Jacqueline’s head was pounding, and her insides felt delicate and slimy. The orange juice in front of her was sitting untouched, and it would continue to be so until she was sure she wasn’t going to throw up or die. She groaned and held her face in her hands. What was she thinking last night? Why would she do that? She wasn’t much of a drinker, what had possessed her to go so overboard last night? Was it just nerves because Vincent was there?
God, Vincent. Was he ever going to forgive her? She’d acted like a total idiot last night. Sober, she was grateful he hadn’t taken her up on her proposition. Drunk, she’d been so angry and belittling. What if he broke up with her over this? She wouldn’t blame him if he did.
What if he didn’t even show up? What if he fully ghosted her?
That would be just her luck, wouldn’t it?
The diner’s bell jingled, spiking her headache with its pleasant ring. There was the sound of footsteps approaching her. Probably the server to ask if she was ready to order yet. She prepared herself for speaking politely but didn’t look up.
“You don’t look too good, Jackie.”
She was so relieved at the sound of his voice that she slumped forward on the table. “I don’t feel too good either, Vincent. Sit down?”
He slid into the booth across from her. "Kind of a day of firsts, huh? You've never invited me to breakfast before.
As much as she appreciated his attempt to avoid the conversation, she couldn't let this slide under the rug. Not like this. She spoke again into the table. “I’m sorry.”
Vincent shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. It’s fine.”
“It’s not.” Jacqueline slowly pulled herself upright. “I shouldn’t have done that. I feel like such a prick.”
“Well, it was definitely a side of you I wasn’t expecting.”
Jacqueline’s guts were crawling. It didn’t help that despite Vincent’s claims that all was okay and that it didn’t matter, he wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t looking at her like he usually did. There was no warmth in his eyes or tilt to his mouth.
She swallowed nervously. Her throat was dry. Should she risk the orange juice? “Are you mad at me?”
“No! No,” he paused, his eyes downcast to the table and his hands squeezing each other. He was giving this more thought than she expected. Jacqueline sipped her orange juice. Vincent continued, “I was mad, which was why I left. I’m not mad now, but I am… concerned.”
“Concerned?” The orange juice felt acidic in her throat.
“You threw a beer can at me, Jacqueline.”
It took all she had to keep the juice down. “I did?”
Vincent nodded. She understood what was going on. He was going to break up with her, and for good reason. Clearly, last night wasn’t a good time for him. That was the closest they’d gotten to intimacy and she’d practically forced herself on him and then got violent. She wouldn’t stay with someone who did that to her, either.
“You don’t remember?” He asked quietly.
She felt like she could cry. If it weren’t for her headache, she probably would have let herself. “No, I don’t. Vincent, I’m so so sorry! I’ve never done anything like that before. I don’t know what came over me.”
“I had a feeling,” Vincent sighed and slumped back in the booth, “which is why I debated about bringing it up. You don’t strike me as the naturally violent type.”
“How could you be sure? We haven’t known each other very long.”
“That’s true,” he chuckled halfheartedly, a twitch of a smile on his face, “but I have a good sense of these things.”
Jacqueline took another sip of her orange juice. She was feeling a bit better now. “That’s cryptic.”
“Being cryptic is one of my charms,” he said, “writers love a good mystery, don’t they? If I'm not some enigma you have to work hard to decipher then what's even keeping you interested in me?"
It didn’t sound like he was breaking up with her, but she needed the confirmation. She needed to hear him say it. “So you still want to date me?”
Her hand was resting next to her orange juice. He took it and squeezed her gently.
“Of course, it’d take a lot more than that to scare me away.” He grinned, but there was still something troubling him. She could feel it in the way he played with her fingers. “As long as you hold off on drinking when you’re with me.”
She laughed. Her head pounded. “That won’t be hard to do.”
He had a panic attack.
Thrown right back into his childhood by that familiar movement and sound. He’d blocked many a beer can with a door in his time. It was so long ago he hadn’t even thought about it in years.
But there he was. Right outside Jacqueline’s door with his chest tight and his heart about to burst. He couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. He was rooted to the spot, the only thing keeping him upright was his grip on the doorknob.
Vincent leaned his head against the door and closed his eyes. He breathed through his teeth and waited for it to pass.
Eventually it did. When he could finally breathe freely again he was startled to find his face was wet.
He’d stood here in front of Jacqueline Pearce’s door and fucking cried. God, he was just reliving every horrible moment in his childhood tonight.
He wiped the remnants of his disgusting actions from his face. Hoping that he was just as invisible now as he’d felt when he was a kid, he kept his head down and left.
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