hold me really tight (until the stars look big) - I

Tate nods. 'Thanks,' he says quietly as he puts the plate on her nightstand.

Jael gets up and hands him the present. "I hope you like it," she says. She sits down on the bed and hugs herself.

Tate smiles, barely, and opens it. 'Thanks,' he says. 'I have been wanting to buy this for a while.'

Jael shrugs a little. "Mica bought it for me for you." Her voice is unstable all of a sudden. She swallows hard. "She knows you better than I do." Obviously.

Tate smiles. Not happy, not sad, just a smile. Maybe a hesitant one. 'Yeah,' he mumbles. 'But it's hard to know me better than she does. Not even Macy kno--knew, knew me better than that.'

Jael looks at the tray on the nightstand and looks back at Tate. "I already ate something." She can't bring herself to keep up a conversation. He's too distant and she's too tired.

Tate shrugs. 'It was Mica's idea anyway.' It wasn't. She wouldn't know.

Jael nods a little, waits for him to leave. It's like she has this lump in her throat and however hard she tries to swallow it, it won't go away. She looks at him, forces herself to smile. "I hope you have a great day." Her voice cracks. "I'm—I'm sorry. I need—I'm sorry." She's up in a heartbeat and locks herself in the bathroom within seconds.

Tate stays in the room for a few more minutes, unsure of what he did wrong. When he leaves, he locks the door. He doesn't tell himself it's the best choice.

Jael cries. Again, and again, and again. Sometimes she's surprised there are still tears to be shed, because all she does is cry lately.
She's sitting on the cold bathroom floor, hugging herself, waiting until she hears the click of the lock, to be sure Tate is gone when she comes out.
When she does, she lays down on the bed, not even looking at the food on her nightstand. She can't eat. She can't fucking swallow anything.

~ Tuesday, March 21st, 10.15 AM ~

Spring starts before any of them notices; days blurring together until all Tate knows is the turning of the lock in Jael's door and his morning runs. Sometimes, Mica crawls into his bed, whispers about the future and names and how she doesn't know herself. Sometimes she cries and hates herself for it.
Jael's phone is in the charger constantly, even though Mica pointed out it's going to kill the battery. There are the occassional messages of her parents, a few from friends Tate acted like he had no interest in, a few from complete strangers, but the stream is more constant now, and he can't help but glance at the incoming message.

From: Jemma (10:23AM): Happy Birthday, J! Haven't seen you in forever. We should meet up soon. XO

Fuck. He calls Mica from his place at the table.
'What's up?' she quips.
He sighs. 'It's Jael's birthday.'

Jael is awake. She's been awake for hours and hours, after she dreamed about home, about her parents. She woke with wet cheeks and now it's just waiting. Waiting for the sun to pass behind the buildings, waiting until the shadows start consuming the room, waiting until it gets dark again.
She knows it's her birthday. Of course she knows it's her birthday. But she ignores the fact, refuses to feel even more miserable and pained.

Mica gets a cake, even though she barely knows what she's doing and why and how and--She's tired. It's a bad day. At noon, Tate opens her door.

Jael's sitting in the armchair, staring outside as Tate opens the door. She looks up, not expecting anything but lunch. Lunch she can't get down her throat without having to throw up after.

Sometimes, Tate thinks Jael doesn't move. He leaves her in the armchair and when he comes back, she's there—still? Again? Mica is behind him, carrying a cake. He bought her an iPod, wrapped in ruby red paper. He isn't sure if she'll like it.

Jael is beyond being surprised. She doesn't say anything at first, then asks with a really quiet voice: "How did you know...?" She's playing with her hands, somewhat nervous.

Tate doesn't answer, doesn't know how to or what to say without reminding her that he is basically her kidnapper and has her phone in the charger constantly to have something of her. He doesn't say anything, just like he doesn't talk to her when he brings her food, and just like he never asks why she never tries to escape.
Mica puts the cake on the little table, looks at the dog-eared book opened on the nightstand and sighs. 'Increase in messages. Lots of Happy Birthday! ones. Wasn't really hard to figure it out.' She's showing, stomach more than a bump but not really more, and she's tired more than anything.

Jael looks at the cake and then at the gift Tate is still holding and something inside her snaps. "I don't want any of it," she says, her voice surprisingly calm. "I don't want any of it, pretending there's no shit going on. Just leave me alone, like you've done, like you're going to do for God knows how long." There are tears, but she ignores them. "Please don't pretend I haven't fucked up and that you two are never going to forgive me for it. Just leave me alone."

Tate breathes in, deeply, and exhales, heaving on a sigh. 'It's your birthday. Eat your cake. Open your present. Please.'

Jael looks at him, cheeks wet, eyes full of disbelief. "Why? Why the hell do you want me to pretend I'm having a good time? To silence your own guilt or something?" Her voice breaks and she swallows, hard. "Instead of giving me cake and a birthday gift, you could also tell me what you're planning to do with me, or let me call my parents to tell them I'm fine, because they probably are wondering why I'm not calling them on my fucking birthday."

