All Again

BECCA
NOW

The first thing I think I see is my pink mug with the dots.
Shaped like the 'Chip' cup in the Beauty and the Beast, it seems to stand out on an old granite counter.
I see the sprinkles of the Sensa Gallo granite and the way the cup sits by the sink.
My thoughts are stalled: words frozen, eyes heavy, cheeks stained.
In my blurred vision, the cup stands out, bringing me back, clearing my vision. I finally can focus on something.
And what do you know, it is my cup.
What is it doing here? My first thought.
My second immediate thought, I must have left it somewhere.
I blink.
I study.
I blink.
I return. My eyebrows crease at the realization.
Someone has my favorite mug.
Someone has been drinking out of my favorite cup.
Someone has used it this morning as evidenced by is position.
Yet, it couldn't have been Chase.
I haven't even seen this cup in years.
What is it doing here?
How the hell did it end up in this house?
I didn't use it, did I?

But...wait a minute...that's not my granite counters. Me and Chase's are Steel Gray.

This is not my current kitchen.
What is going on?
I move to examine my old friend, when suddenly it is not there.
The next thing I see is it smashing to the ground.
The sound is loud as the pieces scatter falling off the wall it has just made contact with.
Sharp glass sprinkles the floor; pink and white dots no more.
I immediately look for the madman or woman who has just broke my precious fucking cup; re-focusing again.
My claws sharpen. My face scowls and my hands goes to my hip.
What
The
Hell?
My eyes lift and meet the madman dead on.
Reddish terse eyes, the glare, the anger...
Harry.
I immediately still.
Oh.
That's right.
We're still here.
In this fucked up room.
In this fucked up condo.
In this fucked up mess.
This is where it has paused this time.
Somewhere in my mind, I had veered into the future, in another year, when we like each other again, and this is all worked out.
Somewhere else where he doesn't know the truth and I am back in the comforts of my own home.
His eyes burn into mine. They are iced and the color of an Evergreen forest and I know he detests me.
He is bare outside of some boxer briefs and his tattoos stare back at me. His hands are clenched and his skin is red- as if his temperature has risen in the last minute or two.
Maybe it has; risen with anger.
Only a few minutes ago, he burned with something else.
As I remember, my hands go to my lips remembering the feel of his lips on mine just minutes ago.
I think of the way his hands touched me and his smile.
I have missed it all so much.
Damn I've just missed him.
I can't believe I had forgotten the scope of his touch.
I think of his proclamation. 'I want you!', and then minutes later how the truth spilled around us; how he finally learned of the baby.
Man, we were so close.
I look down at myself, suddenly remember I am practically nude as well.
My dress and jean jacket are tossed somewhere in the distance and I am standing in my pretty pink lingerie.
But there is nothing truly pretty about any of this.
I bring my eyes back to Harry.
He is staring at me; not turned on. Not interested. Not moving.
I've never seen this look before.
If he was a violent person, I feel like he would hit me or maybe hit something. That is the way he looks at me.
My eyes trace our other furniture and my broken cup.
He just might...
"Get out." he grits suddenly. "What the fuck are you waiting on?"
He's echoed that to me at least three times in the last couple minutes, but I'm not moving. It would appear instead, I'm choosing to zone out.
His voice is deep and thick and I should be running for my car and dodging grenades- but I can't.
This time, I can't leave things like this.
My mind quickly reminds me why I'm here at all.
I still love him.
I think I still want him.
I know I want to resolve this.
So, I can't leave.
Then, I'll never see him again.
He'll hate me and marry Julie.
They'll live happily ever after and I'll always be the shit stain ex; the mistake.
I can't let any of that happen.
This can't be the way we end; not after everything.
Not this time.
"Harry," I begin taking a step towards him. My voice is thick and heavy too.
I'm choked up and outside of the wetness on my cheek, I now feel the tightness in my throat.
I've been crying- a lot.
When did that happen?
"Don't fucking come near me," he warns. "I told you to get out.'
