Bad Romance [Jesse]

[Clover]

B A D R O M A N C E
___________________

OOC: Backdated to 30th January

<Jesse Fforde> The bells were ringing. Jesse didn't know why, or where they had come from. Something was wrong. Something within him hesitated and took a step back, his breath held as he looked down at Clover. She looked so happy - so he let the smile spread over his lips. He did not let her go, even though he felt like they were both standing at the edge of an abyss, and Clover was stepping backward out onto a bridge that Jesse did not trust. Romantic, Clover had said. Another plan. Did she ever stop? Could he ever again meet those expectations? "... you said it wasn't a surprise. Are you teasing me?" he asked, his voice light, at least. He did not betray the hesitance that he felt.


<Clover> She'd gone too far, and it really shouldn't have surprised her. The email was supposed to be playful, just a show that she intended to--well, what did she intend to do? Perhaps she intended to make a show of asking him on a date. Clo suddenly felt stupid for having thought up the plan and confided in Jersey. Her smile slowly wilted, like a flower in the shade. "It's not a surprise. I told you ahead of time. Now it's just," she paused and rubbed her hands on the front of her skinny jeans, "really awkward. You seemed surprised, like maybe I shouldn't have asked? You think it's stupid. That's okay. We can just go to the party." Clover had begun to ramble.


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse laughed. When all else failed, he had to laugh. And how could he not? Clover was kind of adorable when she started to ramble. "No, no. But you sound like you have something planned? For the date? Or was the plan just to go on a date?" he asked. He should explain himself. Honesty. It was a policy, right? He should explain himself but he really didn't want to. Not this time. He'd let her down too much already, and she knew, didn't she? She had to know that it would take him time to get over ****. She wanted romance. She wanted love. And he wasn't sure that he could follow through. But he didn't want to lose her. So he said nothing. He didn't explain. He just laughed, because laughing was easy. "It's just different, is all. Caught me off guard."


<Clover> "I thought we could play video games," she admitted, lifting her shoulders for a half-hearted shrug. Shrugging seemed easiest, like a quick admission that she didn't know what else to say or do; shrugging was a dismissal that they both needed. "I guess I didn't need to call it a date. I was testing to see if I'd have to be the one to say it, honestly." Clo really wanted to cross her arms, a show of her own insecurities, but she kept them at her sides. Her body language ready impassive, or at least open to talking, open to continue talking. "I really don't want to start lying right now, but I don't know what else to say. I guess I thought you'd be happier? Or you'd say 'I already planned on asking you on a date'? Or you'd start treating me like we're actually dating...," she trailed off.


<Jesse Fforde> Again, Jesse laughed. "What reason would I have to ask you on a date on the fourth of February? I figured we'd do something on the fourteenth..." he said. "On actual Valentine's Day. I'm happy. What makes you think I'm not happy?" he asked. He wanted to run away from this conversation, but he manned up. He stayed put. He bumped his hip against Clover's, fingers tucking hair behind her ear. "We sleep in the same bed, Clo. We live together. After... everything, aren't we beyond dating?" he asked. They were more than dating. Dating was frivolous. Dating was what people did to get to know each other - and they knew almost all there was to know about each other. He had no idea where this conversation had come from, but it was making him uncomfortable.


<Clover> The fourteenth of February meant absolutely nothing to Clover. The date was something invented for corporations, or for couples to rub their happiness in the faces of singles. She didn't care about the date. Clo wanted something that mattered, regardless of what the calendar said. But instead of saying that, she let him tuck some of her hair behind her ear. She let him try to distract her from how she felt. Because he didn't get it, and she wondered why she even bothered. "You're," she started to lie, and her face screwed up to show that she'd caught herself. As if she were at a crossroads, she reached her hands out to hold onto his hips; she held onto him as if she needed him to ground herself. "I guess." Guessing wasn't lying. Guessing addressed neither of his questions, not directly.


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse narrowed his eyes. Already, she was disappointed. Already, he felt the weight of the pressure. He wouldn't collapse under it though. Not yet. Not right now. There was an argument waiting in the wings, though it would only come out to play depending on what he said and how he handled the situation. Clover had told him what she wanted. He would remember. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then to her temple. Another to the corner of her jaw, the corner of her lips. When he pulled back, he was silently laughing. "You... need to slow down," he said, holding her gaze. "You've always got a surprise. Or a plan. Or...something. Give me a chance to organise something. And I can. I will..." he said, slowly.


