The Haunted [Clover]

[Jesse Fforde]

[CLOVER]
How long had it taken her to come up with the grand idea? Days. She had to sit and think about everything he liked versus everything she liked, and then she had to consider the time of year. She’d wanted fireworks, but no. She’d wanted ice skating, but no. Clo had an endless realm of possibilities, and that made deciding all the more difficult. By the time she had everything decided and put her master plan into motion, it was the weekend, and that meant everyone wanted to do the same thing. She had to find another location, then another location. Her surprises meant a great deal to her and everything had to be perfect. He had to enjoy himself -- Jesse had to ******* enjoy himself.

She had everything she needed crammed into her shoulder bag, the same bag she’d been carrying around all day. The only difference was that she’d changed out of her usual leggings and dirty combat boots, trading her fighting, and lounging, clothes in for an off-the-shoulder mini dress and a better pair of boots. It was a date. That’s what it was. She was basically asking him out on a date. Pacing back and forth outside the entrance to their apartment -- their apartment -- she took her phone from her bag.

“Let’s go on a date.”

No. She backspaced that text message and tried once more.

“Where are you?”

No. She backspaced that text message and simply repeated the first text message. Yes, that message fit the mood perfectly. She paused, and then she sent him a message telling him to dress nicely. While she waited, for his response or for his arrival, she added a couple finishing touches to the bag, things that she couldn’t have risked carrying around all day. Wine glasses. She felt antsy, so she removed the bag and left it near the door, then she went back and grabbed the bag. If, for some reason, he showed up while she was fixing herself up a bit more, he might have gone through the bag and discovered the whole night. Then she would have had to start all over again, badgering her childe for advice, then badgering Jersey and Athena for advice.

Clo refused to throw all of her work out of the window because she got sloppy and let him stumble across a gigantic clue. No, she kept the bag with her when she went into the bedroom. She ran a brush through her hair and pulled her hair back into a ponytail, something different than usual, and she added some lip gloss, a nude color that she thought wasn’t too harsh. To be honest, she hardly had any makeup at all. The little bit of makeup she did have came from shopping trips with Jersey, and those hadn’t happened in a while.


[JESSE]
Valhalla Gardens. He'd bought the arboretum as a surprise for Clover; most of their best times had been spent beneath the confined canopy; a rainforest in the middle of Harper Rock. Out of all the businesses Jesse ran, this one was the least profitable, but that didn't matter. In fact, he neglected it on purpose. As a business, he neglected it. As a place, he adored it. He preferred if it was used less by other people. As a place, he was protective of it. Possessive, even, and it was his, wasn't it? He could do what he wanted with it. He could deny access to others, if he wanted to. He remembered when he'd had a converstation with Dhara on one of those hidden benches; he'd told her she could use the place whenever she wanted, to help clear her head. Now, he was glad she had never come back. At least, not that he had noticed. He'd never seen her there. He'd not seen her since that conversation.

Jesse's feet were bare as he traversed the thin paths through the trees. Most of the janitors and gardeners who'd worked there before had been fired; Jesse didn't want the growth to be controlled. He wanted the trees and the vines and the undergrowth to go wild. He started to wonder whether he should try get his hands on some peacocks, or something -- really turn this place into a twisted kind of garden of eden. Though, it would surely need some snakes, too.

As he wandered, his hands brushed over the passing leaves and branches. He focused his energies; the trees fed from him, they grew toward him. They flourished beneath his touch, his very presence. On his shoulder, Mandy the fire Salamander slumbered, his little body hot against Jesse's neck. It ought to have been concerning. The Salamander only ever seemed to hang around when Jesse was in the mood to burn **** to the ground. For the moment, the flames remained at bay.

In his pocket, his phone vibrated. He reached into his pocket and retrieved the device. He read the message and glanced around. He looked up. The silence in this place, away from the city, was mesmerizing. Only the chatter of the leaves as water dripped through them, a kind of melody calming Jesse's soul.

"Right now?" he replied. The message hadn't specified.


[CLOVER]
His reply made her even more nervous. Maybe he wasn’t really interested. Maybe she was forcing the subject. What was it that Athena had said, to stop overthinking things? Clo placed both hands atop the bathroom sink and stared at her reflection, the nonexistent reflection. Instead of herself, she saw the rest of the bathroom behind her. At one time, that realization had almost driven her mad, but that had been a long time ago. She chewed on her bottom lip, mulling over whether or not she wanted to go through with her plans. It would have been nothing to grab her bike and zip down to the location, to cancel her ownership for the evening and lose out on a bribe. Instead, Clo picked her phone up and read over his simple reply again. They could go another day, really. He was obviously busy.

She didn’t know whether it was a problem with her insecurity or maybe just her mood, but she continued to hesitate. She began to doubt herself in ways that she hadn’t doubted herself before. Neither of them needed to really go anywhere. Perhaps they had fallen into a comfortable sort of silence, a rut that wasn’t necessarily a rut. They’d just grown accustomed to their lives together and maybe that didn’t include her surprises anymore, as sporadic as they were. No, that was most definitely her mind playing tricks on her again. Of course he loved her surprises. Of course he cared about them. Of course he wanted a date. But did he want it then, right then?

“Are you busy?”

She hesitated, and then she typed another message: “I made plans, but I can cancel them.” That message went unsent. Some part of her was angry that she even considered sending the message. Of course she wasn’t cancelling. She’d go by herself, if he had other plans. She’d assumed, and maybe she shouldn’t have.

“It’s your surprise.”

There. That was the second message she sent. She asked if he was busy and then gave him a little piece to lure him in, as if curiosity alone would get him to make an appearance. She sent him the coordinates for the meeting place and then gathered her bag again. The wine glasses clinked together, letting out an offkey chime before the noise faded into silence. Clo tried to walk gentler when she moved, always aware of the glasses haphazardly tossed into the bag, sharing the space with two glass bottles of blood. If it weren’t for the blanket tucked inside, separating the bottles from the glasses, she might as well have been carrying broken glass around.