"Harry-" I call again. He is like a child, digging his feet into the dirt until he gets his way. Well I am the impatient mother.
I sigh and roll my eyes, over the dramatics.
"Are you done? We both know you don't want me to leave. You just told me you wanted me."
"FUCKING GET OUT!" He screams and I jump. "I'm not playing fucking games with you anymore!"
His voice ripples through me and then,
Smash!
I jump again.
More pieces scatter. Another cup broken.
Smash!
Now a plate. Shards fall inches from my feet.
He lifts another plate.
Jesus, he's going to ruin the whole house.
I need to intervene quickly.
I swallow my sudden fear, and kick back into gear.
Return of Becca, in three, two, one...
"Stop it!" I shout back at him. "Will you calm down? At least hear me out!"
He laughs.
He actually laughs.
He drops the plate on the counter loudly.
"Hear you out?" he asks. "Now? Two years later? Now you want to tell your fucking story?"
I bite my tongue. He has me there.
His words, two years, remind me how we are.
It is me.
Always me.
I cut off the contact.
I broke us.
I made this mess.
I've put us in this exact spot.
Again.
Me and my secrets.
He continues.
"Because that's when it happened right? Two years ago?" he narrows his eyes. "When you killed our child?"
His words cut deep even though they are a lie.
I instantly protest.
"I didn't kill anything." I argue, trying to find the strength in my voice. "Try listening to me, before you accuse me."
He rolls his eyes and moves towards me.
"I'm done listening to you. I'm done with this whole fucking thing."
For a second, I think this is it. I think, I have finally made him violent.
All these years and all these fights, I have finally made him snap.
I back up , thinking he is going finally hit me or grab me.
Instead, he grabs his sunglasses off the counter and turns from me. Placing them on his head, he stalks to the bedroom, passing the broken glass.
"Get out Becca. I'm not going to say it again."
He walks away from me, leaving me with the broken shards of glass and uncertainty. In the distance, I can hear his phone vibrate.
But, I'm not leaving.
Screw him.
I refuse to leave this house.
My house.
But I am going to pick up this mess.
All of them.
As he heads back to the bedroom and I hear the door slam, my eyes meet the glass. I throw on my old dress and find an old broom.
I sweep the blended hues of pinks, whites, greens and cream shards of broken matter. The splatter reaches far, mixing and hiding in corners around the kitchen. It seems to be an example of our relationship.
The breaking of the items indicates the initial end, and now here we are, spread out and affecting other areas.
I need to be home in my office, finishing up my column, or with Chase at his office, eating lunch.
Harry should be with Jeff and his publicist preparing to fly out tomorrow- the start of his tour, only days away....
But we are here.
After everything is swept and I've wiped the counters and put away the food, almost fifteen minutes has passed. I think there has been enough time between the rounds to start a new one.
My eyes venture towards the bedroom in trepidation.
Taking a deep breath, I give myself a silent pep talk. Here we go.
As I walk, I once again pass the pictures on the wall, and once again, my favorite one stops me.
I pull the picture off the wall.
San Diego, 2015.
I study Harry's long curly locks, and his sheer white shirt.
I study his hand on my hip, and his thumb looped in a hook of my blue shorts. The other holds a microphone.
I study our crooked smiles, and the light in our eyes as we looked back at each other.
We were so in love with each other and didn't even know it- though looking at the picture, it was all there.
Even Lou, who took the picture saw it. Months later, she told us everyone that day was talking about it and the way things had progressed.
I once again feel liquid come to my eyes and I trace the picture with my finger. If only it had stopped there.
I place it back on the wall.
I continue on to the bedroom.
I pass a picture from the day we signed the lease on this condo. 2016.
I pass a picture from our anniversary. 2017.
And just like the next series of years, there is nothing more there. No more pictures line the hallway.
Barely a 2018. Definitely not 2019. A non-existent and not even thought about 2020. We couldn't even make it there.
When I approach the bedroom door, it is closed and silent.
