Second Hand News [Steven&Jackie]

Chapter Four

Jackie didn't go the Forman's the next day, she could barely even manage to get out of bed.

She wasn't angry.

She wasn't sad.

It was just one of those days, one of the days that like many over the last year that consumed her.

It would be something small, a sudden song on the radio, a flash of blue, a particularly good burn that would have made him proud.

It always seemed to leave her a wreck.

This was no different, that aching hole in her chest was starting to tighten, the skin trying to pull itself back together.

But it was different.

He was out there, living and breathing and just fucking being.

Her heart seemed to have caught up with the mess of the last few days and it was screaming at her.

That morning she'd rang the Forman's just like the morning before but this time it was Hyde who'd answered.

"Hello…"

There he was.

"Hello?"

Her breath caught as she tried to speak, to say anything at all.

"Kelso man is that you? Look it's to damn early for your crap…Kelso? Screw it. Get bent!"

She sat there for a few seconds, or maybe a few minutes just listening to the dial tone.

Blind to the tears rolling down her cheeks.

She didn't go down to breakfast that morning, the idea of having to deal with her parents was too much to bare.

Daniella had tried to lure her down with the promise of pancakes but to no avail.

Instead Jackie sat quietly in her bedroom, wearing frilly pink panties and a Zeppelin shirt mirroring the one Hyde had once given her, waiting for the tell-tale signs of the echoing front door slamming and the faint sound of two cars driving into different directions.

The moment she knew they were gone Jackie felt like she could breath a little easier, unlike the actual Jackie of this time that felt abandoned and afraid.

Getting into the liquor cabinet was easy enough, easier than getting into her mother's private stash anyway. The whiskey burned in a comfortingly familiar way that her younger body couldn't quite handle.

She didn't bother with a glass; the bottle was cool and heavy in her hand as she tore apart the room she spent so many years perfecting.

When she finally stood still, wiping the hair from her face and panting slightly to catch her breath, she looked around at the tattered remains of her treasured teddy bears, ripped up and crumpled posters and years' worth of empty gifts smashed or snapped or torn to ribbons.

She chugged a large gulp of whisky, enjoying the bitter sweet burn and ignoring the lightheaded fog that was starting to sink in.