[JESSE]
If it was Jesse who could not be accused of being distant, then the accuser would not be wrong. The man who repeatedly asked for communication but who now was going his own rule; who was not communicating. There were things that Clover had not shared with him, things he thought should have been shared given they were now a married couple. Important things, when all he wanted was to know what was going on in her life. In her head, and her heart. It had been a while since he'd picked up her journal because it had been a long time since she'd written anything in it. He'd taken it as a sign of contentment and happiness; but then they'd grown distant, and he'd wondered if she had some other journal, somewhere, well-hidden where he could not find it. The offer to read it rescinded. She no longer wished him to know her thoughts and feelings.

He was unsure how to react, confused as to what was happening. And he'd shut everyone out. Though he was sure there were people he could talk to if he wanted to, he didn't. There was Charlie and Marisol. There was Balthazar. There was Raegan, though she had issues of her own. Maybe Ysmir could even offer insight. But Jesse talked to no one. Clover was his only confidante, which meant there was no one to turn to when she was the one he wished to talk about. Not until he was ready to open that can of worms, anyway.

That dreaded journal. He'd opened it. He'd been tempted not to, but she'd mentioned it. Mentioned writing these things down, like he should know. Like he was expected to read it and know. That was the only way he could know what was wrong, because Clover could not come to him and tell him with words, with that voice he longed to hear. He wanted to tell her that if she broke him again, there'd be no violence in the way that he left. There'd be nothing but silence, and then an empty space. But of course he wouldn't say those words, because he couldn't fathom leaving her. He'd told her that he'd considered it, but that didn't mean anything, did it? Consideration did not translate to action. Consideration implies choice, and the choice was never to leave. He didn't speak these words because he didn't want to have a disagreement. She was broken and drowning and she wanted to be human again, and Jesse stayed quiet because he didn't want to pick her apart or make her feel worse. No, he wanted what was best for her. He wanted to lift her up like she had him. He wanted to help her just like she had helped him, dragged him through the darkness and into the light.

"I'm not busy. I'll meet you there."

Of course he was going to go. Even if he was in the middle of tattooing a client, he'd reschedule and he would go. Because he needed to be there for her, despite his own insecurities, despite his anger. He felt like he had already failed her. He needed to do more. Be more. Be better, maybe. If she wanted humanity, did she hate what she had become? How could she marry the monster who'd made her that way? Questions he would not ask. He would not ruin the surprise. Even if he hated it, he'd tell her he loved it. Because that's what needed to be done.

It took him fifteen minutes to tome home, to shower and to dress. He could still smell her, the fresh scent of her. She'd been there minutes prior, and now she was gone. It took him another fifteen minutes to jump the portal to Serpentine, to leave via the back entrance to get on his bike -- to ride to the location Clover had given. A corn maze. Apparently haunted. Halloween, of course. It should be a happy time of the year for them, shouldn't it? Or was that reserved only for New Years? He parked the bike and secured it, before slowly meandering toward the entrance. The humans all gave him a wide berth. He'd long since failed to notice their fear.


[CLOVER]
The maze itself was located in the northern part of the city, on the edge of the wilderness. When Clo arrived, there were families running around one part part of the farm, picking giant pumpkins from amongst the vines. A few farmers were leading the packs, warning them to leave some of the stem attached to avoid rot. The fruits and vegetables hadn’t seen the touch of winter that would soon arrive. Nights earlier, Clo had picked a couple of pumpkins from amongst the greenery, just as the people did right then. She knew she was distracted, but she didn’t care. When she finally had her taste of the pumpkin patch, she moved over to the corn maze. The owners advertised it as being haunted, but the Halloween season made everything haunted. As she stepped up to the front of the line, she got a map of the land.

“I called three nights ago, about an alternate route?” Clover eyed the man handing out the maps and he seemed slightly intimidated by her constant stare. He waved another guy over and the two made a little huddle a few feet away. It was only when an older woman approached that Clover got her answer. Yes, she’d been given permission for the alternate route, permission to explore a marked off section of the corn maze.

“Just make sure you don’t get lost now. I’m not dragging my *** out to collect you,” the old woman said, wagging a finger at Clover. Surprisingly, Clo found herself smiling. Maybe that could have been her, in a good fifty years. But things were different. “So where’s this man of yours, hm? Hot stuff?”

“Thank you for the map!” Clover nodded her head and darted off, her head ducked in embarrassment. She wasn’t paying much attention when she ran right into Jesse. Of course she ran right into him, the one person everyone else seemed to avoid. “Hey,” she greeted, a smile on her face. “What do you think?” With her free hand, she motioned to the space around them.

The opening to the maze had been cleared, the stalks out of the way just enough to form a pathway to fit two people, side-by-side, through the mapped out expanse. Groups of people gathered together, their phones out like miniature flashlights, and proceeded to enter the darkness of the cornfield. Under the clear sky, they didn’t really need flashlights. The moon overhead provided more than enough light. But within the maze, with the corn stalks rising up on either side, the pathways did seem much harder to find.

“It’s not really haunted,” she finally added, as an afterthought. She didn’t know what else to say. She wanted him to like every part of her surprise, from beginning to end, but sometimes things didn’t always work out.


[JESSE]
Jesse spotted her before she spotted him. She'd told him to dress nice; his version of 'nice' was plain black jeans and a simple button up t-shirt. Rolled up at the sleeves, because the cold didn't touch him. Clover was talking to who he assumed must be the organisers of the maze and, while he waited for her to finish his gaze flickered over the faces of those nearby. As if suddenly realising they weren't alone here; that it seemed Clover planned for them to partake in a very human activity. The city had changed. The atmosphere had changed. Given the vibe he radiated with, they all knew what he was. Some glared at him through their terror. Jesse just sighed, attention wrenched forward again when Clover ran right into him. His hands found her shoulders, his movements calm, fluid, confident. He chuckled, a smile tugging the corners of his lips.

