raise his voice. He sounds broken. His voice wavers and I hate that my heart responds to him. It beats just a bit faster wanting to soothe his pain. How can it not remember the pain he caused me? How can it not remember that it now belongs to another man?
I adjust my hand discreetly so he doesn’t see my rings. I don’t want to set him off even though I know it’s inevitable. There’s a viciousness roiling under his skin and my neck prickles in response. . It pains me that I can’t touch my belly and reassure my growing baby that I’ll be okay because I won’t be. I’m going to die on this floor, in this dark hallway and no one will know who did it because according to Paul Baker, Damien Mahoney is nowhere near Beaumont.
Damien stands, walking down the three steps that separate us. I take a step back, adding more space between us.
“You’re trembling, sweetheart.” He reaches out, his fingers touching my arm lightly and leaving icy trails on my flesh. “Don’t be afraid of me, Jenna.
“I’ve missed you.” I nod, playing his game. “I just want to talk, okay? We can even sit on these steps and talk out in the open.”
Out in the open? Has he looked around? This isn’t open. This is isolated and dark. My chances that Mr. K, my landlord, even knows we’re standing out here are slim to none. I could yell, but his hearing aids are probably sitting on his dresser. He’ll never hear me.
But I concede and nod, allowing him to pull me to the steps. I try to walk tightly against the wall, but he’s not having that. He wants me next to him, our bodies touching.
“Remember when we met?”
Even though I want to resist smiling, I can’t.
“Jenna, do you see those guys over there?” I look, coyly, not wanting to draw attention to my gawking, but yes I see them. Anna giggles and I can’t help but smile when the one with brown hair waves.
“Oh my God, Anna, he waved.” I cover my mouth and squeal as quietly as I can.
“Oh, crap bags, they’re coming over. Which one do you want?”