FicWad

A/N: Yeah, this is gonna be another one from Jesse's point of view. I don't really like her very much, but I think I managed to show her point of view pretty fairly. Even lopsided in her favor. XD

Disclaimer: I do not own the lyrics to "Closure"

Song Used: Aly and A.J.'s "Closure"


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Sixty-Six: Closure
Puppet: Jesse Rusher


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Yesterday I spotted you,
Hanging out with someone new,
Come on dude, I can't believe who,
Did it hurt? Oh yes it hurt,
But not as much as I thought it would,
Guess it's time for me to move on...

“So have you seen him since then?”

I nodded quietly in response to my friend, recalling the moment. I had seen him since he and I had split up; that cute boy with the hawk eyes and those dark, spring-like curls worn short and neat. I'd seen him just the other day, actually.

“Well?” My friend, who went by the name of Kipper, had always had the worst puppy-love crush on that mysterious young man, and was dying to know if he was fair game now. I was surprised, actually, by how well I took it in stride; when he'd left me, I'd thought that there was nothing in the world that could hurt more. But now, just a week or two later, I felt fine. Kipper could have him.

If she could catch him. It was hard, hunting around in the dark where he liked to hide.

“I saw him yesterday after school. He was hanging out with that Paige girl.” I reported matter-of-factly, surprised at how easily the words rolled right off my tongue.

Kipper was instantly on the alert, eyes wide and expectant. Any member of the female species was now her enemy if it meant she could have Keefe for herself, especially that soft-spoken black-haired girl. She was closer to him and his brother, Mac, than anyone could probably ever be. “What were they doing? Was Mac with them?”

I rolled my eyes in exasperation. She was more interested in it than I was. “No, it was just the two of them. They were just talking, I think,” I answered, sleepily peering up at the ceiling in my living room and smirking a little to myself when I added (truthfully), “pretty long hug when it was time for him to go, though.”

Kipper looked horrified. Her eyes got even bigger and her mouth hung open; I'm sure I just made the poor girl's head whirl, and to be honest? I thought it was pretty funny. Somehow, she managed to gain control of herself. Her face softened and she gently laid a hand on my shoulder, concern overriding her infatuation. “This isn't just Jess trying to be tough, is it?”

I bit my lip, uncertain as to how to answer. Yes, I'd felt my heart twist with pain when I saw his arms around her, but it was only for a second. They were only friends, and it wasn't as if Paige particularly liked Keefe; if anything, it was Mac who would probably end up with her.

And besides; we weren't together anymore.

“Nope,” I replied eventually, leaning back on the couch that he and I had once come so close to defiling the other on, “I think I'm ready to move on, ya' know?”

I'm getting closer,
Closer to closure,
Everyday's closer,
Closer to closure...

It was odd, really, how little it hurt to talk about him as the days went by. Quite soon after the break-up, I'd cried myself to sleep a couple of times, remembering and missing dearly the way he never minded if I drifted off in his arms. I couldn't help but remember the warmth of having his body so close and feel very, very cold, or the way his thick arms made me believe that nothing could ever hurt me and feel scared and alone.

But now, it wasn't that big of a deal. So I didn't have another person to help keep me warm; that was what extra blankets were for, right? So I didn't feel completely safe; I could just cling to my teddy bear, no matter how much that sounded like a little kid thing. I didn't have my wonderfully sweet Keefe anymore, but he was only a boy.

Of course, some of those blankets reminded me of the times we'd cuddled up on a cold winter day. And that teddy bear, soft but with curls not so unlike his own, had been a gift from him for Valentine's Day last year. I couldn't escape him completely and I wasn't quite ready to let him go just yet, but I was getting there.

As much as I would love to, I don't think I could ever forget the way he would tenderly kiss my lips just before I lost myself to Sleep. I don't think I'll ever fail to remember the way he would say in that wonderfully soft voice, “I love you” just when I was beginning to feel like no one cared. Curse the day when I don't remember the way he'd held me so many times, close and protected, so I could feel his heart beating for me.

Yeah, I guess I could live remembering those things. It wasn't like they were bad memories, anyway. They'd been the best moments in my young life so far, and there was actually a part of me that hoped I would remember them even when I was old and gray. He was, after all, my first true love. We'd just gotten lost somewhere along the way.