It wasn't really haunted, she said, and Jesse's bright eyes flickered to the maze, and its entrance. Silence stretched as his brow arched, his smile stretching a little further.

"It will be once we step food into it," he said. It was a tease, really. It was jest. They could go and pick everyone off, one by one, to leave their corpses to decay in the sunlight, when the sun finally breached the horizon. But that probably wasn't what Clover had brought him here for. He wasn't sure he'd be asked to dress nice for that. He assumed that the corn maze was the surprise. A shared activity. A date. Surprise! His fingers tangled with Clover's, his steady footsteps taking them toward the entrance. "I'm excited to get lost with you," he said, still smiling.


[CLOVER]
Why hadn’t they spent more time together? Why hadn’t she said more things to him? God, his ******* smile. How long had it been since she’d seen him smile? It felt like weeks, maybe even months. She’d been starved for his smile. She’d been starved for his undivided attention. And yet they owned the night, they owned one another’s time. It made no sense, but it made perfect sense. She just missed him, in the way that she missed sunrises and sunsets, in the way that she missed the other half of herself.

With his fingers tangled with hers, she gave his hand a small squeeze, and then she made sure to take a step or two in front of him, leading him along through the entrance of the corn maze. The map showed the entire corn maze, but there were blacked out portions on the map, areas that had been sectioned off, and she planned to lead him right to the center, right into the middle of one of those sections. Though most of the stalks had been cleared away, there were still leaves that littered the ground. The whole area smelled of fresh, overturned earth. It almost reminded her of the time Jesse gave her sunlight, but nothing really compared to that moment, nothing found in a farm on the northern edge of Honeymead.

“How did you know we’re getting lost?” It was her turn to tease him, though he’d guessed right, in the end. She planned on getting lost with him. Her shoulders brushed against the corn stalks. As they walked, she tried to calculate where they were. They were getting lost, yes, but they had to find themselves in just the right spot. As if on cue, the wine glasses clinked together, creating another offkey note. She turned her head to see if he’d heard the noise, but then the glasses clinked once more. They only had a little further to go. Just four more turns, a step off the trail, and then a shot to the center.


[JESSE]
"It's a maze," he said, even as they entered. There weren't a lot of holidays that Jesse had celebrated growing up. When one's mother was drunk and didn't know what week it was, let along what day, and one spent one's time getting kicked out of school (and skipping school altogether) to hang out with the juvenile delinquents on the street, holidays were just another day. More people on the street, more pockets to pick. Corn mazes and trick-or-treating had never been a luxury for Jesse Fforde. He'd spent these days in abandoned buildings, under bridges, gathered on milk crates smoking week with his 'gang'. The sound of children laughing in the distance, of general merriment, was foreign. To enter this maze like a regular couple on a regular date felt... odd. Jesse still had to figure out whether he liked it or not.

"That's the point of mazes. To get lost in them, before finding your way again. Right?" he said. He pondered the meaning of the words. How they applied not only to the maze but to themselves. They were lost already. They didn't need a maze to help them. They were lost and groping around in the dark to find their way again. To find their way back to each other. A single conversation couldn't fix it. It required many. Or maybe it didn't require words at all, but the silence between words. The acts, rather than the vocabular.

The sound of other footsteps and revelry dropped away as Jesse and Clover made their way off the beaten path. The Necromancer was intrigued. Yes, he heard the clink of glass as Clover's back bounced gently off her hip, but Jesse was, as ever, patient. He could wait. The silence had never bothered him, either, and lacking any words he wished to speak, he let it envelope them. Only the sound of their footsteps crunching in the dirt, the leaves whispering as they brushed past them. He descended into the silence he'd once more become familiar with.


[CLOVER]
When they left the path, she tightened her hold on his hand and made sure to lead him through the gathering of corn stalks as if she were slowly leading him toward salvation. And that’s what she hoped the date would be, some sort of salvation. They were drowning, just like her dreams had told her over and over again. She didn’t need ghosts; she didn’t need spirits. Nothing needed to tell her that they were struggling. Something needed to tell her how to fix her relationship, how to fix herself. It was only when she spotted the thick blanket that she relinquished her hold on his hand and slowly untangled their fingers.

She’d asked the old woman to make sure there was a blanket on the ground, something to keep them from getting dirty, and the woman had delivered. Clo didn’t know whether the woman was a sympathizer or not, but it didn’t matter, not then. She walked toward the blanket, sat down, and removed her boots, so she wouldn’t track dirt onto the clean fabric. Then, sitting with crossed legs, she pulled her bag around and began to root through its contents. She did all of this silently, until she produced a bottle of blood.

“Surprise,” she finally grinned, holding up the bottle, the stems of the wine glasses clutched between the fingers on her other hand. Her first instinct had been fireworks, just something to do with explosions, and then she realized that the holiday wasn’t really well-suited for fireworks. Then, she’d considered a boat ride, but she found nothing particularly exciting about a boat ride. And finally, she thought about sitting under the moonlight, enjoying a glass of warm blood. The blood was as fresh as was possible, without slaughtering someone from within the maze, and the position of the blanket made it seem as if they were directly under the moon. “I wanted fireworks, but I thought this might make more sense,” she finally admitted. “I thought we could look at the stars and enjoy each other’s company.” Her smile showed her uncertainty, as if he’d somehow reject her idea of a surprise, as if he’d close up and simply go with the motions. Maybe they were so far apart that bridges couldn’t span the distance. Those negative thoughts resurfaced, but she stomped them down over and over again. She just wanted one night, one night where her doubts and insecurities took a backseat.


