Baby Don't Return to Me

I was an idiot.

There have been many different occasions where one is deemed an idiot and I couldn't be comforted by the idea that others before and after me have been in this position--not that that made any of this any easier. I never entertained the idea that returning home would mean returning to John's bed ( Though there was a time in my life when I wished it had). But I was past that now...at least, I thought I was anyway.

John was sleeping soundly beside me, looking all too innocent for the acts that had taken place only hours before. Gazing around the room, the same bedroom he'd had since he was 10, nothing had changed. In fact I’m sure if you looked hard enough you could find traces of the 10 year old that once dwelled here. I hated that when so much in my life was different and new, jarred from the events of my life, that this was still the same; I still couldn't decide whether this was a comfort or not. But one thing was still nagging me; John had never answered my question. It wasn't the first time he'd done it; in fact anytime John didn't want to talk about something or just wanted a subject dropped he would silence me with a kiss. I suppose in the past it had partially been my fault that I had always allowed him to get away with it.

Lying there wrapped in the warm navy blue comforter I wondered I if I could bring myself to address this fact to him. Part of me didn't want the truth. I didn't want to know that somewhere within the chambers of John's warm heart was hatred for me. Even with the sinking feeling in my stomach telling me it was true.

I ripped the blanket from my body, instantly regretting the chill that washed over me, but I swung my legs over the edge of the twin-sized bed nonetheless. My clothes were strewn about the room stirring the memories from the night before and causing my stomach to turn in response. I'd be lying if I said that a part of me hadn't enjoyed what had happened. I mean, of course I had but that wasn't the point. Whether John realized it or not a part of him, and I didn't know how big a part, hated me. A small voice tried to console last nights...activities by saying that eventually this would have transpired, at least now it was over and done with—this wouldn’t happen again.

Pulling my shirt over my head and shimmying back into my jeans I knew that John would never utter a word about what had transpired between us. That was another thing about John, he loved to feel the good and ignore the bad. So anytime something occurred in his life that he didn't like he chose to ignore it and go on as though nothing had happened. I was sure that with the exception of the cold shoulder he'd perfected before my departure, John would go on as though nothing had happened; after all no one liked to be the one night stand that wakes up alone.

I slipped on my converse, stepping on the backs in my desperation to leave the room before he woke. But it was like I said before; karma had taken a liking to me.

"What, no goodbye?" I froze in the doorway of his room, feeling like I'd been doused with a bucket of cold water. His voice bleary and laced with sleep but there was a teasing edge to his tone that tried to cover the hurt bitter edge.

"John about last night," I turned around braving to face him. The comforter had slipped down when he'd awoken; it now lay recklessly barely hiding his hips as he stared at me bare-chested with sex hair. "Last night," I stated finding my voice. "It was just a trip down memory lane John, that we can chalk up to one too many shots, nothing more." Something in his eye changed at my words and he cocked his head staring at me in amusement, his green orbs guarded. "What?" I snapped in annoyance when he said nothing, settling for staring at me instead.

"Nothing Cassie," his voice was laced with annoyance as he slipped down the bed, pulling the comforter up around his shoulder. "Get out of here. You know you don't want to be here." He turned over on his side, turning his back on me to resume sleeping and for a split second I wondered if he was talking about his house or Tempe in general.

I shook my head not even wanting to think about it, I had enough to worry about as it was. I slipped out the door and crept down the wooden stairs of his house, being especially mindful of the third to last step that always creaked exceptionally loud. It was only 10 feet to the door and I was almost out, my hand wrapped around the gold knob. I felt judged within the confined of the O'Callaghan house, surely the other residence of this home were painfully aware of the damage I'd inflicted on John.

"It's good to see you Cass." The voice was a low murmur, conscious of the fact that other members of the house were sleeping in oblivion.

I turned, more shocked then I should have been, as I came face to face with that of the unphased figure of John's brother Ross. He was sitting at the kitchen table, a pair of thin-framed glasses perched on his noise as he devoted his concentration to the newspaper in font of him—no doubt the comic section.

It was startling, the resemblance between the O’ Callaghan brothers. Many people agreed that John and Ross were a lot a like and if it weren’t for the age difference most would swear that they were twins. But they didn’t know the O’ Callaghan brothers like I did. While John brushed off the bad in his life, turning his back on it and ignoring it, Ross embraced it and tried to better the situation no matter what.

John held grudges against those who hurt him Ross forgave them.

There were days when John got undignifiedly drunk and made a complete fool of himself, Ross could hold his liquor and knew when to stop. But John and Ross were both known for their equally large hearts. If you were lucky enough to hold a piece of John’s you would never be disappointed but if you broke or betrayed that piece you would never fully regain it; it wasn’t a good nor bad thing, it just was. Ross had a way of throwing his emotional involvement aside and doing whatever was right in his mind. John and Ross had always been good to me, the only difference was that John was John and I knew I would never have the luxury of forgiveness from him. But Ross, Ross would always be the ally in my corner even if no one else was, even if I had done blatant wrong it his brother’s eyes. It was just the way Ross was. John was John, Ross was Ross, and I was me.

Yet somehow through it all I knew that I would never get back to where I had once been, I knew it would be okay somehow. Because even if worlds had changed amongst us, even if the people around us changed, we never would.

I didn't know what to say to Ross, there was so much I wanted to say yet my mind became a startling blank. I knew Ross didn’t expect an explanation from me, nor was I sure, did he want one; Ross had always been rather smart and I was sure he could deduce what had happened. I didn’t know what to say to Ross and I was sure he wasn’t necessarily expecting one so I said nothing at all, choosing to slip out the door and out of sight instead.

There was a time (that now seemed like an alternate universe) where I had been just as close with Ross as any of the other guys. In fact during that time I'd been just as close with Macy as hard as it was to believe. And as I walked through the already warm early Arizona morning I couldn't help but think how different all our lives had once been. We'd been sheltered and ignorant back then. Fathers didn’t walk out, underage sisters didn't get pregnant, I didn't—

It was a different world, a perfect one that didn't belong to me nor anyone else anymore.
It was a world that didn’t exist.