It Never Gets Easier [8/?]
Title: It Never Gets Easier [8/?]
Author: likeanaccidentx
Pairing: Adam Lazzara/John Nolan.
Rating: Story, right now, stands at R overall.
Summary: You were starting to feel that John was trying too hard to fix things; the way he was acting around you, every look, every smile, every dollar that he pulled out of his wallet - every little detail reminded you of the days when you had been dating, and every dollar he spent felt as though he was trying to buy those days back. You weren't sure if he was trying to recreate a feeling, or trying to make you feel as awkward as you felt, but you were wishing he would stop.
It was hard enough knowing that he wasn't yours anymore without him acting like you were his.
Word count: 3,429.
Disclaimer: Not real. Don’t know, don’t own.
Notes: Not much to say about this one. I dislike it as a chapter - it was hard to write and just seems so disjointed and random - I promise you, although the storyline so far has been a little weird, it has a point. And if the places seem a bit random? I'm sorry. That'd mostly be because half of this story, unfortunately, is based on my own personal experience. Nice, huh? Anyway. Comments and concrit are love. <3.
Dedication: Everyone reading and commenting this weird disjointed story. Thank you. ♥ You're all awesome.
Previous parts: one // two // three // four // five // six // seven
It's two in the morning when the two of you stumble in through the door of the apartment. It had taken you five minutes to even get the card key working properly, since your reactions were so slow that by the time you'd tried to open the door after inserting the card, it had locked itself again. But eventually, with a little team work, you got it, and the two of you crossed the threshold, John with his arm around your waist protectively. You're so drunk you can't see straight, and he's rubbing his fingers affectionately along your side as you head to the bedroom, and your head is screaming that this is a bad idea, but you're too busy giggling your ass off with John to do anything about it.
John lets go of you unexpectedly and you fall, landing on the bed before slipping off the sheets and hitting the floor with a thud. You begin to laugh harder, and John apologizes, mutters some curse words and helps you to climb to your feet. You stumble, until John puts an arm around you again; John, who even when blind drunk has more poise and grace than you have sober, holds you up. The way he did for years before he let you fall.
And right now, more than ever, more so even than when he left those years ago... Well, right now, you are wishing you could stand up by yourself. Not have to depend on others to hold you steady as you face each day.
You're sick of being defenceless, dependent and all the while, alone.
"Shit. Are you okay?" John whispers between giggles, swaying ever-so-slightly as he holds you in place. You nod at him, and feel relieved when he lets you go, even though moments after he does, you are missing his delicate hold on you.
You're so pathetic.
Soon enough, without him holding on to you you're swaying again. John notices this, and so he pushes you to sit down on the bed, mumbling something about a glass of water being a good idea for the both of you, before leaving the room to get one.
Sensible even when drunk, which is a lot more than you can say for yourself when you look back on the night in the alleyway with Jesse, all those years ago.
It could have been a lot worse, you know it, but you can't seem to let it go.
You grasp onto the bed sheets where you sit, attempting to hold yourself as still as possible so that maybe, just maybe, the room will stop spinning. After realizing that it's not going to happen, you pull yourself further along the bed, until you're sprawled across it, and close your eyes, willing everything to become calm and still...
* * *
You and John had tackled everything John had wanted to do that day. You weren't really bothered where the two of you went, or what you were doing; you just wanted to be with John. You wanted everything to be okay, and if there was any possible way it could be, then you'd have been willing to go anywhere, do anything.
Of course, deep down you knew it could never really be okay, not after all you'd been through together. You knew you were pushing at the pieces of a puzzle that would never fit. You knew that you and John had seen the end of your days. You just didn't want to believe it. You wanted to believe that there was the slightest chance that you could find something solid in him, so that you could finally have something solid in your life.
You knew that you and John would never be the way you were again, even if he did become something solid in your life. You wouldn't be the one to kiss him, to hold his hand, to love him, but you were so head over heels in love with the guy that just being with him - even if you were setting yourself up for a world of hurt as eventually, you knew you'd have to meet his fiancée, possibly even watch her become his wife - well, simply being with him was better than nothing at all.