[JESSE]
Clover led Jesse through the corn, and Jesse wanted nothing more than to stray from the path, to disappear amongst the stalks and the leaves. If he focused he could foce the latent seeds to sprout; the dead stalks could come back to life. They could stand in the middle of the corn grown out of control. But that was his trick, and this was not his surprise. It was Clover's. She led them toward the thick blanket and he didn't like it when their hands disconnected. The distance was painful but just how much pain it caused was unclear until proximity and touch were restored.

Jesse stood at the edge of the blanket, watching Clover as she took off her shoes and settled. She pulled out the bottle and the glasses and instantly the thirst reared its ugly head. He bit his tongue and swallowed, before following suit; the shoes were toes off, socked feet finding the softness of the blanket. He settled in beside Clover. Surprise! This was it, time together alone, in a romantic setting. He shook his head.

"The fireworks would have been too much," he agreed. Though the notion that the sparks might have started a fire that would rage through the corn maze, setting it and its occupants alight, was amazing to imagine. For now, he ignored the bottle of blood, and he looked up. Just so, the stars were bright. The light pollution out here was minimal, and the stars were bright, and numerous. He bit back the comment on the tip of tongue -- that time alone together shouldn't be a surprise. But it made sense, in this context. It proved that Clover listened. That, when she'd given the relic and he siad he preferred her company, she took it and ran with it. There were no presents. There was a setting and there was company when they had been deprived of company for so long.

His gaze turned back to Clover, adjusting in the darkness.

"It's perfect," he said, and he meant it.


[CLOVER]
Perfect. Just as she wanted to be for him. Just as he appeared to her. And she couldn’t have been happier. Everything she wanted to say to him bubbled just below the surface, overcome with the fact that he’d said that word, the word she’d always longed to hear. Maybe she should have brought a fresher meal; maybe she should have included more than stargazing. But no. Nothing more and nothing less. The evening had already been won, and she only needed to enjoy his company in the sweet setting. She only needed to allow herself to enjoy the quiet setting. In the background, if they listened hard enough, they could hear the other people finally exiting the maze; they could hear the workers calling for the last family to make their way to the end. It left Clo with Jesse, and that was okay, more than okay. It was perfect.

Clo rested the bottle down against her bag. The sound of the liquid as it connected with the inside of the bottle distracted her, right up until the bottle stilled and the blood settled. The wine glasses followed. She sat them not between them, but beside her. Nothing belonged between them. “I was pretty nervous. I thought you might not like this idea. I always get nervous though, don’t I?” She laughed, a quiet laugh, but genuine. “I do want to be close to you. Sometimes it feels like I can never be close enough, that we’re just too far apart. Sometimes, I worry that I make you unhappy, and that,” she stopped, pausing just so that she could tug on the fabric of her dress, just so that she could reinforce the need to continue, “that maybe you’d be happier if I weren’t around. I know it might make you angry to hear, but you wanted me to share things with you, and I thought that, if we were alone, if we stepped away from the world, I could.” She stopped, waited, reconsidered, and then sighed. “I know it’s stupid. I’m sorry.”

The word perfect no longer implied. She’d ruined everything by opening her mouth, as usual. And maybe that’s why she kept things to herself. She kept her cards close because whenever she showed her hand, no one liked what she had to offer. Clo remained in silence as she waited for him to speak, unsure of whether or not he’d show his anger or disappointment or exhaustion, unsure of whether he’d finally appreciate her words or consider things the way that she considered things, ruined.

“I just, I just don’t want you unhappy. I don’t want to upset you. I don’t want to disappoint you. I just try to be perfect and it’s exhausting and I can’t stand it. I just want you to hold me and tell me everything’s okay. And I’m sorry if you find that to be too much. I’m just scared, I guess,” she finished. It was anticlimactic and over far too soon. “I’m afraid you’ll leave me. You’ll wake up and realize I’m making you unhappy, and then you’ll leave me. You’re pretty much my whole world. You’re my husband. You’re my best friend. I might not be as forthcoming as I should be, but it’s because I either don’t think it’s a big deal or I’m afraid of your reaction. I love you so much it scares me.” After that, she stopped, like a record finally reaching the last word of a song.


[JESSE]
Jesse could tell when Clover was nervous. When Clover was nervous, her tongue couldn't stop moving. She talked, until she'd talked herself out. And Jesse indulged her. He let her continue because it's what she needed to do. And what she said proved only what had already been proven: she listened, and she understood. Even now, even after they'd been married nearly a year and together for two, she got nervous. All of the time and Jesse didn't know how to fix it, or how to reassure her that there was no need -- as compelling as it could be. He wanted them to be comfortable, not constantly wondering how he should change so that he would not... frighten her so much.

And while she spoke he was determined to stay calm and serene, to smile and reassure her in the way that she craved but he couldn't help that twitch of a frown, the subtle crease of his brow. Not because he was upset with her, but because he realised he had cause to be upset with himself. Was he abusive? Sure, part of their relationship thrived on abuse, but was he emotionally abusive? Did he make Clover feel unimportant? What did he do that made her feel so nervous that she was not enough, that she was making him miserable? Nothing could be resolved if first steps weren't taken so Jesse reached out and took Clover's fidgeting fingers in his hands. Contact. The first step. He sat cross legged in front of her and he brought those knuckles to his lips, kissing them one by one. Taking the time to consider what he should say. Eventually, he spoke. When he started, he continued to gaze at her hands like they were puzzles, but would eventually life his eyes to hers.
"I married you. I don't expect you to be anything different now to what you were then, and you never were good at sharing. I knew that, and I shouldn't push," he said. He gave her that much, even if he'd hoped for a clearer line of communication. "I wouldn't have married you if I didn't think you were perfect for me, so you don't have to keep trying. You've done it already. You've achieved that. I'd be miserable if you weren't around. If I'm unhappy it's because you're unhappy. Clo..." he laughed, then, and shook his head. Even he didn't know why he was laughing.

