Words Unsaid

“You know, Kennedy, we gotta stop meeting like this,” a girl teased half-heartedly, her car keys digging into the palm of her hand.

She watched two figures stumbling toward her on the dimly lit sidewalk. Neon signs lined windows, and deafening music and obnoxious yelling filled the air. Dazed eyes looked up at her, slightly blurry. She nibbled on her frowning lips as she leaned against her car, watching her sneakers.

“CJ, I’m so sorry about this,” Kennedy mumbled, his words a bit slurred from the alcohol pulsing through his veins.

He shifted, setting the lump of dead weight that was his best friend into the back of a worn down Grand Am. As he shut the forest green door, he ran a hand through his long, tawny locks. CJ sighed in response, pushing her chestnut hair out of her eyes.

“It’s fine, I swear. Besides,” she said, sarcasm seeping into her voice. “It’s what I do.”

Her warm honey eyes became glossy, and Kennedy pulled her close. She tried to stop the quivering of her bottom lip as she took in his familiar scent. Only now, it was laced with cigarette smoke and liquor from the bar.

She reached a hand up, brushing at her eyes lightly. Kennedy opened his mouth as if to say something, but the pounding of a fist against the car’s window made them both jump out of their skin.

Their attention drifted to the young man who moments before had been nearly unconscious. Now, he seemed to be amusing himself by making faces against the glass. CJ ran her hand over her face, shaking her head slightly.

“I should get John home, huh?” she said softly.

“You need to tell him, CJ,” Kennedy murmured softly.

Her voice wavered defensively as she stuttered, “What do you mean?”

“Real original, Cecelia,” Kennedy snorted. “I may be a wee bit tipsy, but we both know you love that drunken idiot.”

“Do not,” she snapped, crossing her arms. “And don’t call me that.”

She closed her fist tighter, the cool metal stinging her palm. She could feel the warmth rushing to it as blood undoubtedly seeped from the cut. Yet she did her best to keep her face indifferent.

“Deny it all you want, but sooner or later, it’s gonna bite you in the ass. Love has a way of doing that,” he lectured.

CJ felt her cheeks growing warm, and for the first time, she was thankful for the dark. She bit harder into her lip, throwing the act away. Her head nodded slowly as she reattached her gaze on his.

“I know,” she whispered. “I just can’t.”

It was Kennedy’s turn to nod. The two stood there, scuffing their toes against the grainy sidewalk.

“You’re a great friend, CJ,” he offered.

CJ laughed bitterly, flashing a smile although her eyes were watering dangerously.

“Yeah. I’ll always be just that,” she retorted, walking around and getting into the driver’s side.

In the rear view mirror, she saw Kennedy watching her, his feet glued to the sidewalk. She jabbed at the radio until some familiar melody flooded the car. As she checked the mirror again, Kennedy had shrunk to the point she couldn’t make out his concerned, buzzed stare. It made her a bit relieved though, to know someone worried about her.

Her eyes flickered to the sleeping lump of skin and bones that was her very best friend. He had gone from his alcohol high to a slump against the vinyl seat, snoring gently. A small, soft smile graced her lips as she took in the peaceful look on his face. Her heart thumped irrationally in her chest, and she forced herself to watch the road again.

The traffic and streetlights all seemed to blur together as she made her way down the familiar streets. She couldn’t tell how long it had taken, or much, for that matter. All she wanted to do was get John back safely.

She sighed as she pulled into the driveway, reluctantly stirring John from his drowsy state. He looked up at her with wide, glazed green eyes, a goofy grin on his face.

“Hey CJ! Why are you at the bar?” he slurred out as she secured an arm around his torso.

She stumbled she took on his full weight, pulling him so he was standing. She closed the rusty door with her foot, staggering toward the glossy red door.

“We aren’t at the bar, you dork. We’re at my house. You got plastered, so I had to pick you up,” she explained slowly, as if talking to a five-year-old.

Despite her harsh tone, she couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she watched his eyes glimmer like a small child.

“Oh. That’s really fucking nice of you. You’re a really sweet lady.”

“And you’re really drunk.”

He buried his face in her disheveled hair as she struggled to unlock the door, and drag him over the doorstep. The fete proved near impossible and almost landed them both on their faces. Yet somehow, CJ was triumphant, and delicately pushed John onto her violet sheets.

“You’re so fucking great,” John said roughly, draping his arms around her neck. “I love you.”

CJ gave him a sad smile, pulling the matching comforter around him snugly.

“How come you only love me when you’re drunk?”

His eyes shot to hers, suddenly widened. He tried to sit up, but her hand was carefully resting on his chest.

“Shit, CJ, you know that’s not true,” he argued passionately.

Her honey eyes watched his; he seemed so convinced of his statement. She nodded lamentably, flashing a quick, tight-lipped grin.

