A post from forever ago
Jan. 2nd, 2011 11:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sroniI wrote this back in July, and finally decided to post it. It’s not a story — it’s the first post for a RP character. A friend asked if I’d be willing to RP his wife, and I said okay. He lay out a few details about Jenna, and I responded with a few ideas, and reasons for why she acts the way she does. The RP then had every single person on the site following us, and at the end of it, we got crowned the king and queen of non-crime.
Anyway. Like I said, not a story. But I’m posting it because I keep re-reading this thing and I still love it.
***
Jenna sighed, running long, slim fingers through brown hair streaked with sun, tapping the pen against her chin. Her friend Maggie had suggested writing a letter with no intention of sending it, just for the catharsis of it. Maggie was the only person who actually knew the entire situation with David — at least, from Jenna’s perspective. Not out of any need to tell someone. No. Maggie had just looked at Jenna when she gave the bare bones story that everyone else accepted, looking at Jenna with those eyes that demanded answers. And then she’d simply said, “What else, Jenna?” The story came flooding out, as it actually happened, starting at the beginning. Maggie was the only person, aside from David, that Jenna could be brutally honest with.
Well, David used to be someone that she could share herself with, make herself vulnerable to. Now, it was just Maggie.
She’d sent the kids over to her parents’ house — they were able to dote on their grandchildren the way they hadn’t with her.
The pen stopped tapping as words flooded Jenna’s mind, and her hand could barely keep up with the sudden flood of unleashed words riding on the emotions that drove them.
“Dear David,
I don’t know why I’m bothering to address this to you, since you’re never going to get it. But Maggie said do it, and, well, you know Maggie.
I suppose I can be more honest in this letter than I can to you face to face, in part because you’re never going to see it. Mostly, though, it’s because whenever I see you, I just want you to hold me again.
I screwed up. I can admit that here. I screwed up, and I screwed up badly. There’s no excuse, there is only an explanation. An explanation that you don’t want to hear, and I’m not willing to give.
One of the things I love about you is your willingness to throw yourself into something completely. Projects, work, people. Especially people. You don’t do anything half-heartedly. When something is worthy of your time, it gets all of you.
But that’s also one of the things that I hate. Because over the years, everything else, everybody else, has been the subject of that whole-hearted focus. But not me. Occasionally, me. When there was nothing else tugging at your attention.
Why not me, David? Did I not deserve you? What did I do or not do? Why couldn’t I be enough for you, David?
Why?
Your pet projects had been the ones getting your attention. When it wasn’t work, it was the kids. And I don’t begrudge you your relationship with the kids, David, truly, I don’t. But for so long, everything else came ahead of me.
And then Peter came along. He made me feel like I deserved to be loved. Can you understand that, David? Of course not, love has always come easy to you. You grew up knowing, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt, that your parents loved you. Do you know what my mother told me when I was sixteen, in the middle of one of our fights that we had so often? She told me that if she’d been born in a different time, she would have chosen to have an abortion. You grew up knowing your parents loved you. I grew up knowing that I was an accident, and one that my mother, at least, would erase if given the chance.
When you and I first met, and I was the person that grabbed your attention … It was heady. It was incredible. It was like all my schoolgirl fantasies, come to life, only a thousand times better because it was real. You saw me, and you didn’t see the bookworm. You saw me, and you saw someone that you were interested in, that you wanted to get to know. And later, someone you loved. And I loved you, David, the same way you throw yourself into things and people, I loved you, and love you, with everything that I had, with all of myself.
But it wasn’t enough. I needed to know that you loved me, and you weren’t giving me your time. I didn’t want presents. I wanted your words, and your time.
I wanted, needed, you. And you were never around.
God, this is so disjointed.
To pick up where I left that train of thought, Peter made me feel almost like you used to make me feel. Almost as good, almost as incredible, almost as loved. And I was weak. And I’m so sorry. I really am. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I wish I could take it back.
But I can’t.
And then, we had a fight, and I threw my mistake into your face, and God, David, your eyes just killed me.
I almost wish you’d gotten angry. I could have handled that better.
You left. You left, without trying to fix things.
I can’t admit, not to Daddy, not to anyone else, that I can’t handle things the way they are now. I can’t tell anyone else that I sleep in your shirt, trying to breathe in the smell of you. I can’t, David.
I can’t fail. Not again —”
The pen scratched across the paper as her hand jerked when she heard the slam of the front door. “Jenna! Where are you?” Peter’s voice carried up the stairs.
