Gravity

An overwhelming sense of contentment washed over me. I slid closer to Jen, putting my head on her pillow. I felt her fingers gently grab my wrist, trying to move my arm off of her. Opening my eyes, I moved back over to my side of the bed, “You asleep?” I croaked. I had this awful taste in my mouth.

“No,” she said simply.

“Me neither,” I remarked ironically, “Obviously.”

I stretched lazily, turning my head to look at her. She was stiff and her fingers clenched the sheet as if it would fall off and reveal her breasts, which, to be honest, wouldn’t be a bad thing. “Sleep okay?” she asked, her voice just as cautious as the rest of her body.

“I wouldn’t really call it sleep,” I said, moving back over to cuddle her, “More like a toe-straightening break.”

I noticed her body turn away from mine just slightly, “You seemed to have enjoyed yourself last night.”

My eyes closed again, “I remember you hitting the High C yourself a couple times,” I muttered.

She sat up, bringing the sheet with her to cover her front and looking down at me, “How are we going to do this, Brendon?”

“Do what?”

“How are we gonna do this?” she said again, gesturing at the bed with her free hand. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

It took a second, but I realized that she was accusing me of having one-night stands. I ignored it, guessing she was probably tired and cranky, “You take a cab home and wait for me to call,” I said, pulling the sheet over my eyes.

“I can’t do that,” she said almost jokingly. For a second I forgot that we were in Paris.

I sat up against the pillows, removing the sheet from my face and looking at her, “We’ll do what John and Yoko did,” I suggested, “Everything from the bed: produce the album, meet with the band—”

She cut me off, “I think I’d like you to turn that way,” she insisted, pointing to the side opposite of the direction I was facing.

Confused, I asked, “What for?”

“I wanna take a shower.”

I smirked at her, “You don’t want me to look at you?” My eyes moved to her exposed lower back, “Believe me, you’ve got nothing to be shy about.”

She sighed, “I guess I’ll have to fend for myself.”

She slid off the bed, taking the sheet and wrapping it around her body. “Hey, whoa, hey,” I said, quickly using a pillow to cover myself as she stood.

“Sorry,” she said with a coy smile.

I waited until the water was running to get up. Not bothering to dress, I knocked on the bathroom door, “Do you want me to put on some coffee?”

“No, we don’t have time,” she said, “We have to head down to the station to see the band.” We were going to meet The Hectic Glow and spend a few hours together for Christmas; the train station would be packed.

“Okay then,” I said, “Want me to join you so we’ll be done faster?”

Through the door I felt the ice from her stare, “Brendon…”

“Forget about it,” I said solemnly—talking to me was the last thing she wanted to do, especially when the topic was about last night; I decided to wait until she was ready. Sleeping with Jen shed new light on our situation: it helped me realize that there were other girls besides Sarah and that the possibility of having Jen as a partner wouldn’t be all that bad. I really enjoyed being close to her and sharing something as intimate as sex with her. She held herself well, and I needed someone strong like her in my life.

While I was rather eager to tell Mason and Liam of my conquest, Jen was very apt to not let me speak much. Instead of talking, I found myself singing all of these silly love songs and songs of victory—she didn’t like that much either.

We found a café and hurried in to escape the snow, but Jen stopped me, “Brendon, can I have a second of your time?”

“Take two, they’re short,” I noted.

Everyone else stepped into the building while we waited outside in the cold. I found myself shifting my weight to keep warm, “What are you doing?” she snapped—she meant the excessive singing.

“Singing,” I stated obviously.

“Yes, and what is your singing supposed to look like to everyone?” Her test was starting to irritate and confuse me.

“The same way it looks everyday when I sing.”

“But it’s not everyday,” she said. She stepped closer to me, quieting her voice as if telling a secret, “It’s the day after last night.”

She finally wanted to talk about it, but only when we were in the company of everyone else—not the trip there or while we both got ready. “They don’t know that,” I told her.

She hesitated, “And I want to keep it that way,” she finally said, “And it’s going to be awfully hard to do that if you don’t stop acting so damn happy.”

I laughed in disbelief, “So damn happy?” I repeated. “I’m not acting all that damn happy, I’m just…acting happy. Aren’t you happy?”

“Of course I’m happy,” she defended.

“Are you sure?” I pressed.

“I said, I’m happy,” she snapped, “Don’t tell me I’m unhappy when I’m happy.”

“Great, you’re happy, I’m happy, we’re all slaphappy.” I was starting to get tired of the word happy. “So what’s the problem?” I asked.

She sighed, “I don’t know,” she confessed, “Maybe I’m not all that happy—it’s not that I’m not happy, it’s just that…I’m not happy. I don’t know how I feel.”