"I read the journal. I know you played with the idea of being human again and it... it raised so many questions and insecurities and I didn't want to consider them. I'm never going to leave you. And I'm laughing because ... we've been struggling with the same thing. I'm terrified that you're going to leave me," he said with a shrug, as if it were nothing. But it wasn't nothing. It was everything. "But I'm sorry for being selfish, for lashing out. You... you talk when you're nervous. I shut down. I just want to help you," he said, squeezing her hands tight.

[Clover]

[CLOVER]
Clo watched him as he kissed her knuckles, and then she waited; she waited, knowing that he had his own words to add to the conversation, his own list of worries, or maybe his own list of reassurances. She didn’t know. Until he began speaking, she lived in a world littered with uncertainties. Her hands in his did nothing to calm her mind. Her heart should have been racing a million kilometers per hour, or maybe it should have just stopped, right then and there. Oh, the impossibilities. When he spoke, and he did speak, she swallowed hard and steeled herself for whatever words fell from the lips she so adored. Clo followed along with his words by nodding every so often, by giving small squeezes, right up until he squeezed her hands so tight that everything seemed alright.

She opened her mouth, as if to reply, but she quickly closed it. She needed to think more. She needed to really gather her thoughts. He’d said nothing wrong; he’d done everything right. And she felt like the selfish one, asking him to reassure her when he needed just as much reassurance. As if she would leave him, as if she would truly leave him. They’d been through too much to even consider such a thing. They had too many memories, even though they hadn’t been together for very long. At times, she wondered if she’d pushed him too hard, if she’d dragged him along, and he’d ended those thoughts with his words. In a way, they were perfectly fine. In a way, they had no further issues to discuss. But she had more she wanted to say, just words meant to reassure him.

“I’m never going to leave you, Jesse. I just thought,” she stopped, feeling uncertain about where she meant to go with her words, “I thought that you were pulling away because you meant to leave me, that’s all. I thought you were tired of the way I was acting. And I thought if I tried changing, you’d want to stay? I’m not sure.” Clo made sure that their knees were touching and she looked him right in the eyes, the eyes she loved so much, “I thought about the cure for myself, yes, but I never once planned on leaving you. I knew that if it ever came down to the cure and you -- and I assumed it would come to that -- I’d always choose you. You took my life, but look where I am now. You gave me a new one, one where I’m not alone.”

Clo chewed on the inside of her lower lip, contemplating her next words. “I could never leave you,” she said, voice low, barely above a whisper. “Just think of all the time I spent wooing you.” It was a joke, maybe out of place, but she still smiled at him. Her smile was small and fragile, as if dependent upon his next words or actions.


[JESSE]
Jesse's gaze slid sideways as he shrugged, thinking back on the past six months. He was doing better now than he had been for a long, long time and a lot of that was due to Clover. Because she helped to pull him through, and gave him a reason to come back. "I didn't like the way you were acting. I didn't like how much you worked, how little we saw each other, the distance. You didn't have to change to make me happy, you just had to go back to the way you were before... before we got married," he said, and he frowned. The wedding band sat neatly around his finger, skin now marked with a permanent indentation because he never took it off.

"But we had that conversation. We were fine. But you were keeping things from me and it still felt distant. I thought that maybe you were bored. Kaelyn was gone and, no longer fixated on the jealousy you realised there was nothing to be jealous of. You'd projected some fantasy onto me and marriage somehow broke us, and we became staid. Or ... or I don't know, you were bored because you'd caught me. We were bound. There was no chase anymore, no ... I don't know," he said. These were the things he'd thought, that he'd not voiced out loud to anyone until now. He'd had no one to bounce his insecurities off of.

She'd made a joke, yes, and he'd heard it. He wasn't immune to it. But it fed into his point. She'd been focused on the wooing, on the catching, on the keeping, and when finally she'd got him... he didn't continue with the thought. He couldn't be certain of it, not without Clover's dismissal or confirmation of the assumption, wild as it was. The corners of his lips turned, a smile to hide the doubts. A smile because he'd told himself he would smile. "I said the words and they were wrong. I wouldn't have left you. I never thought of leaving you. If you left me I'd be obstinate forevermore," he said. A promise, and a smile -- this one more genuine than the last.


[CLOVER]
His words seemed to physically wound her. Did he really have her own sort of self-esteem? He’d bared insecurities before, but were they so bad? She didn’t care that they had contact. Clo untangled their fingers and leaned forward to wrap her arms around him. She pressed her cheek against his shoulder and squeezed him tight, reassuring them both that they were there, that everything was okay. She still had words to say, yes, but the most important was that she needed him in her arms. Clo pressed her lips to the side of his neck, leaving a lingering kiss upon his flesh, and then she whispered to him.

“You’re smart. You’re talented. You’re sexy as hell. I’ll never take what I have for granted. Never. I’ll admit that there was a thrill in the chase, but there’s just as much thrill where we are now. We just need to spend more time together doing things we enjoy, doing new things, making new memories. I’m constantly jealous, Jesse, so we don’t need Kaelyn. I’m jealous of Raegan. I’m jealous of Marisol. I’m jealous of Charlie. I’m jealous of your customers,” she listed off, peppering a few more kisses to his neck and his jaw. “They all spend too much time with you. They talk to you too much. I want all of your attention and all of your time. I told you this before, and you scolded me. I believe your words were something like, ‘do you expect me to text you every ten minutes?’” She felt comfortable enough to pull away, so she did. She didn’t know what else to say or what else to do. “Yes, I expect you to text me every ten minutes. A good husband should text every eight,” she joked. But the smile she wore softened and began to disperse. “The fantasy you is the real you. I thought you were funny and debonair. God, you were so fascinating. And you still are. The only difference is that you’re all mine.”