She jammed the letter into the first door, not realizing that in the process, the letter poked out. She stood hurriedly, rushing downstairs. “Upstairs, dear. I was working on a new marketing plan, and lost track of time.” The lie fell glibly from her lips.
Peter stood in the entryway, an angry scowl on his face, and Jenna’s heart sank as she realized he’d been drinking. “Why weren’t you making dinner? You knew what time I’d be here.”
She couldn’t stop herself from answering, even as she knew it would only make things worse. “I told you, Peter, I lost track of time.” She shouldn’t have answered, she shouldn’t have answered, she shouldn’t —
The blow to her face rocked her backwards. “Stupid bitch! Can’t do anything right, can you? If it weren’t for that ex-husband of yours, you wouldn’t even be able to keep the kids! He pays for everything.” Spittle flew from Peter’s mouth with the angry diatribe.
Jenna tried not to cower, but just as she couldn’t stop herself from answering, she couldn’t prevent her hand from rising to block another blow.
His fist smashed through her defenses, slamming into her temple and sending her reeling into the wall.
Tears steamed down her cheeks as she babbled out apologies. Finally, finally, the blows stopped.
***
After she made dinner, and Peter calmed down, Jenna took a bath, hoping to soothe the bruises. She submerged herself underwater, trying to relax tight muscles.
She found herself dragged out of the bathtub by her hair.
“You lying bitch! You think I’m a mistake? How long have you been writing love letters to your husband? Have the two of you been laughing at me behind my back?” The back of his hand met her face again, and the room spun.
This time, there was no protection. Peter’s heavy fists fell on her, and she couldn’t do anything to stop them. He still had a grip on her hair and would savagely yank on his handful, eliciting a sob of pain from Jenna.
Maggie was the only person who knew the full story. But even she didn’t understand why Jenna refused to leave Peter, although she probably had her suspicions. Being a psychologist would certainly help in that regard.
It was Jenna’s penance. She had to stay. She’d hurt the person, well, the person who wasn’t her children, that mattered most to her because of selfishness. She had to pay penance for that. There weren’t enough Hail Marys to cover that mistake.
***
[To let you know, what happened next was all kinds of awkwardness with David and Jenna, because one of her kids — the oldest, that wasn’t speaking to David — called him and told him he needed to come home. Awkward awkward awkward, and now they’re back together. And Peter was … actually rather brutally taken care of by David, because he hit Jenna in front of David, and David lost it.]
So. Yeah. There you go.
Anyway. Like I said, not a story. But I’m posting it because I keep re-reading this thing and I still love it.
***
Jenna sighed, running long, slim fingers through brown hair streaked with sun, tapping the pen against her chin. Her friend Maggie had suggested writing a letter with no intention of sending it, just for the catharsis of it. Maggie was the only person who actually knew the entire situation with David — at least, from Jenna’s perspective. Not out of any need to tell someone. No. Maggie had just looked at Jenna when she gave the bare bones story that everyone else accepted, looking at Jenna with those eyes that demanded answers. And then she’d simply said, “What else, Jenna?” The story came flooding out, as it actually happened, starting at the beginning. Maggie was the only person, aside from David, that Jenna could be brutally honest with.
Well, David used to be someone that she could share herself with, make herself vulnerable to. Now, it was just Maggie.
She’d sent the kids over to her parents’ house — they were able to dote on their grandchildren the way they hadn’t with her.
The pen stopped tapping as words flooded Jenna’s mind, and her hand could barely keep up with the sudden flood of unleashed words riding on the emotions that drove them.
“Dear David,
I don’t know why I’m bothering to address this to you, since you’re never going to get it. But Maggie said do it, and, well, you know Maggie.
I suppose I can be more honest in this letter than I can to you face to face, in part because you’re never going to see it. Mostly, though, it’s because whenever I see you, I just want you to hold me again.
I screwed up. I can admit that here. I screwed up, and I screwed up badly. There’s no excuse, there is only an explanation. An explanation that you don’t want to hear, and I’m not willing to give.
One of the things I love about you is your willingness to throw yourself into something completely. Projects, work, people. Especially people. You don’t do anything half-heartedly. When something is worthy of your time, it gets all of you.
But that’s also one of the things that I hate. Because over the years, everything else, everybody else, has been the subject of that whole-hearted focus. But not me. Occasionally, me. When there was nothing else tugging at your attention.
Why not me, David? Did I not deserve you? What did I do or not do? Why couldn’t I be enough for you, David?
Why?
