For the First Time (S/A)
Title: For the First Time (S/A)
Author: cookiecoins
Pairing: Jalex
POV: Varied - Alex Present Day POV
Summary: How many times can you say I'm sorry? How do we learn to love after we've been hurt so much?
Disclaimer: I own no-one in this story and nothing to do with their lives are controlled by me. This is completely fictional. The title and cut belongs to The Script.
Author Notes: This took me a while because I'm lazy. Lalala, I don't care. And this is the first thing I've written that's happy. I wanted to throw up.
For the First Time
Oh, these times are hard
They’re making us crazy,
Don’t give up on me, baby
---
We’ve been in this position before. So many times before.
Burning eyes in a cold room, a candle once lit now a whisper of smoke vanishing in the wind.
He’ll walk out and find the nearest bar whilst I’ll be left alone, lying on our bed with no-one to mend the splinters in our relationship; the splinters in my heart. Again.
It’s always the same, but this time it’s a different game.
---
2009 - Alex
I’ve never been very good in the kitchen. In fact, when I was seventeen I thought it would be nice to make heart-shaped cookies for Jack on Valentine’s Day. It’s safe to say that it was the thought that counted; and the sex to make up for nearly burning down the Barakat household was also very important.
So the fact that I haven’t set off the fire alarm in our apartment when making this dinner is pretty lucky. Actually, it’s nearer to a miracle.
Loud footsteps are heard climbing the stairs to our apartment and my eyes widen, scanning the room frantically, and adding the final touches to our perfect meal; I dim the lights and flare a few candles in the middle of the perfectly set table. I look at our romantic meal for two contentedly before I run into the kitchen to pour some wine.
The door opens and I see Jack walk past the kitchen. I hold my breath in anticipation for his reaction.
“Oh.” I take a glass of red in each hand and move out of the kitchen to stand behind him. He turns around with a blank face “Are you expecting your booty call tonight?” My blood runs cold and my smile falters. It takes all my strength not to let the glasses slip from my hands, and I force another grin onto my face before continuing
“I made this for us,” My smile is tight and wary as he surveys the meal in front of him “spaghetti was always your favourite, right?” He is silent for a moment, before he shrugs and moves towards his side of the table and taking a seat. I bite my lip before placing his drink in front of him and sitting down myself. He’s already started eating, so I pick up my fork and stare down at the food, my stomach growling. I put the fork back down.
“Thanks” Jack mutters lifelessly through a mouthful of bolognese and I shift in my seat.
“S’okay.” It’s then with a sinking heart that I realise that he’s forgotten what date it is. He’s forgotten so much in the past few months, it’s like he’s forgotten who he is. “How was your day?”
“Fine” and how was yours, Alex? I grit my teeth and clench my fists in an attempt to keep my temper under control, before I take a breath out and look over to Jack, seeing the state of him for the first time. He sits opposite me, his skin pale and eyes dark with bags. He looks frail, and worn, and I frown, my anger dissipating.
“Jack, are you okay?” The sound of cutlery crashing against the plate makes me jump and I recoil from Jack’s intense glare
“What’s with all the questions?”
“Sorry,” I look at him confusedly “I was just asking-”
“Well don’t bother,” He hisses, his chair screeching across the floor as he stands, leaving half of his dinner untouched. I stand with him, anger growing again.
“Aren’t you going to eat?”
“I’m not hungry.” He barks and moves towards the bedroom, to lock himself away, as per usual. I scowl
“Of course you’re not.” He stops and spins on his heel to face me
“What’s that supposed to mean?” His eyes are filled with so much hatred; it feels like a thousand knives digging into me. I try not to flinch away from it.
“You know exactly what it means, Jack” I hiss “You don’t want to do anything anymore. Fuck, it’s like I don’t even know you.”
