A Piece of History: Emotional Baggage
"One second!"
Behind the closed door, bright white with polished brass numbers reading "1121," he could hear thumping footsteps, a stumble, a bit of cursing and a cat’s plaintive meow. Tamara Mayhew opened the door with a flustered huff, two disgruntled smoke grey cats stuffed under one arm.
"Jonas! Oh gracious, I’m sorry," she laughed, stepping back and waving him in. "I was trying to get Reynard off of the wardrobe. He’s hiding up there again." Nudging the door shut, she dropped the two grey cats which regarded Jonas Foster with implacable yellow eyes before walking away slowly, their tails held in a clearly disgusted curl. The death mage stood perfectly still in the brightly lit hallway and watched the cats, his dark eyes listless. Tamara, busy hustling past, chattering the whole while, didn’t notice the slow pace of his walk, nor did she pay attention to his distracted shuffling as she climbed back onto a chair and began feeling about on top of a heavy pine wardrobe.
"…he’s been hiding up here for two days now," she muttered, clamping her tongue between her teeth as she felt fur. "I don’t know what’s gotten into him." Jonas said nothing, merely removed his heavy leather outer jacket, hanging it on the little wooden chair he preferred before sitting down.
The room itself, had he been one to consider such things, was a perfect reflection of its’ owner. The pale sand carpet and gleaming white walls were utterly pristine, no mark to show either clumsy occupant or the myriad of cats. Egyptian plaques, prints, papyrus scraps and newspaper articles were carelessly scattered over the walls, some framed, others not. An extremely lifelike sculpture of the god Osiris stood in the room’s sunniest corner, and Isis spread her wings on the low glass coffee table. A pair of prints, "The Meditative Rose" by Salvador Dali and "Starry Night" by Vincent Van Gogh were hung precisely opposite each other at the far ends of the massive living room. Books lay scattered or stacked in heaps, and the five bookcases, (two cheap pressboard, one elaborate walnut, two roughly constructed plank and cinder block,) were filled to overflowing. A computer desk in one corner held a laptop with a catnip mouse lying on it, and the vase teetering at the corner of the desk held drying lavender. The two grey cats had walked into the room and leapt onto the white leather couch. Like a pair of bookends, they sat, one on each arm of the couch, and regarded Jonas coolly. At the carved feet of the pine wardrobe occupying the wall near the kitchen entrance was the short-haired yellow tabby, watching Tamara hop on her toes curiously. The Siamese was missing, presumably in Tamara’s bedroom, and Reynard, the brilliant red tomcat, was currently glaring at Tamara from the top of the wardrobe.
Jonas shifted his booted feet, and focused his gaze on the bit of mud which had fallen from one boot. It was almost glaring in the clean, yet cluttered room. This single clump of wet dirt had invaded, and if he wasn’t careful, would leave a permanent mark on the expanse of virgin white. Something about that irked him, some vague symbolism, and he pulled his eyes away, returning them to Tamara. She made a face at him and laughed as the climbed off the chair. "Oh, to hell with it. He’ll come down when he wants, and if he forgets where the catboxes are, I’ll just scrub the top off." She smiled, flicking the end of her white ponytail back. With her usual casualness, she walked over and kissed Jonas. It was a bland greeting, normal for lovers, but Jonas still jerked in surprise. He never quite got used to her easy way with physical affection and now it unnerved him. He caught himself before he rubbed at his lips, and dropped his hand to his lap.
"Want some coffee? I was going to make a pot…" She paused and wrinkled her brow. "Why didn’t I?" It was an odd little habit of hers, this perpetual absentmindedness, and it had amused Jonas on several occasions over the three months they’d been (…dating, call it what it is…) seeing each other to watch her puzzle over some simple forgotten thing. Now he watched for a moment and then forced himself to get comfortable on the stiff little chair. She shook her head, white tendrils of hair fluttering, and laughed softly. "There I go again, forgetting the simplest thing." Tamara shrugged and filled the coffeepot, glancing at Jonas as she set the coffee maker up to percolate. The kitchen was one of the prettiest things in her apartment: a broad, open expanse of white tile and pale green wood with chrome appliances. It was bordered on one side by a bar, where Jonas had often sat and watched her make dinner, and it was there that she set down a pair of mugs. One smoky eyebrow lifted as she looked at him, her nearly black eyes narrowed a bit. "Is something wrong Jonas? You’re acting more awkward than usual."