“Take it from me, you feel great.” I knew my provocative statements weren’t what she wanted to hear, but she kept setting me up.

“Don’t do that—don’t say things like that in front of everyone. These people are our clients.”

I sighed, “Look, I agree: maybe we should wait a while before we spring this on everyone—”

She interrupted me yet again, “We aren’t springing anything on them.”

I stepped closer to her, “Come on, Jen,” I said softly, “I know you feel a little weird—I feel a little weird too—but it’s a good weird. So what if it takes a little time, we’ll work it out.”

I put my hands on her arms and she looked down, “I don’t wanna work it out.”

My mouth fell open just slightly, “What’d you mean?” I asked lowly.

“Just what I said: I don’t want to work it out. I want to forget it.”

I stared at her as my heart fell into my stomach, “What?”

She sighed and turned away from me, “Brendon, last night was a mistake; we shouldn’t have gone out looking for drugs, we certainly shouldn’t have taken them…everything happened before I even had time to think about it.”

She thought too much about everything, “Fine, I’ll buy that—you lost your head and the drugs helped.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do this,” she looked right in my eye, “I can’t move on after being single for three days, I can’t go in there and act like there’s nothing unusual between us, I can’t work like this.” She paused and bit her lip, “We can’t work together.” Another pause. “Let’s make a pact, that last night never happened.”

“What for?” I asked, kind of offended.

She was getting annoyed, “Because it never should have happened!” she barked. “The two of us are the only people who know what happened—if we say it didn’t happen, then it didn’t happen.”

“But it did,” I insisted. I wanted to be completely open to the fact that I’d slept with someone like Jen, and I was kind of hoping she’d feel the same way; I knew there was something between us.

“But we’ll make a pact that it didn’t,” she pushed. She looked desperate, but I wasn’t about to give up.

“No, it did, and I like that it did. And here’s a newsflash, babe: so did you.”

“Yes, I did,” she said through clenched teeth, “Did, Brendon, past tense. But not anymore—now I feel terrible: you shouldn’t sleep with someone because they’re appealing while you’re intoxicated. We were on ecstasy, we would have slept with anyone. That’s why we need to make this pact.”

“Pact shmact,” I mocked, “It happened; we did it, it’s done. Well done, might I add. I don’t wanna make a goddamn pact.”

She stared at me, “Do you remember what you said to me the other day?”

“No,” I said , infuriated; I knew she’d tell me.

“You told me I deserve the world, and that you’d do anything for me,” she said, her brown eyes burning mine. I almost regretted saying those things, “And if you really meant that, you’d make this pact.”

I bit the inside of my cheek as Cassidy poked her head outside, “Are you guys coming in?”

In order to ease Jen into the idea that we really had slept together, I planned to tell her that I cared for her and that I wasn’t some damn mistake. I had no immediate plans to leave her like Taylor did, but I also wasn’t sure about a relationship. My thoughts always wandered back to Sarah and I was doubtful that I would ever find someone to take her place. However, she was starting to become a distant and painful memory—the kind that only came out on rainy days and lonely nights.

In order to avoid those painful memories, Jen and I spent the remainder of our day walking around Paris and admiring the Christmas lights that had been strung about. We didn’t exchange gifts—“that would be unprofessional”—and stayed on very neutral topics.

“What’re you going to do when we leave?” I asked, dragging my heels against the ancient stone of the city.

She sighed, “I think I’m going to go to Arizona to stay with my best friend until I can find a new place in LA,” she said, staring at the ground. “I’m not ready to go back to my house; I’ll just send a few assistants to clean it out and put everything into storage.”

“You know, I almost went to college in Arizona,” I told her, “I was gonna cut hair, for some odd reason.”

She stifled a laugh, “If it weren’t for last night and the fact that you told me about your fiancée, I would have assumed you were gay with that statement.”

Since the subject was up, I had to press further. “Yeah,” I said quickly, “Listen…” I wanted to word it as nicely and classily as I could, “This has been gnawing at the back of my mind, and—don’t take this the wrong way—but last night was kind of…a clambake,” I said, “And I didn’t really come dressed for the party…”

“And you were wondering if I did,” she said, scratching the back of her neck awkwardly. She smiled wryly, “Yes, I did.”

“Let’s try reentry tomorrow,” I suggested suddenly, “You were right: we can’t work together.” I looked down at her. My feelings were getting in the way—I cared for Jen and I hated Sarah; then the next moment, I loved Sarah and hated Jen. “You need someone to talk to that isn’t me, and I need a rebound that isn’t you.”

She nodded in agreement, “Okay, you’re right, too. We need time apart.”