Your pet projects had been the ones getting your attention. When it wasn’t work, it was the kids. And I don’t begrudge you your relationship with the kids, David, truly, I don’t. But for so long, everything else came ahead of me.
And then Peter came along. He made me feel like I deserved to be loved. Can you understand that, David? Of course not, love has always come easy to you. You grew up knowing, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt, that your parents loved you. Do you know what my mother told me when I was sixteen, in the middle of one of our fights that we had so often? She told me that if she’d been born in a different time, she would have chosen to have an abortion. You grew up knowing your parents loved you. I grew up knowing that I was an accident, and one that my mother, at least, would erase if given the chance.
When you and I first met, and I was the person that grabbed your attention … It was heady. It was incredible. It was like all my schoolgirl fantasies, come to life, only a thousand times better because it was real. You saw me, and you didn’t see the bookworm. You saw me, and you saw someone that you were interested in, that you wanted to get to know. And later, someone you loved. And I loved you, David, the same way you throw yourself into things and people, I loved you, and love you, with everything that I had, with all of myself.
But it wasn’t enough. I needed to know that you loved me, and you weren’t giving me your time. I didn’t want presents. I wanted your words, and your time.
I wanted, needed, you. And you were never around.
God, this is so disjointed.
To pick up where I left that train of thought, Peter made me feel almost like you used to make me feel. Almost as good, almost as incredible, almost as loved. And I was weak. And I’m so sorry. I really am. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I wish I could take it back.
But I can’t.
And then, we had a fight, and I threw my mistake into your face, and God, David, your eyes just killed me.
I almost wish you’d gotten angry. I could have handled that better.
You left. You left, without trying to fix things.
I can’t admit, not to Daddy, not to anyone else, that I can’t handle things the way they are now. I can’t tell anyone else that I sleep in your shirt, trying to breathe in the smell of you. I can’t, David.
I can’t fail. Not again —”
The pen scratched across the paper as her hand jerked when she heard the slam of the front door. “Jenna! Where are you?” Peter’s voice carried up the stairs.
She jammed the letter into the first door, not realizing that in the process, the letter poked out. She stood hurriedly, rushing downstairs. “Upstairs, dear. I was working on a new marketing plan, and lost track of time.” The lie fell glibly from her lips.
Peter stood in the entryway, an angry scowl on his face, and Jenna’s heart sank as she realized he’d been drinking. “Why weren’t you making dinner? You knew what time I’d be here.”
She couldn’t stop herself from answering, even as she knew it would only make things worse. “I told you, Peter, I lost track of time.” She shouldn’t have answered, she shouldn’t have answered, she shouldn’t —
The blow to her face rocked her backwards. “Stupid bitch! Can’t do anything right, can you? If it weren’t for that ex-husband of yours, you wouldn’t even be able to keep the kids! He pays for everything.” Spittle flew from Peter’s mouth with the angry diatribe.
Jenna tried not to cower, but just as she couldn’t stop herself from answering, she couldn’t prevent her hand from rising to block another blow.
His fist smashed through her defenses, slamming into her temple and sending her reeling into the wall.
Tears steamed down her cheeks as she babbled out apologies. Finally, finally, the blows stopped.
***
After she made dinner, and Peter calmed down, Jenna took a bath, hoping to soothe the bruises. She submerged herself underwater, trying to relax tight muscles.
She found herself dragged out of the bathtub by her hair.
“You lying bitch! You think I’m a mistake? How long have you been writing love letters to your husband? Have the two of you been laughing at me behind my back?” The back of his hand met her face again, and the room spun.
This time, there was no protection. Peter’s heavy fists fell on her, and she couldn’t do anything to stop them. He still had a grip on her hair and would savagely yank on his handful, eliciting a sob of pain from Jenna.
Maggie was the only person who knew the full story. But even she didn’t understand why Jenna refused to leave Peter, although she probably had her suspicions. Being a psychologist would certainly help in that regard.
It was Jenna’s penance. She had to stay. She’d hurt the person, well, the person who wasn’t her children, that mattered most to her because of selfishness. She had to pay penance for that. There weren’t enough Hail Marys to cover that mistake.
***
[To let you know, what happened next was all kinds of awkwardness with David and Jenna, because one of her kids — the oldest, that wasn’t speaking to David — called him and told him he needed to come home. Awkward awkward awkward, and now they’re back together. And Peter was … actually rather brutally taken care of by David, because he hit Jenna in front of David, and David lost it.]
So. Yeah. There you go.