“Sure, John. Now go to bed,” she whispered.

“I love you CJ,” he repeated drowsily, his eyelids drooping over clover irises.

“I love you too, John,” CJ sighed, rubbing her eyes.

She wandered over to the doorway, taking one final look at his beautifully sleeping figure before turning off the lights, and shutting the door quietly behind her. She gathered some spare blankets from the hallway closet, then took up her post on the couch.

Lately, most nights when the boys were home in Tempe, before sunrise showed it’s colors John was passed out in her bed. She, as the faithful best friend, was curled up on the couch, her mind flooded with images of him.

Falling in love with John O’Callaghan was her downfall.

~*~

“CJ?” John called groggily, his voice gravelly from too many cigarettes the night before.

CJ shifted on the couch, stifling a yawn as she stretched out. John entered her line of vision, his face clearly reading hangover. She rolled her eyes at his discomfort; it was well deserved, to say the least.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” she teased, fixing her jeans and blouse, wrinkled from being slept in.

“Why am I here?” he groaned, rubbing his face.

“You were fall-over-let’s-get-married-in-Vegas drunk,” she shrugged, leading him to the small kitchen. He slid up onto the counter, watching as she rummaged through the creaking cupboards.

“Thanks for letting me crash here.”

CJ reached on her tiptoes, trying to grasp the cheerfully decorated cardboard box that so cleverly evaded her.

“Not a problem. I wouldn’t want your parents or Shane or Ross to see you like that. You’re such a bad influence on your brothers,” she scolded half-heartedly, her fingers grazing against the cereal box.

“I swear I’m gonna stop.”

CJ stopped in her tracks, sending him a disbelieving glance. His eyebrows furrowed in defense, and she rolled her eyes, returning her focus on the top shelf.

“I’ve heard that one before.”

John scratched the back of his neck, sighing as he searched for a response or excuse. He gave up, instead trying to break the disappointed silence.

“So, did I say anything too embarrassing or incriminating last night?”

The box of Fruit Loops tumbled to the floor, scattering open. CJ cursed repeatedly as the assorted rainbow of circles lined her floor. She started down to pick it up, but John grabbed her wrist lightly, watching her carefully.

“CJ…?” he trailed expectantly.

She glanced at the floor back to him, a look of annoyance on her face. “Nothing. You didn’t say anything.”

He didn’t let her go, and she looked ready to pounce. Yet he wouldn’t let her gaze leave his. She could feel her wrist tingling where his fingers touched, and her pulse beating faster.

“CJ, what did I say?” he repeated sternly.

She ran her free hand through her hair, nibbling on her lip. “You said you love me, okay? No big deal. So can I sweep this up now?”

The questioning flicker in John’s eyes remained, and his grip didn’t loosen. Something about the harshness of her words stuck in his mind.

“CJ, you’re my best friend, of course I love you.”

“I know John,” she paused, a pained look crossing her delicate features. “I love you, too.”

“So we’re good?” he asked slowly, raising his eyebrows.

CJ hesitated, Kennedy’s words ringing around her head. She squeezed her eyes shut, slowly shaking her head.

“No, John. We aren’t.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Ce?”

“I love you John. I’m in love with you,” she blurted out, while she still had the nerve.

She anxiously took a peek and John’s face, which was indifferent. Slowly, a smile crept upon it, and he chuckled.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he laughed.

CJ shook her head, tearing her arm from his grasp. John looked a bit bewildered, watching her carefully.

“This isn’t some joke, dammit!”

She turned on her heel, walking down the hall toward the bedroom. John was caught off guard, too surprised to react. He listened to her footsteps slamming against the hardwood, and finally, watched her reemerge.

Her face was solemn, and in her hands were three small diaries. The covers were a sleek cerulean, and the only differences between them were age. One looked about to fall to pieces, one was worn, and the last fairly new. An ironic smile tugged at her lips as she flipped through the first one.

“CJ, what the fuck are you doing?” John asked exasperatedly, but she held up a finger, silencing him.

“September 8, 1994. Dear diary, today at school, I met this boy. His name is John Cornelius O’Callaghan V. He said girls are icky, and I told him his name was stupid. He has really pretty eyes. I think we’ll be great friends.”

“Girls are icky,” he commented with a smirk.

“And your name is still stupid,” CJ fired back.

“That hurt, CJ,” he said, his hand going to his heart.

“April 18, 1996. Dear diary, today John and I were playing truth or dare with the guys. Jared dared John to kiss me, and he did! Then I slapped him across the face. He cried, and I said I’m sorry. He swears he won’t tell anyone he kissed me if I don’t tell anyone he cried. Boys are so stupid sometimes.”