“Yeah, well I thought I knew you,” he growls “but the Alex I fell in love with didn’t start fucking around behind my back.” I laugh loudly and humourlessly
“That was two fucking years ago, Jack!” I exclaim, our bodies now centimetres apart in a terrifying fury “Are you still hanging onto the past?”
“That’s not something you let go of quickly.”
“Like you’re much better!” I scream “For the past year, you’ve been at the bar every night, drinking yourself into a stupor and fucking whores you pick up from the street,” his nostrils flare, and my voice gradually becomes quieter “whilst I’m sat here, waiting to see if you’ll come home or not.” My voice is just above a whisper now, and the anger in Jack’s eyes has drained, leaving nothing but a hollow shell “I’ve tried to make this right, Jack” I whisper, my eyes filling with tears “I really have; but you’ve changed and I don’t know how to get you back.”
Jack closes his eyes, and takes a careful breath before moving to the doorway of the bedroom and pulling out an already packed rucksack. My breath catches and I feel a traitor tear slip from my eye. He looks up; his once deep and open eyes now a foreign and closed book to me.
“There was a time when I felt butterflies whenever you touched me,” he whispers “and now there’s nothing” I sway on the spot, losing control of my senses
“So what, are you just going to give up?” I ask weakly, and he doesn’t reply. He finally stares up to me with empty eyes and when no emotion flickers past his face, my heart falls.
“I can’t remember what I was fighting for in the first place.”
With that, he rises and shoulders his bag, moving past with such a ghostly air it’s like he’s never existed beside me. His hand is reaching out to the door handle before I open my mouth
“If you walk out that door, don’t bother coming back.”
There is a silence that follows, but it doesn’t occur to me that it’s because Jack has already left.
Happy fucking anniversary.
---
2010
“Jack, put your dish in the sink” I call from the kitchen, leafing through the mail and watching from the corner of my eye as Jack goes to move towards the couch. “Jack, are you even listening to me?”
“Yeah, sure” He murmurs and I scowl
“Then what did I say?” Jack’s eyes are glued to the TV screen now, his mouth slightly hanging open in concentration. After a moment’s silence he turns to me.
“Sorry, did you say something?”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I shout and Jack sits up, his brows furrowing
“Don’t have a bitch fit, Alex,” he scoffs “It’s just a fucking plate.”
“No, Jack” I correct angrily and square up to him as he stands “It’s the fact that ever since Branson dropped you from the company; you’ve turned into a lazy, inconsiderate fuck.”
“Oh, so that’s what it’s about?” His voice rises angrily “You’re pissed because I got fired? The truth finally comes out” He throws his hands in the air “I’m trying to find a fucking job, Alex, but time’s are pretty goddamn hard out here in the real world; maybe the financial crisis is non-existent in your little fucking dream world.”
“What, are you finding a job on the sofa watching daytime TV?” I growl “I don’t think Oprah’s going to hire the person who hasn’t done a single productive thing in his life!”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Look at you, Jack!” I motion to him, my anger spurring me on “You’re pathetic; you have no money, no job, no social life;” my eyes narrow “and with the way you’re pushing me away I’m pretty sure you won’t have a goddamn boyfriend soon.” Jack’s face is a stunned mask as he measures me up, before he growls in infuriation and storms towards the front door. I follow him with dark eyes “Where the Hell are you going?”
“Out” He replies sharply and I clench my fists, anger bubbling inside me
“Fine, fucking leave like you always do” I burst out at his retreating figure “Run away from the truth: have a strong drink and pick up another cheap whore.” He doesn’t turn around so I continue “That’s all you’re fucking worth anyway.”
“Fuck you, Alex.” He spits, and without a second glance in my direction, he slams the door.
---
2007 - Jack
Alex and I have always fought. Tom and Jerry, cat and dog, you name it: that’s us. But we’ve never hurt each other. Whether it was physically or emotionally, not once have we gone out of our way to harm one another. We would spat, of course, over an untidy room or an extended time using the bathroom, but it is nothing a glass of wine and a few late-night movies couldn’t fix. That’s what I’ve thought at least. But now...