<Clover> His words circled around her mind, but she had no way of processing them. The words felt as confusing as his kisses. Clo felt as if he were speaking a foreign language. She had yet to find the proper software to translate, to make sense of his language. She needed to slow down? "But," she uttered, the rest of the sentence jumbled and forgotten. No, she'd constructed the rest of what she needed to say, but she chose not to continue. She chose not to mention that she had other things planned. Her own embarrassment ignited her anger. Anger turned on him, turned on herself, and turned on the situation. "I just wanted to do something nice. I want to give you something to look forward to. It's easy to come up with something. Why? Because I put thought into it. I put forth effort, for you. So what's wrong? What are you thinking? You're content?"


<Jesse Fforde> It probably wasn't the time to laugh, but Jesse laughed. Again. "I'm content. I'm happy. There's nothing wrong. You don't have to organise things for me to look forward to. I look forward to waking up. I look forward to watching you sleep. I look forward to ... spontaneity," he said. He could have taken it as an accusation. That he doesn't put thought into anything. That he doesn't put in effort. And he knew that he hadn't. He closed his eyes, still smiling. There, he imagined the vague things that he did have planned. The things that had not yet come to fruition. He wouldn't be too hard on himself. Yes, he had plans. But he wouldn't tell Clover that. "Are you happy? Are you content?"


<Clover> Jesse had a way with stringing such pretty words together. When his words failed, he always managed to look at her in a way that dismissed the rest of her thoughts. Her mouth had opened to reply to his choice of words, to his reliance on being so spontaneous, but she couldn't form the words. They hadn't been very spontaneous, and she did enjoy being spontaneous. She'd been consumed with plans, and yet planning things had become a crutch, something so important that she worried everything would collapse around her. What did she have left? How else was she supposed to show affection? And what about his questions? "Yes," she blurted out, not even thinking. "Wait. Yes. I just...we aren't beyond dating. Going on dates isn't silly. I don't know how to explain it without you going into a panic or blaming yourself." She rubbed her hands over her face and sighed, frustrated.


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse arched a brow. Canting his head to the side he considered Clover in that way he had, as if he were trying to crack her skull open with the weight of his stare. Although he remained standing, although his hands now rested upon Clover's shoulders, his thumbs playing circles upon the skin of her neck, his body slumped. Patience had returned to him, in some small degree. This was not beyond him. "I didn't say dating was silly. I just... dating is how people get to know each other, Clo, and I think we almost know each other inside out. Literally," he said with a grin, obviously referring to her fetish with a knife. "Tell me what's wrong."


<Clover> Clo pressed her teeth into her lower lip to try to keep the smile off of her face, but she couldn't contain the expression; she couldn't stop the subtle upturn of the corners of her lips. The reference to her repeatedly cutting him actually amused her, and she went back to thinking that he knew just what to say.

[Jesse Fforde]

<Clover> "I don't know how else to express myself. I don't get it. I take you places, I hurt you, or I hurt others. I spent so much of my time planning little outings. Because you needed them. And now, now I don't know how to fill my time. If you're happy and content, I don't know. I'm confused. And...I have unmet desires?" Clo shifted under his stare and let her eyes wander the space around them.


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse could only imagine how it might feel. Silence pervaded the conversation as he tried to put himself in Clover's shoes; to imagine spending months trying to make sure she didn't kill herself. Trying to give her everything she needed. To distract her. Constantly trying to think of new things to do. Only for it to suddenly stop. It made sense, he supposed, that she hadn't yet been able to turn it off. At least, he could only assume that's what was happening. "It's okay. I'm not going to fall apart. I'm not going to hang around at home and do nothing either, if you stop planning things. I'm not going to..." he stopped, and pressed his lips together. That wasn't what she had said, not entirely. "What are your unmet desires? What can I do? What do you need?" he asked, entirely serious. "Should I go and read your journal again?" he asked, dipping his head, trying to get her to look at him again.


<Clover> He didn't really need her anymore. He didn't need trips to the museum. He didn't need cupcakes. He didn't need the little things she'd taken so much time to prepare. And her failure of a pumpkin that hadn't made it home. She hadn't forgotten that. What about the future plans? And he didn't need her. He simply wanted her. There was a difference she hadn't failed to acknowledge. "It's not in my journal. I haven't had the opportunity to write it down. I will, in the future," she explained. "I feel like we might want different things. At least right now. I do want more than what I've given you. I want to do more than what we've done. I don't know." There was a drop near the end, where she admitted more of her own confusion, and then she caught his gaze. "I don't know."


<Jesse Fforde> We want different things. The words had Jesse rearing backwards. They were the words that had him dropping his hands. Hadn't she warned him? She'd told him he'd panic, and he'd think it was his fault. And she was right. Except it wasn't panic, so much as stunned defense. There was that bridge again, and she was trying to pull him onto it. His hands were summarily shoved into his pockets. He'd been so confident that she would be happy because all along she'd thought he was the one who was going to leave. Now, he realised that he was an idiot for thinking that just staying would be enough. "I never really did the dating thing. I don't really know what I'm doing. I get it though. I'm not trying hard enough." I'm not giving you all of me. There were complications. They were bound to come up. He just didn't think it would be this soon.