Another joke of hers, to tease him about how stiffly formal he was, even after their…intimacy. It fell short of the mark, however, and Jonas merely looked back at the bit of mud. Tamara’s other brow rose, and her voice softened. The death mage nearly cringed, hearing the soft tenderness in her tone, and fought back a profanity.
"Jonas, honey… I’m serious. If something’s wrong you can tell me. Whatever it is, we’ll work it out together." She spoke earnestly, moving towards him, her tanned hands outstretched. He looked up at her, and the anguish in those chocolate brown eyes made her gasp sharply and jerk her hands back a bit, a reflexive gesture. The death mage laughed harshly, and rose, pacing to the broad glass doors leading to the balcony.
"…together, huh?" Jonas couldn’t help the croak which had crept into his voice, and he thrust one hand into his loose denim jacket’s pocket. His shoulders were hunched, and Tamara heard joints creaking as he turned to look at her, some unnamable emotion clouding his face. He swallowed, then abruptly walked towards her and thrust out his hand, nearly tearing his jacket in the proce
ss. Tamara kept herself from stepping back, but her fingers shook when she reached out to touch his closed fist. Jonas made no show of noticing, and merely dropped the red velvet box into her hand. Her smoky brows shot up as she looked from the box to him, and her mouth opened slightly before she looked back at the box.
"…Jonas…? Is this…?" She blinked, her snowy lashes fluttering to hold back a sudden burst of tears, and her hands fumbled with the box, opening it hastily. There was a moment’s silence, and her voice was heavy with disappointment, despite how sprightly she spoke.
"Well, this is beautiful. I’ve never seen a necklace like this before." She lifted the box a bit to examine the perfection of the little gemstone rose. A delicate thing it was, with pale pink garnets shaped into an opening bloom, and softly shaded peridot forming stem and leaf in the platinum setting. It hung sparkling from a chain so fine she had to feel delicately to reassure herself it was there. Tamara paused as she looked at the pendant, and then she took a long, deliberate look around the room. Women had an odd instinct about some things, and she shut the box with a snap, her eyes flaring as she looked at him.
"Why are you giving me something you bought for someone else?" She couldn’t help the snarl in her voice, nor did she bother hiding her sudden anger as she crossed her arms, the box thrown onto the couch. One of the grey cats leapt off of the couch’s arm and padded over to sniff the box. Jonas looked at the cat, not at Tamara, and walked over, batting it away as he retrieved the box.
"You said it was pretty," he murmured, shoving the offending thing back into his jacket. His gaze was almost pleading as he looked at Tamara. "Why don’t you like it?"
She remained silent for a long moment, her brow still furrowed. One could watch, in her eyes, the battle raging between fury and some painful resignation. The resignation won, and the fierce light in her eyes dimmed. The coffeepot whistled, as it was prone to do, and the white-haired woman walked into the kitchen. Jonas followed, hesitantly, and stood by the bar with his arms hanging at his sides as she poured herself a cup of coffee, stirred sugar and creamer into it and took a sip.
"…I don’t know who she is, Jonas, but I’ve known for a while that there was someone else. Judging from the way you don’t talk about, or even look at, other women, I’m guessing she either left a long time ago or she’s dead." Her dark grey eyes remained focused on the fridge as she spoke in that soft, almost lifeless tone. Photographs of the cats were scattered about the chrome surface, and she reached out to adjust one. "You loved her, that much is obvious. The only problem is you still love her. I’ve noticed you encouraging me to wear some things, do certain things. I told you I’m no good at gardening, and you bought me a house plant. I said I don’t like yellow and you gave me yellow dish towels. I really don’t know if you’ve heard anything I’ve ever said to you, or if you were hearing her voice the whole time." Jonas jerked, his eyes widening in shock, but she waved her hand to keep him silent.