As I stare at the scene before me now, it’s like I’m in a very bad dream. No, that’s an understatement: it’s a nightmare.
“Jack” Alex scrambles up from the couch with terrified eyes and swollen lips “It’s not what you think”
“Not what I think” I croak, my eyes glued to the room in front of me. I feel like I need to throw up, but at the moment I’m finding it hard to breathe. I look to the other man, half naked and sitting up timidly on the couch “Get out.” The other man looks to Alex, as if waiting for confirmation, and I snarl, a furious rage suddenly growing inside me “Now.” He doesn’t need any more convincing, picking up his discarded clothes and flying out the door without a second glance, and leaving Alex and I in a deathly silence.
“Jack” he finally whispers and I flinch at the sound of my name; has he said anyone else’s name like he used to say mine? The familiar acidic feeling crawls up my throat again “Are you going to say anything?”
“What is there to say, Alex?” I say eventually, and run my hands through my hair. The shock is beginning to wear off, and anger is slowly replacing it “What the fuck do you want me to say?”
“Anything.” He replies with wide eyes, “Jesus, you haven’t moved in the past five minutes; and I-” Alex’s voice breaks with emotion “Jack, look at me, please.” I bite my lip until I taste blood and my heart pounds. I can’t bear to see his face, or hear his voice. I move towards the bedroom, with every intent of locking myself away from the world, but Alex is unwilling to let me go “I’m sorry, Jay.” That stops me; my blood runs cold and my eyes narrow.
“Don’t call me that.” My body trembles as the anger builds in my body “And don’t tell me you’re fucking sorry, because you’re not.” I clench my fists and allow myself to lose control; my temper flares as I replay his empty apology in my head; as if I’m sorry is going to fix this “What’s your fucking problem?” I scream as I turn on him, and his eyes water “Am I not good enough for you?”
“No, Jack-” he whispers and winces as I angrily throw a punch into the wall, my anger bursting out at anything. I imagine his face, contorted in a guilty pleasure; his body glistening with sweat, writhing underneath another man’s. I squeeze my eyes tightly to block out the moans.
“How long has this been happening?” He doesn’t reply and I snarl before spinning on my heel and barking at him “How long?”
“He just started coming over when he moved in and I-” I run a hand forcefully down my face as my stomach twists in painful knots “I don’t know what happened, Jay, I didn’t mean it to happen.”
“Since November?” I ask disbelievingly. Alex nods and bites his lip to keep from crying. My face ripples in repulsion “Ten months, Al? Ten fucking months?” I scream and try to control my erratic breathing “God Alex, it’s just you and him-” I stop myself in realisation, and my eyes slowly travel to the direction our bedroom door: he just started coming over “Oh my God,” my stomach curls in disgust and my mouth falls open to allow the smallest whisper “He was in the bedroom. He was in our bed?”
“Jack-” I meet his sorrowful eyes for the first time. For a second, there’s a hint of a lie shining there; he wants to tell me that I’m wrong, that what I saw and what I’m saying is just my imagination; but the way the lie slowly fades tells a different story, and his face falls into an eventual sadness. There’s no point anymore; I don’t need to hear the rest, and he knows it. He stumbles to find a better phrase “I’m sorry.”
I nod and swallow back any tears of my own, looking around the room to avoid the sight of him. We built so many memories in this small apartment of ours, and now everywhere I look I just see dirt: there they lie, snuggling on the couch. There they are, kissing over the counter. This isn’t my home anymore; this isn’t the home that we built.
“It’s not supposed to be this hard, Alex.” I whisper. With that, I move past him towards the bedroom, and his eyes widen in desperation.