[JESSE]
At first, Jesse was tense. Staring into the space behind Clover, the stalks of corn slowly swaying in the gentle breeze, shadows thick between them, he realised what he'd done. In the midst of her confession he'd made a confession of his own. He'd subconciously, unintentionally played on the fact that Clover did care, that she often dropped all her own worries and concerns to instead focus on his. It was exactly what he'd vowed not to do. That, and he didn't like the way he felt, the weaknesses and insecurities. He didn't want them. And, he realised, that's what upset him most. They were married, for ****'s sake. There should not be insecurities. They should not exist.

And he knew that he wasn't. He'd let his guard down for Clover before. She'd seen his soul splayed for her to see, to inspect, to poke and prod at, and she'd carefully put everything back where it should go and helped him to stitch it all back up again. She'd done that, rather than tearing out chunks of it to grind into the dirt. He trusted her, and he remembered that, now. There was no reason to be tense. There was no reason to throw up that metal divide. He relaxed, head tucked against Clover's neck just as her lips were upon his. He was reassured, when it should have been the other way around.

"I'll text you more. I know I suck at the texting thing," he said. His body twisted, fell back. He lay flat on the blanket that had been provided and tugged at Clover's jacket to encourage her to join him. They had the blood, yes, but they had all night, too. And the blood did such things to the both of them, he assumed that as soon as they consumed it, they'd only want to tear each other's clothes off. Which wasn't a bad thing. But he was enjoying the conversation. Sure, the topic was heavy but that's what he had wanted. It's what he had requested. "You are mine and I am yours, and whatever we do, wherever we go, we'll do it together. My life is your life. I pledge that. I go nowhere without you," he said. "You do not make me unhappy. And I could do no better than you," he said. He had married her. He stood by that. He didn't believe the words needed to be said. But he said them anyway, simply because he thought it was what she needed to hear.


[CLOVER]
He tugged on her jacket, and she lowered herself down next to him. On her back, she stared up at the twinkling stars decorating the night sky, all of the little lights that had long ago burnt out. When he continued speaking, she leaned up on one elbow and stared at him, watching his lips move. When they were alone, when they had time to talk, she laughed at her insecurities, at all of the doubts that had wormed their way into her heart and deep down into her soul, but out in the world, without the silence to wrap around them and cushion them, she felt like an entirely different woman, foreign even to herself. She regretted not meeting Jesse sooner. She regretted not saying something to him sooner. And she was so ******* thankful that her younger self had been so brave, so brave and so very disrespectful. There was no hesitation when she reached out to touch his face, to stroke her thumb over his cheek. He was real. Everything leading up to that moment was real.

“You’re so good at this reassuring thing,” she said, holding back the smile that threatened to overtake her features. She stopped stroking his cheek to lean in and kiss him. The kiss was softer than it could have been, but she tried communicating just as much as he’d said with a single gesture. When they parted, she really settled in beside him, no longer leaning on her elbow to look over his face, but comfortably on her back, her eyes returning to the stars. “I never forget how lucky I am to have you. When things are at their best or at their worst.” Her voice held a quietness that belonged in that atmosphere, the type of quiet that blended in with the calm of the night. “You’re right. I am yours, and you’re mine. But you’re more than mine. You’re,” she stopped, a long silence following, “you’re everything to me. You’re the most important person in my life. And lately, after imagining it without you, it brings out a side of myself I really don’t like.” She squirmed around then.

“I used to think that you took me for granted, did you know that? While we dated. I thought that a lot. You pissed me off so many times in so many different ways. I wanted to kill you. I wondered what that would do to me if I just killed you in your sleep.” They were being honest, so she sucked in a breath and continued. She tried to continue. “I didn’t need to do that to find out though, to find out I hated it. To find out that I wanted you just as much as I needed you. I gave you that relic because I hope it looks out for you when I can’t. No one should ever be able to hurt you. No one but me,” she said, a finality to her tone. The moon disappeared behind a wisp of a cloud and the shadows created puzzle pieces over the both of them.


[JESSE]
Jesse had been staring at the sky, but blinked and softened as Clover loomed over him. This was ... a moment. Her kiss was soft but meaningful and in the process of it he lifted a hand, he touched her hair, felt the grooves of her ear. They'd had a discussion which hadn't ended in them ripping each other's clothes off, a discussion tempered by gentleness and understanding rather than by violent lust. In all the time they'd been distant he'd thought about the sex, about the lack of it, thinking that's what he craved. In a way, it was. He wanted the proximity, but only now did he realise that proximity did not have to equate to sex. They could have proximity without sex. Just like this, with communication and openness -- this, all along, was what he'd craved.

When he lost sight of Clover, when he felt her weight settle in beside him, he scooted closer to insure that her head was on his shoulder. He couldn't resist the lingering kiss he pressed to the crown of her head; he closed his eyes, delighting in the realisation that they were okay. They were going to be okay. Whatever reservations he'd had when travelling to this surprise, they were now gone. The weight on his shoulders was gone, replaced by the certainty that they would always be okay. He shrugged.

"I probably did take you for granted. And depending on what the week was, I probably would have thanked you if you'd killed me in my sleep," he admitted. He couldn't get angry. Not anymore. Not when the truth was involved -- and it was the truth he would give her, if it was the truth he was demanding. "Even now, I wonder if I stack up. You organised this surprise even though you're... depressed. And I'm not helping. I'm not... going above and beyond like you did for me, when I needed it. I am trying. I'm not taking it personally. I want to listen, and I want you to know that I will, and I won't lash out. Okay? What side of yourself is it that you don't like? Explain it to me..." he said. He continued to stare at the sky. He wouldn't try to look at Clover, even though he was itching to look her in the eye to try figure her out by expression alone. He didn't want to scare her off. So he remained calm, whimsical even. Though he really did want to know.


[CLOVER]
Even though she’d bared herself in her journal, he asked her to bare herself to his face, something that frightened her and intrigued her. He meant to hear her voice herself. He truly meant to listen. She wanted to find some way to tell him never to take her for granted, in the way that she never took him for granted, but she thought it would only scare him into worrying that she’d leave him, so she remained quiet. The difficult question, which should have been simple, weighed on her. What side of herself did she despise? She wanted to say all of them, but that would have been incorrect and far too dramatic, and yet, before the surprise, she might have said such a thing. Every side. All sides. Every single angle and approach led to the same mess. Instead of saying such a thing, she sighed and reached for his hand, just to toy with his fingers, just to lace their fingers together.

