sage | karl jacobs

3

He pushes himself into the hug farther, gripping every surface of my body with his two hands, and kicking the door shut behind him. I don't think anything else mattered to him in this moment.

His hands switch from my side to my face, delicately holding the skin. His face is coated in tears, and so is mine. I think I just cried because he did. "I thought you died." Died. The words rang in my head. My body runs cold, like the light wind outside turned into 70 miles an hour that second. I pull him back in, trying my hardest to savor him.

Even though I broke him completely, and lost him, he lost me. I don't know if what happened between us was a quick break, or a forever, but from the way he's holding me, I can tell it wasn't meant to go like this. He plays with the hem of the back of my shirt and continues crying into my shoulder. I take a shuddered breath, pulling away to hold his face in my hands. 

"But I didn't Karl. I'm here. I'm alive." The already broken boy seemed to break down even hard, his light sobs turning into a downpour of tears. All I want is to pull him in again, but I don't want to be selfish, he accused me of that before. He grabs my shirt harder, pulling me into his chest like he can sense what I want. He rests his chin on top of my head, trying to slow his breaths. 

"I just can't believe it. I know you're here now. You're literally in my arms, I just can't believe you're in them again. I thought I lost you." His voice breaks, but he swallows down the incoming tears. Pulling away, he sighs looking into my bloodshot eyes. "Please don't leave," I mumble as he stands back. "I'm not leaving, baby. I'm just looking at you to make sure you're real."

He smiles at me, grabbing my waist, pulling me back into a hug. We stand in silence, occasional phrases to calm each other down. He leans away again, walking over to my couch to pull off his shoes. He leans his head to the side, signaling me to follow him. I sit next to him, then pulled into a familiar position. My head on his chest, my back flush to his chest. His hands work their way to the remote, but I stop him.

"No," I say, looking at him. He tilts his head, and I take a deep breath. "I haven't spoken to you in God knows how long, and I want to hear your voice." He smiles, lifting me off his body to the couch next to him. "Go ahead, then." 

One thing I don't really remember about our relationship, is when it started or any of the big things that happened. I remember the fights; I remember the breakup. I remember when he gave me the ring, and when we pulled an all-nighter trying to chase the moon in my car. There are a million more things I wish I could remember, but I'm not going to ask about it until I apologize. It's the right thing to do.

"I'm sorry, Karl. For what happened, and what I did to you. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you and how I never listened. From what I remember, you were my favorite person, the thing I called home. You never deserved that, and you never will. I'm so sorry."

A small smile appears on his face, like he knew I was going to say that. It makes me want to slap him, but I refrain. "I know." The words are filled with venom, a manipulative tone that feels all too familiar. "I forgive you," he says, the smile leaving his face. The room is filled with a negative atmosphere, and I'm filled with the sense of deja vu, like I had been in this situation before. 

"You know," he starts, "When I asked you out, I thought you were going to say no. You really didn't like me, but I tried my best to get to know you anyway. In like a month I was so addicted to you, I just had to have you," he says.

"Tell me more," I say.

"The whole day, I was so nervous. It was dress up fancy day for spirit week. I wore a tuxedo I had spent all my savings on. I brought flowers to school, giving them to you. I asked you out, and you said yes. After a month of dating, I asked you to be my girlfriend. When you agreed, I was ecstatic. I was never happier than when I was with you. For your 19th birthday, I took you to see fireworks. I had taken you to the fair, and they shot fireworks that night."

He continues to ramble on about the early stages of our relationship, and I know I should probably be listening, but he's wrong. He didn't take me to see fireworks. My birthday is in November, and we live in North Carolina. It was most definitely snowing. I don't know why he's lying right now; he has no reason to. 

Everything about the room right now is bad. The aura is off, filled with toxicity, and a hint of something illegal. "Karl," I cut him off, "Have you been smoking?" His face forms a hard line as he nods, letting out a breath I'm sure he was holding. "I was earlier, needed to clear my head. Couldn't drink because I needed to film, but you just got in my head and fucked up everything inside it." He rises to his feet, walking over to my kitchen. He slams open a cabinet, pulling out a bottle of bourbon I didn't even know I had. The cracks the bottle open, drinking the liquor like its water. 

"Karl, slow down." He removes the bottle from his lips, smashing it down onto the counter. "Why?" he yells. "Why should I? I just started feeling okay again! I missed you for months! I needed you! I visited you every day to see your face and kiss your lips because I needed you! And you were gone! You were fucking gone!"

I stand up, striding over to where to boy was. "Do not yell at me. I just said put the fucking bottle down."

He picks the bottle back up, finishing the rest of it before throwing it onto the floor, breaking into pieces. He starts crying and I lean over to pick up the glass. This is an all-too-familiar feeling. Deja vu. He falls to his knees, picking up the glass. "I'm so sorry, Sage. Don't do that. Don't clean up after me. It's not your fault I did that. I thought you were dead, and then you weren't I just couldn't process it."

I stand up, throwing the collected glass in the trash can before turning to him. "You're staying here tonight. I'm very upset with you right now, so don't come near me. You're probably high still and you just downed half a fucking bottle of bourbon. I'll set up the guest bedroom. Clean this shit up, then get your ass to bed."

He nods, following my orders. "I'm trying to change, Karl. I'm trying to be better. If I am, you need to as well. Even if we stay as friends or become strangers again, get your shit together."

"I'm sorry, Sage."

"Yeah, Karl. I know."

He's not sorry.