Paralyzed is better than nothing at all.
At least, that's what you keep telling yourself.
And you feel such an overwhelming sense of guilt over the way you think about him, but it took John telling you of his plans to get married to make you see what a hypocrite you're being; you love Chauntelle, but you don't love her the way you love him, and you're not sure you ever could, nor are you sure you can keep pretending that you do. She deserves so much more than you can give, and so, you know exactly what you have to do the night you eventually return to Tyler. For once, you have to tell her the whole truth.
Anyway, you'd left the decisions to John that day. You'd even let him drive. This was perhaps a bad idea, as John had no idea where he was going, so after driving for an hour or two searching for that local museum attraction that John had seen in the tourism booklet, you pulled in to a 7/11 to ask for directions.
"John, isn't it on International Drive?" You'd asked, as you stepped out of the car together, approaching the 7/11. A bell above the door rang as the two of you stepped inside, John instantly taking his place in the queue in front of the counter. "Because in that case, I think I might have seen a sign for it a while back."
"You saw a sign for I-Drive?" John asked. You nodded. "When?"
"One of the many times we were driving around in circles." You muttered. John rolled his eyes.
"And you didn't tell me?"
"Well, I wasn't sure." You said. John shook his head, laughing to himself.
"It doesn't matter," He said. "It's best we get directions anyway, to be sure. I'm not driving around for another few hours."
While John waited in the queue, you wandered the shop for a little while, remembering the days when you and John and the boys used to tour in Eddie's van. You'd make regular stops at 7/11, so that Eddie could buy a pack of potato chips and a jumbo Pepsi, and you could buy a pack of cigarettes and a cherry Slurpee. You chuckled to yourself at the memory as you head outside for a cigarette, returning minutes later and walking over to John's side.
"So you want to take the I-4 to Exit 72," The girl behind the counter told him. She was young and pretty, with curly blonde hair and a dimpled smile, and you felt your stomach sink as she reminded you of the Dupree sisters, back in Tyler. "And from there you want to take the Beeline Expressway half a mile East before exiting North onto I-Drive."
John reached out and handed her some money as she explained the directions, and she took it, cashing it. He smiled brightly at her.
"Thanks, gorgeous." He said.
You'd raised your eyebrows, stunned for a moment, because those were quite possibly the most out of character words you'd ever heard John speak. You almost wanted to laugh and make fun of him for it, because they had sounded so sleazy as they passed his lips, but instead you were confused by the ease with which he had said it. The girl blushed, gave John his change and wished him a nice day, and John turned to see you, instantly straightening up as he did so.
"Get the directions?" You asked him, smirking slightly. You’d decided to go with amused, not wanting to look too much into it. He nodded, looked slightly flustered as he pocketed his change.
"Here," He said, holding out a Slurpee. You looked at him for a moment, confused, but he shrugged. "I saw you looking at them and remembered you liked the cherry flavoured ones way back when. I'm willing to bet you haven't had one in a while. Take it."
"Thanks..." You muttered, taking it from him. John smiled brightly.
"No problem." He said. "Let's go."
The museum wasn't quite what either of you had expected. It seemed more futuristic than historical; an obvious tourist attraction. Regardless, the two of you had some fun wandering around the interactive exhibits for an hour or two, but it got dull quickly.
"So where next, Captain?" You had asked John when you'd gotten back to the car and had both climbed in. John immediately reached out for the air conditioning and turned it up full blast. He thought it over for a moment, glanced at his watch. It was five in the afternoon.
"How about we go see a movie, and then head into that Downtown Disney area?" He suggested. "They have a movie theatre down there anyway."
"You seem pretty determined that we're going to Disney." You laughed, shaking your head.
"It has firework displays." He told you. You looked at him, eyebrows raised, and he added embarrassedly: "Oh... And um… And bars."
You laughed and John grinned at you, before starting up the engine.
