Baby Don't Return to Me

I propped myself against the wooden Billiard stick in my hand, watching as John regrouped the cue balls. I couldn’t help but feel the familiarity of this situation; that we had been here before. “You still know how to play?” John questioned suddenly, a teasing smile on his lips.

“Do I still get my handicap?” I enquired.

“Sure,”

“How many?”

“Two balls,” He smirked.

“Of course,” I couldn’t help the grin that stretched across my face as I rolled my eyes.

“Let’s put stakes on it, it’s no fun unless you’ve got something to loose...or gain for that matter.” John stated a mischievous glint in his eye. I knew that look and it made my heart race with the endless possibilities of what exactly that look could mean. Oh boy… “You win…what do you want?”

“A jailbreak. God only knows I’m going to need it one of these days.”

“Rescuing a damsel in distress…” John mused mulling it over while rubbing his chin. “Okay.”

“And what could Mister O’Callaghan possibly want?” I teased, bumping into the pool table clumsily. Okay, so maybe I was a little less than sober. I don’t think God would blame me if I got a lot…unsober…wait, what?

“I’m sure you could guess.”

“Jonathan O’Callaghan, are you trying to take advantage of me?” I wish I was a little more sober to care, I should have realized early on that John and I…well things only end up one way when we let our guard down. But things were different now. I wasn’t that girl anymore. At least that’s what I told myself as my stomach did summersaults as my drunken mind ran through all the scenarios that involved him winning this game of Pool. I tried to make myself care but suddenly I didn’t understand what the reason was behind pushing John away. I mean he was John, my John, and he looked so damn good tonight. I knew I’d hate myself in the morning but right now? Right now I didn’t care.
“Just because I’m a little tipsy and slightly vulnerable…”

“Your not vulnerable, Cassie.” My hearing seemed to sharpen at his old name for me; John was always the only one ever allowed to call me Cassie. I don’t know when we crossed the line from looking at each other to having a staring contest. I knew he wanted me to back down, he always did, but even though John wasn’t the most competitive person in the world somehow we always brought it out in each other—and it almost always backfired.

“Alright,” I replied simply, determined to win on principle. “You’re on—but I break.” I spun the pool stick before getting a good grip on it and eyeing up the number 7 ball. The different colored balls clattered together and ricochet off one another shooting off in different directions. The 10 ball hit the corner pocket, the 3 ball hit the side pocket, as the 7 fell into the right pocket. A combo shot…niice.

“Whoa,” was all he could say impressed before turning to me with stunning green eyes, looking at me expectantly.

“College.” I replied simply, but smirked in spite of myself. I watched John eye up the balls before leaning over the table and grabbing another shot that was lined up along the wooden edges. I knew I should stop drinking but the more I drank the more reality didn’t seem to matter. Nothing mattered, nothing outside of this room mattered; and that was just how I liked it.

“So about your witch hunt,” John began, hitting the 4 ball and forcing the 5 ball into the right hand pocket and the 15 ball in the other. “Kennedy…well you know Kenny, he’s something of a control freak ain’t he?”

“He tries to do what’s best.” I allowed, though my brother was by no means a saint in anyone’s book he had always tried to do what was right by our family.

“Yeah,” John drawled. “Well, you see when Kennedy couldn’t control you, or the damage your father inflicted on the family, Kennedy started cracking. After Father of the Year took off and you not far behind things started to go bad.” I looked away, I knew it was me--It was always me. My eyes landed on the pool table. I chose an easy shot, the 12 ball sat only inches way from the pocket; I wasn’t in the mood for showing off suddenly. “Macy started acting out, Kennedy told me there were days when she would just snap, walk out and leave Jamie in the living room crying. It got to your mom too, Kennedy said she wasn’t sleeping and he’d walked in on her crying a few times. So Kennedy tried to do damage control, he took care of Jamie when he thought Macy was on her last nerve, he did extra chores for your Mom. Kenny’s just jagged around the edges and bitter now after everything...”

“I should have never left,” I murmured brokenly. I knew my leaving had taken a toll, I just hadn’t realized how bad it was. Kennedy should have never had to take the responsibility of attempting to fix our screwed up family. He should have never put that on himself. But he was Kennedy he would always try to fix the broken even if it broke him in the process.

“Macy caused that stress, Cassie, not you.” John assured as he threw back a shot from the line of tiny glasses beside me. I’d lost track of exactly how many shots we’d each downed and for some reason I could count past 11 when I attempted to count the empty shots between us. “Besides whether you stayed or left…it wouldn’t have changed what went down with Garrett and Emerson.” He lined up the stick and hit the 13 ball but missed the shot. “Which, by the way, not even you would have been able to prevent.”