“You always appear so collected and so strong. You seem so in order. I had no idea you had such insecurities and such doubts. It made me feel worse because I didn’t know. I thought I was the only one. I hated it. I hate ever feeling alone. I hate feeling and appearing less than I am. I hate thinking that I make you ashamed of me,” she frowned and then licked her lips, as if that made things easier to say. “I hate thinking that I’m weak, that I’m your weakness, and that I’ll always be this way. I hate thinking I’ll never get over this. I hate that I’m afraid. Afraid that I’ll always feel this way. Afraid that I’ll always doubt us. I hate that you’re so amazing and I can’t be. I’m ashamed of myself. I’m angry that I’ve fallen so far. I’m sad. I’m so sad. I just want to be the person you fell in love with and not this. I wouldn’t want to be seen with myself, right now.”

Her voice broke on some of her admissions, as if she couldn’t bear to even go on. The words sounded hard to say, and they were difficult to say. Saying the words aloud made them real, gave flesh to them. The truth seemed to walk among them, like a shadow of herself. And unbidden, the corn stalks began to quiver, the ground below the stalks cracked. She had to take a deep breath to regain control of herself, and then the stalks remained still, only swaying with a breeze.

“I’ve wanted you to be able to be proud of me. Before now. Right now. In the future. To be able to say, ‘I’m married to her!’ And you’d mean it, and I’d be proud too. Of myself. I’m not sure what else to say,” she said, forcing a small laugh.


[JESSE]
Jesse frowned while Clover laughed. He couldn't take that praise. He couldn't accept it, because it was all wrong. He shook his head and, no longer able to just stare at the sky as if the conversation were light and whimsical, he squirmed, shifted until he was on his side and up on his elbow, the same way Clover had done to him previously. It meant she'd have to scoot over, marginally, but it meant that he could look her in the eye. This time, it wasn't to read her. It was intended that she be able to read him.

"You were a mess when I asked you to marry me, Clo. Do you remember? You doubted me and it was because you doubted me that I proposed. I wanted to prove to you that I was staying, that I wasn't going anywhere, and I meant it," he said. For a long time he'd not been aware of the whole picture that was Clover. He'd been too focused on his own debilitating depression, and perhaps he provided a distraction even for her. She was able to focus on his brokenness rather than her own. But he wasn't broken anymore. And now he could focus, thoroughly, on what was going on inside Clover's head and heart.

"I'm collected because I'm resigned. Everything that upset me before is still there, just to a far lesser extent. I pretend so much that I don't care that I even start to believe it myself. We all have coping mechanisms and mine is different to yours. If you..." he shook his head. He was going to explain it to her, that her distance hurt because it was the very thing that he feared the most; it was the thing that had upset him regarding the 'family'. They were there but they weren't, and it wasn't a family at all. But he didn't. This wasn't about him, and he wasn't going to make her feel any worse. That was over now, dealt with. No need to make her feel bad for something they'd already rectified, even if it was pertinent to what he was trying to say.

"What I'm trying to say is that I am not ashamed of you, never have been," he said, reaching out to brush her hair behind her ears, to touch her just for the sake of it. "You are the person I fell in love with. You will always be the woman who dragged me out of the fire that I'd set for myself. I am not perfect. I am not strong, or amazing. I'm just me. I'm not standing on a pedestal and you're not... you're not some fangirl who has to fight or change to please me. We're equal, you and I. Okay? You've got as much reason to get angry with me and my flaws," he said, still frowning. This was not a laughing matter.


[CLOVER]
Maybe she clung to naivete. Maybe she disagreed just to disagree, But she still listened to him, drank in the words as if they were life-saving water. And in some ways, they were; in some ways, she needed those words more than she needed anything else in the world. She wanted to tell him that he saved her just as much as she saved him, but she remained quiet, contemplating whether she should say anything at all. In the end, her lips parted, and the words trickled out, one by one, just to hang in the air.

“Don’t make it seem like you didn’t save me too. You did. You gave me a reason to pick myself up off the ground, dust myself, and try to do better. Not for you, but for myself. I just,” she stopped and struggled to find the words, “I just wanted you to know that.” Out of everything she could have said, she led with those words. Had she ever told him before? Had she ever revealed such a thing? She didn’t think so. She just remembered feeling like the only person in the world and realizing that maybe there were two people in her little world. In his way, he’d reassured her, but she’d circled each of her insecurities with a bright red pen and she felt as if he couldn’t fix every single one. She had to fix herself too. He couldn’t pick up all the broken glass and hope for restoration.

She knew her issues came first, but she still wanted to reassure him, to lift him up. He always came first though, and that became another issue. Jesse always came first, even when he seemed to approach things differently. When she needed him most, he seemed absent. And she should have told him, but she hesitated. Clo always hesitated. “Sometimes, it seems like you aren’t even there, like I’m fighting on my own. Sometimes it seems like you don’t care at all. I want you to feel like I feel every night. Not when I’m like this, but how,” she stopped and waved a hand, as if that could finish the sentence, “how -- I’m having trouble finding the words -- I seem to love you a little more every night, or how I appreciate you. I want you to remind me. I need to hear that. Just don’t assume I know and you don’t have to say it.”

Should she have addressed his comments about himself? Should she have put a spotlight on those words? Clo wondered. “To me, you are those things, the good things. Because I see the worst of you, but I also see the best of you. And I am so proud of you, of how far you’ve come. And I am really lucky,” she mumbled, as if the words themselves would evoke some sort of retort.