About half an hour later, you arrived in the Downtown Disney area. It hadn't been hard to find, not with signposts for Disney everywhere you looked. The two of you walked down the street in search of the theatre, but John found the ice cream parlour first, had insisted on buying you an ice cream despite the fact that he'd already bought you a coffee in the IHOP and as Slurpee from 7/11, and the fact that you had plenty of your own money in your wallet. You pointed this out to him.
"But I owe you," John had said, and you had shook your head, but he'd persisted until you told him which flavour you wanted.
You were starting to feel that John was trying too hard to fix things; the way he was acting around you, every look, every smile, every dollar that he pulled out of his wallet - every little detail reminded you of the days when you had been dating, and every dollar he spent felt as though he was trying to buy those days back. You weren't sure if he was trying to recreate a feeling, or trying to make you feel as awkward as you felt, but you were wishing he would stop.
It was hard enough knowing that he wasn't yours anymore without him acting like you were his.
Man, John sure knows how to torture you.
With ice cream in hand, the two of you set off to find the AMC theatre, where needless to say, he proceeded to buy two tickets to the next movie playing, some comedy staring Adam Sandler. The theatre wasn't too busy, and you were almost surprised, although incredibly relieved that John didn't torture you further with leaning on your shoulder or touching your hand or even brushing against you during the movie. Instead, he'd turn to you every time he found something amusing; to see if you were laughing, too, and you'd catch a glimpse of that perfect smile.
It killed you just as much as the subtle gestures would have.
You found it difficult to watch the movie, as every second he wasn't smiling in your direction, you wished he was. There was a conflict in your mind; part of you was begging to reach out and grab his hand, but the sensible side was ruling this idea out.
When the movie was over, the two of you stepped out into the lobby, John throwing away the empty carton previously filled with salty popcorn. You looked at him expectantly, and he smiled, knowing what you were thinking and shrugged.
"I guess it's time to check out the nightlife." He said. You nodded, and the two of you headed outside into the cooler Florida air, which was still warmer than the ridiculously air-conditioned cinema. Things weren't so tense between you anymore, and John had calmed down a lot since you'd asked him back inside the previous night, and you were relieved by this, because you needed to distract yourself from what he had told you the night before.
Of course, in reality, you hadn't stopped thinking about it for a second.
You were halfway down the street, when you heard a bang. You looked up to see explosions of colour in the sky, and John smiled excitedly.
"Fireworks," He said, before hurriedly walking away from you. "Come on."
You followed him across the street, down a pathway to the lakeside, where there was a much clearer view of the fireworks. John was smiling, almost bouncing on his heels, and you had to laugh at his excitement, because John was so adult to everyone else, so mature, and you always felt like you had been the only one to know what lay beneath.
You walked over to stand next to him, leaning on the barrier between the dock and the waters edge, and glanced over at him, watching him as he watched the fireworks, head tipped back, the colours reflected in his eyes. He turned to you.
"They're... Aesthetically pleasing, aren't they?" John said awkwardly, his tone embarrassed. You laughed, standing back from the barrier, hands in your pockets.
"They're pretty, John." You nodded, and he grinned at you.
The two of you stood there a while longer, watching the firework display together, and it felt like some cheesy romance scene from a movie, it felt so surreal, it felt too good to be true to be standing next to John after all those years, it felt like old times...
Suddenly, you had felt John's hand pull yours from your pocket, grasp yours in his own. You looked over at him, and he glanced away from the fireworks, looked at you, smiled.
And you realize that those ‘old times’ were over.
And that in the ‘here and now’, it had felt wrong.
* * *
“Adam?” You open your eyes to see John hovering over you with a worried expression on his face. You don’t know how long you were out, but it can’t have been too long, as John is still clearly completely intoxicated as his next remark is: “God, don’t do that, I thought you were dead.”
You laugh, and push yourself up onto your elbows with a groan, and you don’t realize how close John is sitting to you until you sit up completely and can feel his breath ghosting over your face.
“No, lay down, Adam.” John sounds worried as he presses a palm to your chest, making you lay back on the bed and you groan again and he moves to lie next to you, stares up at the ceiling. You shut your eyes, and a silence falls over the two of you for several long minutes, until he breaks it.