“What happened?” I urged eyeing the remaining balls, none of the shots looked good anymore and my mind was wondering to more haunting matters that even inebriation couldn’t make go away.

“Emerson was feeling sorry for herself; she got really drunk and slept with Garrett. That’s about all anyone is sure of. All I know is that now the two of them fight like cats and dogs. They go at it for no reason sometimes—it’s ridiculous frankly.” I hit the 13 ball John had missed and it landed in the side pocket. “I mean Garrett should just admit that he’s in love with her so Jared and I can lock the two of them in a room together. At least then they can get all that sexual frustration out.” John shot the 9 ball across the table causing it to hit the 11 ball; the 9 ball disappeared into the left pocket while the 11 landed in the right side pocket with a ‘plop’: combo shot.

I couldn’t help but giggle before the sound died on my lips.

“None of this would have happened if I hadn’t left. I would have made Macy come to her senses, I could have helped Kennedy, I could have comforted our mother—me leaving didn’t help her any. I could have taking care of Jamie. I would have made sure Emerson never got that drunk, she was only that upset because I’d left her.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” John murmured coming around my side of the table. His large hand fell upon my shoulder as he gazed at me with sympathetic eyes, his warm intoxicated breath fanning my face. “You couldn’t have done anything, Cassie. Do you hear me? If nothing else you’d be just as bitter and jagged as Kennedy in the end.”

“And what about you?” I challenged. “What happened to you through all that?”

His gaze turned reproachful and I knew we were entering dark waters that were way too familiar to either of us. “Nothing.” He stated emotionlessly, his hand slipping from my shoulder as he turned away.

“Nothing.” I echoed. “So what happened…between us, that didn’t even bother you?” I doubt that. I had a few all to vivid memories of John crying, yelling, and throwing me out of his house to believe that.

“Don’t go there, Cassie.” John warned as he busied himself with glaring at the cue balls upon the table.

“I left,” I started, eyeing him intently, trying to draw some kind of emotions out of him. “I left Tempe and you’re trying to tell me that didn’t bother you at all? The fact that I ran away…how did it not mess you up worse than Emerson and Garrett?” I tore my eyes away from John long enough to see the 1 and 6 ball land in different pockets.
“It’s my turn.” I grumbled. John backed away from the table, allowing me room. All that was left was the 2 ball and the 8 ball, hit the 2 ball and I would make the shot, winning the game.

“Just so you know,” John began slightly annoyed, a defensive edge in his tone as his eyes snapped up to meet me. “I cared more than anyone in Tempe when you left.” He spat in annoyance. “Because I knew the truth. I was the only one in this fucking city who knew the truth and it killed me. Garrett and Emerson went at it because everyone expected me to stop them when Kennedy had his hands tied but I didn’t. I let Garrett and Emerson scream at each other and say how badly they hated each other. They were angry but I was furious. I couldn’t tell them to stop, to say that it wasn’t worth it because it was. Saying anything would have made me a hypocrite. I felt…satisfied knowing that I wasn’t the only one angry and spiteful. But who the hell could I tell? I couldn’t tell them the truth; you took that with you when you got on that plane.”

I was staring at the Billiard table but I couldn’t even focus on it. I was frozen, my ears tuned into John’s voice alone, aware of how close he was now as he stepped nearer to me.

“Don’t you dare say it didn’t bother me, Cassie, because it did. It bothered me every day. It still bothers me. I hate myself for pushing you away, for telling you to go and to never even look at me again. I hated you for leaving, for running away—for breaking my heart.”

I knew the shot I had to make then.
I hit the 2 ball just so. It rolled down the table knocking into the 8 ball. The bump sent the 2 ball off course and it hit the edge of the finished wood, bouncing off it while the 8 ball shot in the corner pocket.

Game over, John won.

When I turned back to face John, his sea foam orbs were transfixed on the pocket the 8 ball had just landed in.

“You did that on purpose?” He questioned in disbelief, his eyes flickering to mine unsure.

“Maybe.” I would have loved to blame the line of shots for this but I knew better—I had no one to blame but myself, I always did. I bit my lip, my breath catching from his simmering gaze. “Tell me something,” I requested softly. “Do you still hate me?”

And then his lips captured mine, his rough calloused hands cupped my cheek as my hands found their way into his sandy colored locks. He tasted bitter like vodka with the odd hint of mint. I don’t know why but he’d always tasted vaguely of mint—I loved it. I knew in the morning I would hate myself for this. That much was evident by how roughly he gripped my hips, pressing me against the pool table’s edge.

Yup, I was definitely not going to be happy with myself tomorrow. But right now? His hands found there way under my shirt, his thumbs rubbing circles into my hipbone. Right now I was to far gone to care.