[JESSE]
The mumbled words tagged on to the end of her criticisms seemed almost insincere. It could have been Jesse's paranoia rearing its head, and given what else she'd said, why shouldn't they be as true as the rest? But he didn't understand how she could wax lyrical about how proud she was of him, how she saw the best in him, after telling him he wasn't there for her. The clouds rolled in and the familiar anger curled behind his ribs; the temptation was there to snatch his fingers from Clover's grasp, to roll out of her touch. Jesse Fforde was not one to take criticism well. He thought of the things that he had done; Vahalla Gardens were, in all honesty, a gift to Clover, even though she'd given up her job there to start businesses of her own. He'd brought her the closest thing to sunshine as he could find. The bats. He'd burned down Gresse's and rebuilt; he'd changed the name. Maybe that was more for him, but still...

In the end, it couldn't stack up. He wanted to argue against it, to rage and roar. How could he possibly be there for her, help her, when she wouldn't communicate with him? She would communicate with her friends via email. She would write in her journal. But he didn't know exactly what was wrong in order to help her. And perhaps he couldn't. Hadn't they had this conversation before? Voice wasn't his strongest asset. Words generally failed him. He was better with doing, with showing, rather than saying. But he can't have been doing it right, or often enough, or at all if she couldn't know. How often did he have to repeat the fact that he had married her?!

None of this was said, however. Of course, he'd learned his lessons and knew better than to say the first thing that came to mind. His temper was a beast all of its own and rather than pull away and lash out, he stayed put. The muscles of his jaw jumped as his teeth ground together, though he forced himself to relax. "Let's make a deal," he said, finally. "Don't write what you're feeling in your journal. Don't expect me to read it, or learn to read your mind. You tell me when something's wrong, and I will help as best I can. And I'll..." he stopped. Why had he phrased it that way? This was why words failed him. This was how they failed him. "No, it's not an ultimatum. I'll tell you more often how much I love you and appreciate you, how proud I am to have you as my wife. I will do that, regardless of what you do or don't do. But please, please just open up to me. Exactly like you have tonight, like we're doing now. Would that be okay with you? I won't get angry. I'll do my best. I'll listen..."


[CLOVER]
Again, he brushed off her compliments, except he seemed to do it with a renewed vigor. She hadn't missed the tensing in his jaw, nor had she overlooked the silence that spanned the distance between them. She'd said something wrong. She'd made a mistake. Nothing she could have said would have undone her slip-up, and she knew such, so she blamed herself. If she hadn't said anything. If she hadn't gone that extra mile. She'd upset him, and it bothered her a great deal. With the way he spoke to her, he’d forced the irritation back in favor of approaching her calmly, but it was too late. She’d seen. She’d read him like an open book. But the way he approached her, she reasoned, deserved most of the focus. He’d waited just so as not to scare her away from the idea of communication.

“Okay,” she finally said. The word sounded much more resigned, as if she’d simply surrendered to the idea. Realizing her mistake, Clo tried to correct herself, to edit the tone she’d used. But the words changed. Everything about her approached changed. “It didn’t bother me, the way you started out, but it bothers me that you keep rejecting, or overlooking, the nice things I say about you. I’m trying to make you feel better about yourself too,” she said, with the strength she should have used to say her first word, her very first response.

“But I promise I’ll open up to you. I’ll do better than I’ve been doing.” Did she really mean those words? In the quiet that followed, she analyzed her own words and decided that she did mean them. But what if he couldn’t handle the truth as much as he thought he could? What if her secrets destroyed him, aggravated him in the way that her previous words had managed to aggravate him? Would he take those extra moments to calm himself, to approach her in the manner that he’d only just approached her? The fact that she didn’t believe him made her feel terrible, worse than she’d felt about upsetting him in the first place. They’d had disagreements before, and they’d undoubtedly have more of them, more disagreements. He’d do what he always did. She’d do what she always did. And they’d be right back where they were, only with more pain.

“I hate the quiet anger, the disagreements. I don’t want anymore. I hate them,” she explained, emphasizing her own hatred. “I don’t understand them. If we try harder, maybe we’ll have less of them.” Truth existed behind those words.


[JESSE]
Jesse hadn't really noticed that he'd been rejecting anything. Or, maybe he did, but he thought that she was wrong. He could disagree with Clover's opinion, and this time it just so happened that he disagreed with the opinion that she had of him. Not only because he thought she had contradicted it, in a way, but because he knew himself, and he knew exactly where to find his own flaws. While gardening and tending to the flowers and plants, while feeding the snakes, while drawing, Jesse often dropped into a kind-of meditative state. There were a lot of things he thought about in the silent of his own mind, which included thoughts about his own shortcomings. Some he accepted as character flaws that were so ingrained that they could never be fixed. Others, he'd vowed to work on.

Even now, after she'd said that she hated the way he dismissed the nice things she said, he didn't acknowledge them. An agreement had been met, and in his mind, the discussion was over. At least on his end there was nothing more that he wanted to say. Still up on his elbow, Jesse reached past Clover, fingers closing around the two glasses that she had brought with her. On his way back into an upright position, he brushed a kiss to her lips. It lingered, as soft as the one she’d delivered earlier. He was glad for the conversation. And now he wanted to enjoy the surprise.

“I don’t think we’d be a proper married couple if we didn’t argue every now and again. A little less would be preferable though, I agree,” he said, finding the bottle she’d brought with her to open it, to pour the blood, all civilised-like, into the glasses. It sloshed, heavy and thick, coating the glass like a red-velvet syrup. Blood. He could already smell it, could already feel his mouth watering.

“We’re going to be okay though. I have faith in us,” he said, and he smiled. The anger had diminished and now the smile took precedence. He loved Clover. He loved her so much it hurt. What she would not know was that her words were not dismissed. They were hoarded and locked up, a precious treasure that he had to protect. It wanted to do them justice. If she loved him as much as he loved her, then he knew exactly how pleasurably painful it was to hold on to.