Page 73 of June: Jess' Story

“We could probably sneak off for a little bit, at some point. Or maybe you could just stay with us?”I feel like I could light a match and let this whole fucking place burn without an ounce of remorse. There’d just be more rage.

My hands shake as I walk to my room.Are him and her…?I can’t even fucking think it without wanting to send a fist through the wall.

Instead of annihilating the freshly painted walls, I head back downstairs and out the side of the garage to the area where I’ve been splitting and storing firewood. I set a log down and rear back, letting the ax fall far more forcefully than necessary, channeling the frustration I’m feeling into the act of chopping wood.

Thwack. The sound of the ax splitting down the log and ending with a loudcrackfeels slightly satisfying.

She’s still the same Jess.I might be different. She makes me different, but she’s still exactly the same.

You think you deserve more than this?Ray's voice echoes in my mind, bouncing off my skull painfully. I raise the ax, mirroring the mental image in my mind of Ray raising a hand to me.This is exactly what you deserve.And as the ax falls, so does the back of his hand.Thwack. Crack.

I’ve worked hard to keep that voice at bay. The one that tells me I’m nothing. I’m worthless. I’m deserving of the hurt and pain. Once the memory finds me, though, it's not enough for it to play just once through my mind. It’ll be stuck on replay until I can work it out of my system. So I commit to working through the wood before me. It’s a lot. That’s okay. Perfect even.

I raise my ax, I see a hand. I fell a log, I see 8-year-old Alex fall back. Again and again and again. I hear the voice:You’re stupid. You’re a fool.Again and again.

The memories would come when I was with Amy, too. Except back then it was near constant. The only way to get it to stop would be to disengage with the outside world, or to be engaged at work. On occasion she could pull me out of it, but then something would trigger me, and I’d retreat again.

When my long-sleeved shirt gets soaked, I shed it. When my hair won’t stay out of my eyes, I walk and get my hat out of my Jeep.

She’s gonna make a fool of you. Thwack. Crack.The voice is still there.

You think someone like her could ever love you? Thwack. Crack.

Shoot, boy, she seems pretty shitty herself. Maybe the two of you actually deserve each other. Thwack. Crack.

I yell out at the last words that are a blend of Ray’s voice and my own. And I hate that. I fucking hate that I could ever think something he would. That I could ever be like him. I slam the ax down with a massive crack, lodging it deep into the stump.

“You wanna talk this out?” Blanks says from where he’s leaned up against the garage. My face softens slightly. When he’s out of New York, he’s the Blanks I’ve always known. Humble. Small town boy. Orphaned at 17. Only child, but still a positive outlook on life. He also stops dressing like a tool bag, too. He’s got on a plain sweatshirt, jeans, and boots. Normal shit.

I nod over at him, but don’t say anything. He knows the drill.

“Alright, then.” He pushes up his sleeves. “You wanna fight?”Yes.

“No.”

“You sure?”

“No.”

“Alright,” Blanks says, meeting me in the semi-clear area where I chop. We circle each other like we used to, trying to take one another down. “Is it family drama?” He circles me and makes a swipe that I lean away from to avoid.

“No,” I say, circling him, then taking my own swipe that he escapes.

“Ahh, woman drama.” I don’t say anything, and he swipes my leg out from underneath me, laying me out. Instead of advancing, he hovers over me. He doesn’t have to say it, it’s there in his look.Man the fuck up. Whatever it is, it’s been long enough that you need to get over it so you don’t fuck this up.

He offers me a hand as he says, “Don’t fuck it up.” Echoing the already clear sentiment. If I were in a better mood, I’d pull his ass to the ground and get him in a headlock, but I don’t.

As I’m standing up, I realize the chatter in my mind has quieted back down. My blood has lowered from a boil to a simmer, and I’m ready to go have a conversation with the woman who officially owns me completely.

“Hey.” I nod at her from the bathroom entrance, then throw on a fresh t-shirt from my closet. She’s unpacking her toiletries, setting her toothbrush onmybathroom counter. She’s wearing the same baggy jeans and sweater as she was at lunch, but seeing her barefoot, in our bathroom, looking entirely at home, comfortable and happy — it makes me want to curl in on myself and die.

“Hi,” she smiles back at me. A smile that damn near brings me to my knees.

“I need you to be honest with me, Jess. You’re about to come tomyfamily’s Thanksgiving tomorrow. We’re either doing this or we aren’t, but you have to be honest with me.” I can see she’s surprised by my tone. I’m not saying it harshly, though a part of me wants to. It’s just that the subtleness of the Alex I am with Jess has sloughed off. This is the voice of the man who’s hated her for years. And that’s what surprises her, I think. That that person who’s been tucked away is still here. I don’t want this version of me to exist at all, but then I overhear her talking to Damian a certain way and I revert easily.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Her smile falls, and her tone chills. It’s in the same tone as the woman who has hated me back, and not the woman I’m probably completely in love with now.

“You don’t have to be, is the point. Do you want to be here? With me?” My tone is even harder than it was before.