"I’m sorry Jonas. I truly am. If she meant so much to you, I can’t imagine how you lost her, but it must have been horribly painful for you. Stll is, I think. But Jonas…" Now she turned to look at him, and her jaw was set, despite the deep sorrow in her eyes. "I’m not going to be someone you lost. I’m myself, no one else. I won’t make myself into a woman you loved to make you happy. I want you to be happy. I think I’m half in love with you, even with how one-sided everything’s been between us. But I deserve to be happy, too. And I can’t be happy if I know you’re looking at me and picturing her. I can’t love you thinking that you’re just putting me in an empty spot and trying to make me fit." She swallowed, and her dark eyes gleamed brilliantly, then dulled when she blinked rapidly. "I… Gods, Jonas I could love you so easily. I just wish I thought you could love me, too."
The death mage remained just as he was, hands hanging at his sides, his brown eyes looking at her dully. He moved, an involuntary gesture, and subsided, leaning against the counter. Jonas took a breath, and it seemed to pull sluggishly through his lungs. He felt suddenly for the pack of cigarettes in his jeans, but his hand fell away at her look.
"…she’s dead," was all he managed to say, and he looked away once more when Tamara nodded slowly.
"I’m sorry, Jonas. I really am. I know how it feels to lose someone you love, but…" She stopped and looked at her coffee, then set the cup down. With her slightly cleft chin held high, she walked over and took his limp hands in hers. "Jonas."
He looked at her, dragged his eyes up the length of her jean and t-shirt clad body, and forced himself to meet her gaze. (So simple… why was it so hard then?) She regarded him evenly for a moment, and then pressed his hands between her long fingers.
"Jonas, tell me the truth, please. That’s all I’m asking, even if you think it’ll hurt me." She took a deep breath, and he saw her steel herself, saw the rock in her eyes when she looked back at him. For a slow, miserable moment, he felt a brush of deja vu. (…opalescent eyes, hardening, pushing back the pain to look softly at him…) Tamara gave him a tremulous smile and squeezed his hands painfully. "Just… tell me. Can you love me? Just me? Without her? You know me now. I’ve been nothing but open with you," and her honesty made him flinch, just a little. "You know what I am, Jonas. If you say yes, I’ll love you forever. I’ll give you everything I have, and I’ll find a way to make you forget
her."
He went stiff, and his hands, clutched in hers, went icy cold. With deliberate care, he extracted his fingers from her grip and stepped back. Turning, he walked to the chair and picked up his jacket. There was a painful silence as he drew the jacket on, and then he turned to look at her. Tamara’s mouth was closed, her jaw set to try and hide the trembling of her lips. Her tanned face was shockingly pale, and her white hair looked suddenly dull.
"…I…" The death mage paused, then swallowed. Something in him writhed furiously, kicked at his rib cage and fought with his stomach. "I’m sor-" He stopped abruptly, feeling a bitter taste coat his tongue. She said nothing as he walked towards the door. One hand delved into his pocket, as if he sought the velvet box, and she choked.
"Just go!"
Startled, Jonas’s hand withdrew and he looked back at her, his face drawn. All five of her cats sat about her feet, purring and rubbing against her calves. The russet red Reynard turned pale blue eyes on him, and the death mage felt a chill. He looked at Tamara, but she dropped her gaze, her hands cupping her elbows tightly, as if she feared something might come loose. The death mage’s lips whitened, but he opened the front door silently. She remained motionless, looking at a small brown smudge on the white carpet. It closed just as carefully, and Tamara listened to the emotionless click of the lock, echoing in her ears without any promise of opening later.