I walk through the door, and take in a sharp breath at the sight of the bed, before continuing to the drawers, pulling out clothes and piling them into a small bag to the side. Alex is pleading now, trying to reach out and stop me, but I shake his hand away. I can’t bear to think of where that hand has been. He tries to pull out the clothes and stop me from packing, but I merely push him away and he’s breaking down against the wardrobe. I zip up the bag and look down at him; taking in his swollen yet perfect face, his red yet striking eyes. My beautiful disaster. My broken angel.
It’s a knife to my chest when I remember that he’s no longer mine. I move towards the front door.
“Don’t give up on this, Jack” Alex pleads as he scrambles up “On us” I turn to him with broken eyes
“When you kissed him for the first time, Alex” I whisper “that’s when you gave up on us.”
His pleas fall on empty ears as I walk out the door.
---
I push my way into the bar, the door creaking in a hollow welcome as I’m greeted by the stale air and hostile glares of the regular haunts. The bar is comforting; it provides warmth and it provides alcohol when I want to escape from everything and anything on the outside world. I never thought I’d be running from Alex, though.
I scan the room casually: several groups of people scattered in small booths and a few lonely people lined like lost puppies against the bar. I move towards the abandoned. As I hoist myself into my usual bar stool, I catch sight of someone familiar nestled into one of the booths. I've seen him in here before; mostly with his friends, sometimes alone. But I always notice that he never leaves on his own. Sometimes I long for that; someone’s hand to hold as I walk out the door each night. Alex never held the restraint that I did. My teeth clench.
The man’s with his usual group, three guys and a couple of girls draped over them. They all laugh at unintelligible things and radiate with each other's happiness. Company is a wonderful thing. But he is cosy in his corner, sipping his beer with a casual coif and a smirk playing against his lips. I turn around, jealousy flaring in my stomach.
Happiness doesn't belong in this place.
“Alright, Barakat?” The bartender moves slowly down the bar, cleaning a glass. I meet his eyes with a tight smile, a realisation falling like a weight in my stomach.
“Am I ever, Kyle?” I reply and he chuckles slightly.
“The usual?”
“Please.” I smile as he walks away to fetch my drink. Kyle reserves for me my own bottle of Jack Daniels every night; he frowns as I gulp relentlessly but says nothing. He’s low on money and I’m business. I'm not an alcoholic, but the constant burning in my throat as I sip on my drinks is a reminder of who I am; who I once was. It's comforting. Kyle returns a moment later, an empty tumbler and a bottle of whiskey in his hands “Thanks, Kyle.”
“On your tab?”
“As always.” I smile and he nods before starting to walk to greet another customer “Hey, Kyle!” He turns back and I hold up the glass “Are you going to join me or not?” He smiles and pulls up a seat opposite.
Time passes, and so do the drinks.
The lines between time and my limits begin to blur, and the numbing sense begins to creep over my shoulder. This is my friend, and I welcome him with open arms. After all, I am paying for him. Kyle’s lopsided grin is tantalizing, and his stories make my sides ache; I can’t remember the last time Alex made me laugh so hard.
The guy I was looking at earlier walks past on his way out of the bar, a beautiful girl on his arm, a content smile lacing her lips. He throws me a mischievous look and I feel a jealous and lonely acid bubble in my stomach, before looking to Kyle: I think he’s telling me about his band, but I don’t care; without a second rational thought I grab a fistful of his shirt and pull his lips onto mine.
---
2010
Holy shit, did we just argue over a dish?
I look to the door, my breathing short; maybe this is it.
Maybe this is the time Jack doesn’t come home.
---
2007 - Jack
Kyle’s lips are soft, and new, and addictive; the adrenaline rush clouds my senses momentarily as he responds eagerly to my sudden need to get Alex out of my mind. But then I realise that I don’t want him out of my mind. I push Kyle away and regain my breath, suddenly becoming so much more sober.
“Sorry” I whisper, and Kyle laughs breathlessly.