<Clover> Immediately, she knew she'd said the wrong thing. Poor word choice had driven him away, and he'd retreated just as his hands had retreated. She felt the wall that built itself between them. Clo wound her arms around him and drew herself nearer to him, as if that would show that she'd made a mistake and she'd never meant to give him doubts. But he was right. He wasn't trying hard enough, and she could tell. "I feel like I'm the only one trying, and it's not fair. If that's the case, then why do you want me? Because I do everything? Because I feel everything? And you don't have to do anything or feel anything?" The words spilled from her mouth as if she no longer had a filter; she no longer cared about a filter. "Sometimes I feel like you're just...like you're just taking advantage of me."


<Jesse Fforde> The actions contradicted her words. They were knives slipping beneath his skin, peeling it from the inside out, and yet she tried to soothe him with her embrace. His hands remained in his pockets, his eyes closed and the muscles in his jaw twitching. Tense. Why the ****, he wondered, was she hugging him? He took a deep breath and held it. No, he would not say the first things that came to mind. "I don't expect you to do everything. You've taken that into your own hands. I haven't told you to. I haven't complained that it's not enough. Do you...." he stopped. He shook his head. A hiss of air flared from his nostrils as he told himself not to ask. But he did it anyway. "Do you want me to love you? To say those words? Is that what this is about?"


<Clover> Her arms dropped from around him and she took a few steps back. He was right, in a way. She'd done it to herself. Of course she'd done it to herself. Clo wondered why she'd even mentioned the subject. Perhaps that was why she hadn't included it in her journal. Deliberately. Intentionally. "I know I've taken it into my own hands. Just forget it, okay? Let's just forget it," she sighed, wringing her hands. "No more plans or surprises. And no. I don't want you to say you love me. Because you wouldn't mean it. Can we just move on? We're both getting upset. It's fine." Was she lying? She was lying, right to his face. "It's not fine. ****. But I do want to move on. I regret bringing this up. We can just go to the party and have a good time, okay?"


<Jesse Fforde> Jesse was stubborn. He had always been stubborn. That was one thing that had never changed. Clover had asked him to do more when he'd already planned to, eventually. When he had the chance to slip in between her own plans and surprises. But now, if he did those things that he'd planned she'd think it was only because she had asked. That, to him, was the same as him telling her he loved her when he didn't mean it. And that wasn't fine. It wasn't fine, that she assumed he was just with her because it was convenient. It wasn't fine at all. There was plenty that he felt. If it wasn't love, it was gratitude. Respect. Awe. There was a keening desperation not to lose her. That was feeling something. And yet he didn't fall to his knees and beg. He didn't grovel and apologise, like he should have. Because he was stubborn. Instead, he nodded. "We'll go to the party and we'll have a good time," he said. He stepped forward and pressed a kiss to Clover's temple, before he retreated entirely. "I'll be back later," he mumbled, before he slipped out the door, back into Limbo. An apt name. Limbo. That's exactly where he belonged.


<Clover> He'd left. Instead of facing her, he'd left. Instead of embracing her, he'd left. The kiss meant nothing, not when she'd watched him walk away. How many times had she stressed her insecurities, and he still chose to walk away? For a few minutes, she stood there and stared at the door, silently willing him to come back. And when he didn't, she looked down at the floor, her mind going a million miles per hour. He was coming back, she reassured herself. He just needed some time to gather his thoughts, just as she'd needed a little time to gather her own. Clover clenched and unclenched her fists; she took slow steps toward the door. But she couldn't go after him. But she should have gone after him. Clo took slow steps toward the lamps in the living room. She walked to one side of the couch, ripping the plug right out of the outlet, and chucked the lamp at the door. The porcelain shattered against the wooden door, but the one lamp wasn't enough. Clover aimed for the same spot and broke the second lamp.

Without anymore lamps, she ripped the couch cushions from the couch and sent them sailing toward the kitchen, and then she overturned the couch. She broke the legs and ripped at the springs, ignoring the blood that blossomed from the violent cuts on her hands. Because she didn't know what she'd done wrong. She was supposed to talk to him, and she'd talked to him. She'd talked to him and he'd walked away from her. When she'd thoroughly maimed the couch, she collapsed onto the floor and just stared at the mess, at the fabric that still floated from the air down to the floor. Why was she so angry? "**** you! **** you and paintball and your ******* surprises and your...**** you," she failed, snatching a cushion and throwing it at the door as well.