Being in the hospital sucked. And, when it was time to leave a few days later, I went back to the Jones' trailer, hoping Jughead would be there. He hadn't come to the hospital to see me since the news, the only visitors I'd had were FP, Toni and one time Sweets and Fangs. Betty had sent in a card, signed from herself, Archie and Veronica. Jug's name was in it, but it was obvious Betty had written it, as I'd known what his handwriting was like. The days were tough, and miscarriage wasn't what I thought it was, but I was getting over it. I came to terms with the fact I wasn't having a baby, and realised it was probably for the better. Though, it still hurt, FP was much more affected than I was. He'd barely spoken, and when he came to visit he was drowsy, smelling like alcohol. One time he'd even been denied access because he'd been so drunk. It upset me more than anything to see him like this; I had to make it right. And now, going home, I hoped I could fix this.
He helped me through the door, carrying a bag of meds I'd needed to help with the pain. I'd not needed a hospital bag as I'd remained in the gown for the entirety of the stay, only changing into an old pair of leggings and loose t-shirt because we were leaving. The granny panties the hospital had given me showed through the leggings in a very unattractive manor, but we'd only been going back to the trailer. It wasn't like I was going out to the Wyrm anytime soon. FP had bought me a new carton of cigarettes in which I gladly accepted, and planned to smoke when I could sit on the sofa again. Standing hurt, walking was worse. The pain had dulled with the co codamol I was on, but it was still buzzing.
"Light me." I asked, holding a cigarette very weakly to my mouth. He obeyed, pulling the lighter out of his pocket, lighting the smoke. I inhaled, and began coughing due to the amount of time it had been, and how drained my lungs had felt. FP frowned, watching me take another puff before I'd finally regained the usual routine. We were silent for a long time, just myself trying to enjoy the little stick of nicotine, and him watching in desperation, as if searching for a loophole there could be to make everything go back to how it was. I looked around to see the beer bottles, thrown around the place, obviously in FP's drunken state. There were food boxes, half eaten noodles, curries and chips. The place was littered with bare essentials of life, even a few tissues dotted around. He'd obviously had a rough couple of days, which I had too.
"Where's Jughead?" I asked, quietly. Although we hadn't spoken, I knew he was dignified enough to let his father know where he was.
"He's at the Cooper's. I don't know when he'll be home." FP replied. He looked dead inside, his eyes heavy, lips in a grimace, wrinkles showing more than they had before. The usual black stubble was now a lighter color, as if he were graying. Though I wouldn't put it past me if he had been, from the amount of stress he'd been under.
"Are you okay, FP?" I asked with hesitation. I knew he wasn't, though I wasn't sure if he'd lie to make me happy. He didn't reply however, only looked me in the eye. That was a reply enough for him, as talking made him feel more tired.
"At least we can share a bed now." I said, putting out the butt in the ashtray beside me, then reaching out to hold his face. My lips curved into a smile, trying to cheer him up. But it hadn't. He was just as unresponsive as before, it was like caring for a sick child. I was trying my best, but it wasn't good enough for him. And that tore me apart.
"Can we order some food?" My voice was a whisper, scared for his reply, if he'd give one. He nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a roll of cash.
"I'll get us some pizza." He flicked through it, and I knew exactly what he'd do. If he had extra, he'd get two pizzas and a pack of beers. If he didn't, he'd only buy the one pizza for me, and beers for himself. He'd rather drink than eat, because it got rid of the pain.
While he was out, I called Toni. I needed some advice, and quite frankly, someone who wasn't so depressed. She would make me feel enlightened, so I could try again with FP.
"Hey." I said, hearing rustling on the other end, and Cheryl's laughter.
"Hey, how are you doing?" She asked. I appreciated the fact she'd talk to me whenever she was busy, even if it meant missing out on time with Cheryl. She'd liked her for a long time, and I was happy she'd finally got with her.
"I'm..." I exhaled. "Not good Toni. FP's been drinking constantly, Jughead hasn't spoken to me either. I thought getting out of the hospital would improve things, but it hasn't." I didn't cry, although I'd felt like screaming at the top of my lungs, I slowly learned that the wails from my heart didn't solve anything. They simply made me grieve more.