Tate holds the phone in his hand behind his back and sighs. Mica looks at him questioningly and leaves when he nods. He sits down. 'I don't know,' he says, and he sounds pained and worn-out and tired. 'I want to tell you the plan, but I have no idea.'

Jael looks at him. She's quiet for a while, thinking, then says with a really silent voice: 'Am I going to be in here for the rest of my life…? Counting away the hours… waiting for the next meal?' A tear runs down her cheek. 'You—you never even look at me. I'm—I'm sorry for what I did, Tate, I'm sorry, I wish—I wish I could change what I've done.' Something in her way of speaking tells she's exhausted. Frightened. Done fighting. She's so utterly tired, of the nightmares, of seeing Tina in her dreams, feeling her next to herself in bed. Sometimes it's her killing Tina, sometimes it's her taking Tina's place, or Denny slitting Jael's throat. It's always the same thing that happens, but differently. And it feels so real, each and every time.
She's worn out. Lost too much weight, eyes too sad. She swallows back her tears and looks away. 'I'm sorry,' she mutters, not even knowing what she's saying it for.

'I need—I can't—I can't trust you,' he exclaims, voice wavering. 'I trusted you and you—Mica was in danger. Everyone who saw you was in danger. Do you know who saw you? My brother Mason. And Mason's son—Isaac was in danger—is. Is is is. They still are in danger because Denny is walking around there, knowing, knowing. He knows and I don't know what to do, and Mica is having kids and Vinnie is a dick and I don't know, Jael. I don't know if I can trust you or if I should stay far away or if you're going to be our hostage forever. I don't know.'

Jael sobs, just once, silently, pressing her hand against her mouth. She curls up in the armchair and nods. 'Okay,' she says, whispers, voice broken. 'Okay, I understand.' She looks at him, pained. 'Why didn't you—why didn't you let Denny take me…? He'd be silent, he wouldn't—he wouldn't talk, he'd have me and I'd—I'd deserve it. It would've been easier, for—for you. It would've been an—an easy way out, why didn't you…?' She's stammering, she's scared. She's fucked up.

'I know--I know this is a fucked up situation. But Denny--he can't be trusted. I don't--You don't--No one deserves that, Jael, no one deserves to be treated like that. Not anyone. I don't--I didn't--Yes, it would've been easier. Yes, it would've been the easy way out, it'd be fixed--but what about you? You would've been with him and I thought--I thought--You don't deserve that. I had to--I can't let you get back to him.'

Jael has to fight to breathe. "Don't you get it...? Don't—don't you understand? I do, I do deserve it. Tate, I ruined it." His kisses, his touches, his kind words. "I ruined everything, I ruined everything and I need you, I need you, because I—" She stops. She stops because she almost told him the thing that's tearing her apart. She almost told him she loves him and speaking it out loud makes it real, makes it very real, and there's no turning back once it's real. There's no turning back once she gives in to the horrible feeling of loving Tate Hale while he hates her.

Tate knows he should kiss her. This is the time to kiss her. He can hear Mica's (judgemental) voice in his head, can hear his own heart beating--He throws the iPod in her lap. 'Mica said we should let you decide whose iTunes you want to sync with. We can discuss it over dinner. You can tell Mica what you want to eat tonight when she brings lunch.' He turns around. This is not the time to fall in love with Jael. This is really not the time.

Watching him walk out of the door, hearing the click of the key in the lock—Jael can't do anything than watch him go, her vision blurred with tears. When he's gone, she cries.

Tate doesn't look at Mica when he comes out. She eyes him expectantly, but doesn't press. When he walks towards his room, she says: 'You don't have to talk about it, but I'm breaking up your pity party in fifteen minutes.'

Jael drags herself to the bathroom after opening the gift and locks herself inside, lights out, cold on the bathroom floor. She sobs into her hands, as quiet as possible.
She saw. The look in Tate's eyes, she saw he knew what was supposed to be the rest of that last sentence.

When Tate was fourteen he told Reyleigh Callaghan he loved her and she laughed him square in the face. 'Oh honey,' she had told him, 'Don't you know? There's no such thing as love. You don't love me. I don't love you.' Tate still thinks she's the smartest person he's ever met. Jael is different, Jael is seven AM and summer and she could be more, and he could tell Reyleigh Callaghan that there is a thing called love and he's found it.

Jael cries and falls asleep curled up next to the bath tub, head resting on her knees as she hugs them. She's so tired she doesn't even dream; there's just sleep, and nothingness, and numbness, and it's good. It's what she needs.

'When did punishing yourself stop being a way to cope and start being an addiction?' Mica asks, and she sounds breathless, like watching him lay on top of the sheets punched all the oxygen out of her. 'Why don't you—You are not—You deserve to be happy, Tate.'
Tate nods, a silent I know, says: 'But so does she.'
Mica doesn't have an answer to that.