So I lay in my bed now, two weeks after breaking up with that special boy, staring up at the ceiling of my room and thinking quietly to myself. I thought of those things; his warmth, his arms, his voice, his lips...but none of them struck a painful chord like they used to. They were just images now, flashes in my mind of the good times he and I had had together. My eyes weren't glassy and there was no pain behind them, rather unlike their usual moistness and embarrassing need to cry.

I wasn't sad anymore.

But I felt a little guilty about that. He was still hurting, that much was for sure. The poor boy looked as if he hadn't gotten any sleep since when I last saw him, his hair matted and his proud eyes sunken. He refused to make eye contact with me and avoided my presence at all costs, and when he did have to be with me he either a) said nothing at all, or b) said mean, hateful things.

I knew Keefe better than he thought I did, and so I knew that he only said cruel things when his feelings were hurt. The curly-headed Irish boy wasn't ready to move on, I could tell. And it hurt, seeing him like that.

I finally took your pictures down,
And all that other stuff I found,
Hidden somewhere in my closet,
I used to wear your shirt to bed,
But not it's in the trash instead,
I don't wanna be reminded,
No, no...

I stood up suddenly, ignoring the way my head spun a little at the swiftness of the action. I glanced at my nightstand and made a face. That picture had been haunting me for several weeks now, both before the break-up and after. It was a nice photo, I had to admit; it was obviously raining and there was a beach in the background, while Keefe and I stood together, our arms around the other and lips locked in what had probably been the best kiss of my life. Kipper had taken it without us knowing, and though Keefe had been horribly embarrassed, I liked it.

I picked the picture up and studied it for a moment. Then, I took it out of the frame, took the top shorter side in both hands, and pulled. It tore easier than I'd thought; the two halves, one with Keefe and the other with myself, were neat and incredibly ironic.

I held them in my hands for a moment, still studying them. I pieced them together and decided I didn't like it that way anymore; next thing I knew, all that was left of it was in the trash. Then, I noticed the messy lump of cloth laying on my bed. I straightened it out and lifted it up; it was a t-shirt, solid black and far too big to be mine. A memory flashed through my head and I welcomed it, though not warmly.

Keefe had left it here on accident. Or, at least, he said he had; Keefe wasn't the sort of boy who didn't keep good track of his things. We were going down to the beach that day, and after a brief, playful argument, he insisted that he would be able to walk down there without a shirt and not be embarrassed. I'd held onto it, and he'd never asked for it back.

I brought the soft cloth up against my face and inhaled deeply, relishing in the smell of mint. I had slept in it almost every night since I'd gotten it and his scent was faded and slight, but I didn't care. It felt strange; on one hand, I wanted so much to hold onto the piece of clothing for memory's sake, so I could remember when we were happy. But on the other, I didn't for the very same reason; I was done with him, wasn't I? No need to be holding on to something that wasn't real...

Sighing decisively, I slid off my own shirt and put his on, telling myself that this was the last time I'd ever go to sleep in his clothes. I'd throw it away tomorrow; no doubt Keefe had grown since then. The shirt probably wouldn't fit him anymore now.

The familiar cloth was soft and welcome against my skin, his smell slightly stronger now, wreathing around my body. I lay down on my back and pulled the covers up, ready to go to sleep, when I realized that I'd forgotten something else. I reached over and took hold of my teddy bear, then relaxed.

They're both going in the trash tomorrow. I told myself, nestling comfortably in the folds of his t-shirt and clutching his gift tightly to my chest. The thought hurt a lot more than I thought it would. I was going to forget him, wasn't I?

For the first time in weeks I cried myself to sleep.

I'm getting closer,
Closer to closure,
Everyday's closer,
Closer to closure...

The next day, however, I was able to toss the things into the garbage can without a tear in my eye. No pain, no guilt...I didn't feel a thing. It felt like I'd gotten rid of all that hurt the night before, and now I could throw them away without feeling bad. I'd been tempted, for just a second, to look into that teddy bear's eyes and remember the way he'd smiled when he'd given it to me last year. But I'd just shaken my head and tossed it, memory already being buried in the back of my head.