“You know I have to marry her, don’t you?” John whispers into the darkness. The room is pitch black, and you wonder why neither one of you bothered to hit the switch before you had entered the room. You keep your eyes firmly shut; attempting to shut out the moment, but the weight of the silence in the room is so heavy on your chest that you can’t breathe. It can’t be ignored.
“I know.” You say after a while. And it’s true, you do know; you know he has to do this; you know he couldn’t be with you and feel right about it… And it hurts, but not as much as it hurts when he says…
“I love you, ‘dam.”
“Then don’t do it.” Is your instant reaction, despite the fact that you know he has to, know he won’t change his mind no matter what you say - you’re still clinging to the hope that maybe he’ll let her go, maybe you’ll mean enough to him for him to actually sacrifice everything the way you would for him at a drop of a hat. John props himself up so he’s leaning over you and you open your eyes. He looks you straight in the eyes when he says:
“It’s for the best.”
And it’s not your strongest moment; it really isn’t. The moment burns your eyes and you can feel the tears forming, and you know he can see it, too, because he leans in and brushes his thumb just beneath your eye. You glance away from him, but his hand cups your face and turns it back to him, and your eyes meet his again. Your eyes are pleading with him not to do this, not to leave you again, and you can tell he’s reading them, because he leans in and presses his lips to yours softly. He’s climbing over you so he’s straddling you and leaning in and kissing you, cupping your face in his hands, and you’re kissing him back for the briefest moment, in your state of overwhelming emotion and confusion, but then it hits you…
“You know I have to marry her, don’t you?”
John’s not changing his mind. Not for you, not for anyone.
John’s hands trail down until they’re tugging at your belt, and it’s at that moment that you shove him away from you with all your strength, and he falls off your lap and onto the floor. He looks up at you, confused, hurt in his eyes, and God, he looks like Jesse did in the darkness.
“Get out.” You say, simply.
“Adam, I thought -”
“Get out.” Firmer this time, solid, and you’re surprised by how angry you sound, because really, all you can feel right now is that aching feeling in your chest, the one that says that once again, you’re second best.
“Adam…” John says softly.
“No, don’t fucking ‘Adam’ me!” You yell. “You don’t get to do this, Nolan, you don’t get to fucking be that guy. You don’t get to marry her and be fucking me behind her back, taking another little piece of me every time you leave me to go home to her. I won't do it.. It’s one or the fucking other, and we both know you already made the choice three fucking years ago.”
“Adam, I wasn’t-”
“I told you to get the fuck out.” You spit. John falls silent, stares at you for a moment and you turn to look him straight in the eye, and he looks hopeful, as though he’s waiting for you to apologize and realize what a mistake you’re making and pull him back to you and start this all over again, but you won’t. Because nothing that’s involved John has ever been so clear.
It’s really, truly over.
“Please.” You say after a while, when he’s still standing there looking at you in that way. “You don’t have to leave the apartment; it’s late, and you’re drunk, I know. Just… Leave me alone for tonight.”
John nods and swallows hard, and you can see the tears in his own eyes as he backs away towards the door, still a bit of a sway in his step. As he reaches the doorway, you speak again.
“We’re leaving in the morning.” You tell him. “You were right on the first night. You should never have come here.”
John looks back at you and nods, before whispering a pained goodnight and leaving the room, shutting the door behind him.
You cross your room and pick up your travel bag, throwing it onto the bed, sift through it to find one of John’s old shirts that he left behind when he left you those years ago. No one knew you had it; it had been something you’d been unable to part with, had taken everywhere. You lift it from the bag, and study it for a few moments, press it to your face and breathe in the vague scent of him that still lingers on it.
And that’s when you fall to the floor and break into tiny pieces, shaking from the impact of what you just did and sobbing into the material of his shirt. It’s really, truly over. Tomorrow, you’ll drive back to New York, the both of you. You’ll say your goodbyes. You’ll spend weeks at Matt’s house trying to recover from this night, and he’ll go home to her.
And once again, you’ll have to settle for being second best.