Jael always loved wrong, always had the wrong idea of what love was supposed to be. Her father told her that what he did was for her own good, because he loved her. Kyle told her she deserved it, because she was the girl and she was supposed to obey him, to be less. She was supposed to bend to his will. And then Denny came along and she thought he was better, she thought she finally had her happy ending until he discovered her scar and the story behind it, and she didn't want to believe that he was like Kyle. She told herself she imagined it, that Denny really was good, and eventually she believed it. She believed she was supposed to be less, she believed Denny was supposed to treat her like that. Because her father did, and Kyle, and Denny.
But now there's Tate and it's unfamiliar and it's good, it's safe, it's nothing like before. She loves him, she adores him, even though they are constantly fighting to ignore their feelings for each other. It's unfamiliar, but it's real, it's real and painful and beautiful. She loves Tate Hale in a way she never loved before.

When lunchtime comes around, Tate makes Mica bring the croissants to Jael.
'I should make you do it, you know,' Mica quips, sounding a bit tired. 'You—You need to figure this out.'
Tate rolls his eyes, but it comes off forced, scripted. 'I told her she could tell you what she wanted for dinner.'
Mica opens Jael's door.

Jael wakes when Mica opens the door, but she doesn't come out. She just stays there, hugging her knees on the bathroom floor. She doesn't want to see either Tate or Mica right now, even though she's hungry and it's her birthday, even though Mica could stumble upon the drawing she's making of Tate, even though she needs to talk to someone.

When Mica walks in, the cake is still on the nightstand and the iPod wrapped on the bed, ruby red stark against the white sheets. It reminds her of blood. She knocks on the bathroom door, a hesitant 'Jael?' leaving her lips, plate in her hand.

Jael doesn't want to answer at first, then says, voice trembling: 'Leave the food somewhere. I don't—I want—I need to be alone.'

Mica sighs, sits on the bed. 'I'm not gonna leave,' she says, taking the iPod and turning it over and over in her hands. Tate's never been good at wrapping. Or too good, maybe. She could never open anything in less than 15 minutes. He always laughed at her for it.

It takes a while, but eventually Jael quietly opens the bathroom door. Mica's still there, iPod in her hands.
Jael doesn't really say anything. She just sits down a little awkwardly on the armrest of the chair she's been living in for weeks. She clasps her hands now she can't keep them busy. "He hates me," she eventually says, voice trembling.

'That boy has a lot of feelings towards you,' Mica says, voice even, slowly peeling off the first bits of tape. 'Hate, Jael, is definitely not one of them. There's... distrust, still, because you've endangered the one's close to him, but he cares about you. A lot. More than he trusts himself with, in regards to the things that have happened the past months and the things you've learned about each other.'

Jael's breath hitches. She tries to swallow back tears she doesn't want to come, but it doesn't help. Her hands are shaking as she wipes her cheeks in a faint attempt to still look decent, to still look not as wrecked as she feels. "I don't know what to do," she whispers, and she sobs. "I'm—I don't—I don't know, I'm so—I'm so scared—" Her voice breaks and she starts to cry.

Mica leans back against the headboard, places her feet on the bed and pats on the vacant spot next to her before continuing to unwrap the present. She doesn't look at Jael as she speaks. 'I know you're scared. He's scared too. You're both... fucked up. Really fucked up. You we're fucked up long before you met each other.' She shrugs.

Jael takes a few deep breaths to push back the tears and stumbles towards the bed, sits down next to Mica. She's really quiet for a while, just breathing, not doing anything. Then says, silently: "I'm not supposed to love him." The words sound unreal, her voice sounds unreal. She doesn't look at Mica, just stares ahead of herself.

'No one is supposed to love anyone. You just do. He could... Tate could be good for you. You could be good for Tate.' Mica shrugs again, placing the first long string of tape on the nightstand next to her. She turns to Jael. 'I know you're afraid. You just... You got to take chances once in a while. You deserve good things. He might... If you give him time, if you show him... He might let himself fall in love with you, too.'

Jael plays with her fingers, thinking about Mica's words, then shakes her head a little. "I don't—I don't think—" She stops, thinks again, trying to find the right words. "I don't think I'd be worth it. I just—I fucked up, with him, with Denny, even with Kyle and I don't—I don't think I can do it again, Mica, I just—He deserves to be happy."

Mica looks at her with an unreadable expression on her face, head a bit cocked to the side. 'He deserves to be happy,' she echoes, words slow and deliberate. 'But so do you. You might make each other happy. There's only one way to find out.'

Jael's eyes wander off and a slight smile crosses her face, the first in weeks. She doesn't even notice she's smiling at all and it's gone within a second. She looks at Mica, hesitates, then asks: "Could you—could you stay with me for a little while? I keep falling asleep and I can't—I have these nightmares and they're only not there when I'm exhausted...?" It sounds more like a question.

Mica nods slowly, eyes focused on the hollowed cheeks, the empty look. Jael looks faded. Like a picture faded from having been left in pockets in the washer too many times. 'You wanna tell me what they're about?'

Jael smiles, sadly, empty. 'They're mostly about Tate. Sometimes about Tina though, or Kyle, or Denny.' She's quiet for a moment. 'But it's always the same. The same thing happens, only with different people. It's always—I keep dreaming about that night.' Her voice is unstable.