But then, I still had to see him that day. We were in the same English class, and to my chagrin, it was 1st period. I saw him first thing that morning, sitting across the room from me, his eyes downcast and his face sunken into what seemed to be a permanent frown. He wouldn't look up from his desk, even when he was called on. He mumbled the answer, just loud enough for the teacher to hear.

I wasn't sure if I felt sorry for him, or if I wasn't bothered by it at all. It wasn't as if I had to stop feeling pity for my fellow human being, right? Just because he'd hurt me so by refusing to take me back, even after I'd tried to mend my ways, didn't mean that I had to hate him.

So, after class was over, I quietly came up beside him. His familiar, powerful presence made my skin prickle and my breath caught slightly, the way it had when we were together. He gave no sign of acknowledging me, but I gently put my hand on his shoulder, hoping to catch his attention. “Hey,” I murmured, “are you okay, Keefe?”

He didn't respond.

I saw you today taking my breath away,
But then you opened your mouth without thinking,
And then I recalled why I ended it all,
And it makes me feel good about leaving, leaving...

Frustrated but determined to get some sort of response, I gave his shoulder a little squeeze. He was a strong, stubborn boy; I'd known that even before he and I had started dating, and there had been a point in time when I'd admired that about him. Now, it was irritating. Couldn't he just let go? “Keefe, please.” I said with a slight, encouraging smile, masking my anger well.

A shudder trembled through his body just before he rounded on me, eyes burning with such hot fury that it hurt to look at them. “Can't you just let it go?” he hissed, “I don't want to see you anymore!”

Had I been any less of a girl, I probably would've flinched away and scurried off with my tail between my legs. However, indignation made me bold. I was only trying to help, wasn't I? I didn't deserve this! “Obviously!” I snapped back.

He was really such a sensitive boy, really. He pretended to be tough, but that heart was unspeakably tender and raw. Hurt it once, and he'd never, ever forget.

Why did I keep coming back, then?

Mmm...
Everyday, everyday, everyday,
Everyday, everyday, everyday, everyday,
I'm getting closer...

He shrugged his broad shoulders, shaking my hand off and fixing me with such a harsh glare, it was almost like looking into the eyes of a wild creature. He said nothing, but his eyes said more than enough. The poor boy was in a lot of pain and, like a wounded feral animal, was scared and refused to be helped. His stride lengthened and he left me in the dust without saying anything in response, his head already tilting downward so he wouldn't have to deal with anyone else.

Had it been any other day, I probably would've felt tears prick at the back of my throat. But today, it was just a slight tug at my heartstrings; not because I loved him, not because I was hurt, but because he was a human in pain. It was a natural feeling; nothing special about it, nothing particularly painful. It was just...pity.

I shook my head a little and made my way to my next class, saying hi to Kipper on the way, just as I always did. My daily routine had been altered, of course, by the absence of my Keefe, but I was slowly getting back the feel of things. And the weird thing about it?

I think it was better without him, anyway. I'd seen today that it just wasn't worth fussing over anymore. He wasn't going to ever forgive me for what I'd done, and that thought had hurt; but, just like the idea of throwing his shirt and teddy bear away, it stopped bothering me eventually.

I was ready to let go. I was ready to forgive him for being so sensitive. I was ready to forgive myself for my stupid mistake.

I actually caught myself laughing a little under my breath as I sat down in my history classroom, liking the way it sounded after being depressed for a couple of weeks. If only he could just learn to see past imperfections and see that neither he nor other people could ever live up to his own standards, he could learn to be free. If only he could learn to let go of things, he could probably be at ease again instead of prowling around like an irritable monster no one wanted to talk to.

I wondered, for just a moment, how long he was going to put up this whole wounded routine. Were we still in for the long run, or was he slowly starting to feel better, too? Perhaps this whole routine was an act, a ploy he was using to keep me away from him.

But then again, I didn't think any boy, even Keefe, put that much thought into matters such as this.

Hmm. Life was to move on, I suppose. I leaned back in my chair and waited patiently for my teacher, who had a tendency to be late.

Poor Keefe.

I'm getting closer,
Closer to closure,
Everyday's closer,
Closer to closure.


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A/N: sniff Like I said, I think I presented Jesse's thoughts in a fair manner, but I still feel really bad for Keefe. He's such a cute kid, and she just...pretty much kills him.