“Jack,” He starts and fixes me with a pointed look “whoever that kiss was for, is a lucky guy” his chuckle dies down “but we both know that it wasn’t for me.” Maybe I needed someone else to confirm my thoughts, but as I rise from my seat, I’m more sure of what I want than ever.
“Thanks, Ky’” I smile and begin to move away
“Hey!” He calls and I stop, turning back to him. He throws me my discarded phone, which shows 16 missed calls and 6 messages from Alex. What I don’t miss is the new contact just added under Kyle’s name “Give me a call sometime” he says, his eyes telling a different story to his friendly smile “Just to talk.”
---
2009 - Alex
The TV is on mute, flickering images out in a rapid silence. My eyes are glazed over, staring mindlessly in its direction, more aware of the fact that my eyes are red from crying, and my body is curled up in a foetal position across the couch. The apartment is silent; the humming refrigerator in the kitchen is more alive than I feel.
The faint numbers on the VCR tell me it’s been four hours. Four hours and thirty-six minutes since Jack walked out of the door. Four hours and thirty-four minutes since I threw our anniversary dinner in the trash and smashed the plates against the wall with a strangled sob. Four hours and twenty minutes since I got out of my slumped position on the floor and tidied up. Four hours and ten minutes since I collapsed on the couch and forgot how to live.
Four hours and ten minutes of waiting for the man who walked out of the place he used to call home
He’ll come back. He always comes back.
The minute changes; four hours and thirty-seven minutes; I don’t think it usually takes this long.
I muffle another whimper into the cushions. The rustle of the door lock causes me to choke on my air and I stiffen. As the door creaks open, I don’t dare to look up; I don’t think I have the energy to. Too much time has passed now: he’s not coming back to me; he’s just coming to pick up the rest of his stuff. As careful footsteps get louder, my stomach does flips. The footsteps stop and I can hear him breathing near me.
“Your smile.” He whispers and I look up to Jack, who sways warily by the couch. I sniff and sit up slowly.
“What?”
“The way you chuckle at the stupid things,” he continues and my brow furrows “the way you aren’t afraid to be who you want to be, the way you make me feel alive when you sing, the way you dance” he chuckles to himself at the thought “your British accent, the way you can make me feel like the only person in the room.” he pauses and looks to me, with a smile “I remembered.”
His warily loving expression has me laughing in confusion “Remembered what?”
“What I was fighting for.” Jack answers before he drops the bags and leaps onto the couch, pinning me down under his arms. I squeak but laugh in surprise, and Jack grins before leaning down and kissing me softly on the lips “I remembered why I love you. Happy anniversary, baby.”
---
2007 - Jack
I rap on the door, my heart beating erratically. I had practically run from the store, a few bottles of cheap wine and Chinese takeaway under my arm, ready to laugh and talk and kiss the night away with the person I love. I want to be nowhere else but where I’m standing now.
The seconds pass slowly as I wait for a response. There are frantic footsteps before the front door swings open and his tear-stained face becomes shocked. I smile tightly at him and meet his eyes, which shine with tears and the tiniest fragment of hope. He tries to find the right words before he lets out a breath and smiles in relief
“You came back”
At that I smile, because no matter how many times Alex Gaskarth breaks my heart, I’ll always end up walking back through his door.
“I never left”
---
2010
A small knock on the aging wood sends me sprinting down the hall. I rip the door open with such a force, not knowing whether to laugh or cry at what’s before me. Because there he is; a carrier bag in hand and a timid smile on his face, just like always.
And maybe for a moment, we lost ourselves: forgot how to grin like idiots and love like romantics.
We can scream and hit and hurt each other, but nothing stops me loving the adorable smile on his face and the way Jack Barakat makes me smile. We have bad times; so many hard times, but it doesn’t matter, because we have each other. We will always end up in one another’s arms, cherishing the times we’ve smiled instead of dwelling on the times we’ve cried.
That’s what people do when they’re in love.
“Can I come in?” He asks.
I smile and step aside.