“I forgot about that. How did I forget you were my first kiss, CJ?” he asked, a bit dazed. CJ scoffed, flipping through the pages.

“Like seven-year-old me said. Guys are stupid. And you did cry, like a baby,” she retorted, and his eyes narrowed.

“Did not,” he shot out.

CJ gave him a long hard look, placing the frayed diary on the table, carefully flipping the second open. She drew a shaky breath, looking at the words scrawled across the page.

“August 4, 2001. Dear diary, today was John’s birthday. He told me I looked pretty, and my heart melted. Then Rachel showed up, and he only talked to her. Why does it feel like things are so different lately? Don’t tell anyone, but I think I like John, way more than he likes me.”

“Rachel Wilson?” John interrupted.

“Yeah. Blond hair, crazy eyeliner, fake boobs.”

“We were thirteen, CJ.”

“That’s my point. No one has boobs like that at thirteen.”

John tried to hide the laugh creeping in his throat as CJ fingered through more pages, her face turning red.

“December 18, 2004. Dear diary, John and the guys are starting a band. I know they’re going to be great, but I’m afraid. I don’t want to lose him. Plus, once he’s famous, everyone is going to see what I see in him. Everyone’s going to fall for his angelic voice and cute charm. Among the sea of fan girls throwing themselves at him, he’s never going to see me.

“May 24, 2007. Things with The Maine are starting to pick up. They’re going on tour soon, and I get the feelings that things are never going to be the same. Scratch that, there is one thing. I’m always going to be madly in love with John Cornelius O’Callaghan V.”

“Cecilia…” John murmured softly as CJ’s volume and pace increased.

“It’s right here John, in June, and July, and August. Every single day of every single month since we were kids, written in black and white. I love you, John. I’ve been in love with you since we met. I just didn’t know how to say it. So if this is your idea of a joke, fine, then I’m a fool. I’m not going to stand here and listen to you laugh at me anymore though.”

CJ headed for the door, and John watched her helplessly. He searched for his voice, his heartbeat echoing in his head. He struggled after her, watching her swishing chestnut hair desperately.

“Fuck. CJ! Cecelia Jane!” he shouted roughly.

She paused, her eyes filled with sadness. Her hand reached for the doorknob and she shrugged.

“You look so cute when you get that mad, you drain the life from me and it feels oh so good,” he sang lightly, and her hand dropped from the brass, confusion radiating off every ounce of her.

“What are you—“ she started, but he cut her off.

“I'm feeling you/You're feeling me/ what exactly is holding us back? -Give Me Anything. Oh yeah I've been changing/You're still waiting on me. -We Change, We Wait.”

John paused to take a breath, and CJ was rubbing her temple lightly.

“I know the songs, John. They’re all your songs. What’s the point?”

“She thinks I'm crazy/Judging by the faces that she's making/And I think she's pretty/But pretty's just part of the things she does that amaze me. -I Must be Dreaming.
So where I come from/You learn to make the best of things/Honey since we met/You know you've had the best of me. -Don’t Stop Now.

“You really don’t get it, CJ?”

She watched him blankly, and he bit his cheek, his brain whirring as he tapped his fingers against the legs of his skinny jeans.

“I Know I'm Gonna Fall/And You'll Be Waiting For It All –Inside of You. You called me young/Said we're innocent and dumb/I knew that you'd come creeping back around again. –Every Road.”

“John—“

“I walk the tightrope/You're my way home/You're my backbone/You'll always be here right beside me. From Saving Grace? It’s you, CJ! It’s always fucking been you, in my songs, in my life, it’s you!”

“John, you don’t have to do this or say this just to make me feel better. I made peace with this a long time ago, that we were best friends, nothing more,” she mumbled, blinking back the moisture accumulating in her eyes.

John shook his head frantically, his long fingers tugging at his hair. CJ turned for the door again, and John’s heart nearly ripped from his chest.

Without a second thought, he closed the distance between them, colorful loops crushing and sticking to his bare feet. CJ turned just in time, and he enveloped her lips with his own. Her heart felt like it would beat right out of her chest, and her head felt dizzy.

Most of all, it felt perfect. And it was definitely better than the one when they were seven.

She broke the kiss first, but John’s hands still caressed her face, holding her close to him. She struggled to form coherent thoughts or sentences, the kiss playing over in her mind. She opened her mouth to say something, but John beat her to it.

“Before you say anything, because you talk so fucking much, I fucking love you Cecilia Jane Lewis. I’ve loved you since you slapped me across the face for kissing you. I wrote and sang it, but I just couldn’t say it to you. I just didn’t think—I couldn’t know—“

CJ pressed her lips to his, the fireworks going off around them once more. When John pulled away, his grin filled his entire face. CJ beamed, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“You talk too fucking much.”