"God, Jas. Do you want me to come over?" She questioned. The quiet rustles of Cheryl stopped, and I knew she two was listening to see what I'd request. I didn't want them over, though. I just needed to be better. But that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.
"No, it's okay. I'm just worried, I don't know how to solve this. We're also in debt to the hospital, which is stressing me out. I'm in a really hard place at the moment." I explained. Toni spoke meaningless words of reassurance, which I couldn't really focus on. All I could think of was FP sleeping on the couch after four too many beers, and that repeated for a dozen or more nights on repeat. I knew he was crushed, but I knew not of the solution.
After ending the phone call, I decided to pick up discarded bottles and take out boxes around the room, thinking of FP coming here alone after spending the days with me in the hospital. Alone, vulnerable. It was sad, but I knew if I were him I'd have been worse. Luckily there weren't any hard drugs available to me in the hospital, otherwise I'd have done them. Alcohol was his coping mechanism. Perhaps a therapist would be the best option, though I doubted very much FP would open up about inner thoughts and feelings. At most he'd shrug at the questions, wondering when he could leave. I sighed, looking over the dimly lit living room, however it felt more like a funeral home. It was dull, lifeless and reminded me of darker times. We needed to redecorate, or at least refresh the place. Maybe that would help.
FP came stumbling in not long after, holding two pizzas and a crate of beers, must have been around ten or twelve. I closed my eyes, fighting the tears. Of course, he'd resort to drinking in front of me. He knew I couldn't sleep until he did, so he couldn't hide it until later. Or, it could be the fact he couldn't deal with the depressive thoughts any longer. He threw down the boxes, not even bothering to check which was which. Instead, I heard the cap pop off the bottle, and footsteps to the other couch chair, before sitting down. This was how the night would be.
He flicked through the channels on the TV, finally deciding on an old, 80s movie. He'd blatantly not been paying much attention, though, as he stared past the box, eyes tearing up.
"Come here." I said, patting the space beside me. He got up, hesitantly, placing himself softly by me, taking a swig of beer. I looked to him, in all his tired glory, wondering what my next steps would be. I reached to the bottle in his hand, gently removing the bottle. He looked unsure as to what I was doing, reflecting my own thoughts. I wasn't sure either. All I knew was that I didn't want him to drink, I wanted him to be here for me.
Slowly, I planted a kiss on his cheek, as if reassuring him I understood what he was going through. I watched as his eyes watched over me, and I realised he was the same man he was the two months ago, just as dreamy, wishing to do something right out of such a wrong past. He cupped my cheek as he looked at me, leaning in. We kissed. It was soft, sweet - not passionate or even loving. We shared the few moments, before I lay back on the cushion behind me, wincing. He went to lift up my shirt, though I stopped him, afraid of how he'd react when seeing my scar.
"Let me." He whispered, and I shook my head.
"It's sore, and I know it will have dry blood around it from how much I've walked today." I was being truthful, I'd walked all the way to the hospital car park, and then the small steps to the trailer, and of course the way around the living room a few times. He still gripped at the shirt, wanting to see for himself. I lifted my hands from his, allowing him to see the wound.
I watched as his worried expression turned into one of horror. They'd stitched it well, but the scar was a lot larger that a singe stab, as Malachai had twisted the knife and I had torn the injury when walking to the Wyrm. I'd expected him to become angered, threatening to kill the Gholies, but instead he lent down, being careful when lacing the area with small kisses. I smiled. Not because he was kissing me, but because he put me before lashing out without thinking. He'd been real with me, he hadn't upset me. This was a step closer. This was what we'd needed; time together. Not wasted sulking or crying, but intimate, meaningful time.
YOU ARE READING
Cigarette Burns // FP Jones
Fanfiction'Smiling, I put the smoke between my lips, cupping the cigarette in my hands as it lit, ready to burn a hole into my youthful lungs. The taste, the exhilarating feeling of the nicotine in my throat made me feel warmed, and as if I knew what I was do...