It is so quiet that I can't guess what Harry must be doing behind the door.
Nonetheless, this time I don't knock, and I barge my way in.
Ready or not, here I come.
Once again, the sight of Harry stops me. He is huddled on the bed. A hand is on his face, and he doesn't look at me.
Is he...crying?
Is he...sighing?
Does he even hear me?
"Harry." I call quietly.
Nothing.
I take a step towards him.
"I cleaned up everything." I say slowly. I anticipate the next 'get out' but there is still nothing.
Okay, good sign. Maybe he's getting use to the idea of me here again.
He hasn't changed his clothes yet though. He is still in just his boxers.
I take another hesitant step into the room.
"I'm...um...not leaving." I say, testing the waters.
Still nothing.
I speak my next words slowly, not wanting to erupt the volcano.
"I know you want me to go, but I can't."
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
"I can't leave like this...We still need to talk about everything. You need to know about the baby." I say honestly.
The words almost get caught in my throat. Its been so long since I've talked about it all and thinking about that pain...
There is a shift in movement.
Instantly....instantly...his hand drops from his face and he looks up at me. His left arm goes to rest on his knee and he cups his chin. His eyes stare back at me; bloodshot red.
He has been crying.
"I need to know, about our baby?" he asks chopping up the words, as if he's trying to understand them.
His eyes don't leave mine.
"Are you fucking kidding me? Becca, do you even hear yourself? How fucked up that statement is after two years?"
My mouth uncloses to respond, but he continues.
"I need to know about our baby. Our baby Becca, that we made together, that you admit you killed two years ago? Now, I need to know?" he questions.
If possible, his eyes grow more cold throwing something at me and I coward up inside.
I don't say another word.
I'm too frozen. Just call him Elsa.
"Tell me then." he says. His voice displays an amused anger- if there is such a thing. "Tell me about our baby. Our daughter." he emphasizes.
I bite my lip.
Where to start...where to begin...
I know when I lost her, well...it...since I'm not positive of the sex. I just always imagined her as a girl.
I know the fight that made me not tell him, even after I lost her or him on our bathroom floor.
I know the aftermath, and my depression and the reason for my withdrawal from the relationship, yet it is as Harry previously said, you can't start a story in the middle. There are layers to this shit. Details weaved in every chapter for someone to catch.
"I'm waiting." Harry says cutting into my thoughts. He's so mean and angry and dark.
I truly believes he finally hates me.
Where is the smile and the sway from when I first entered this damned place? He was practically dancing then.
"I can't start there." I say and his eyes raise. I turn from him and slightly pace the room.
"I need to work my way up to it."
"Bullshit-"
"No really." I say meeting him head on. "This is hard for me."
He chuckles. "Well far be it for me to make you uncomfortable Becca. Excuse me for finally hurting you the way you hurt me."
"No, you don't get what I'm saying." I say ignoring his sarcastic tone. "You and I both know we were broken by then. A baby wouldn't have made a difference."
"I don't know shit, because I still don't know anything about it." he practically spits.
He scoots up on the bed, never breaking the eye contact. He interrogates me quickly.
"When were you even pregnant? When did you find out? How? Who did you tell Becca? Was it Kelsey? Taylor? Anyone?"
He pauses for a second, and I think he wants me to answer, but then he begins again.
"When did you find out it was a girl? When did you even go to the doctor?...No, I got it-" he points at me. "The thing I really want to know...when did you decide to abort her Becca? Was it over dinner one night as we talked about useless, pointless shit, when you could have been telling me? Or when we laid in this bed, me fucking you and telling you how I couldn't live without you...how I wanted to spend my whole damn life with you? Marriage, children...all of that. Was it one of those nights?"
"Of course not." I say quickly.
It's as if he doesn't even hear me.
"No tell me..." he continues. "I'm curious, and I've got shit-loads more. For instance," he stands. "When did you decide this shit wasn't important for me to know? When did you decide it was okay to keep this lie for two damn years!"
"Okay I get it!" I snap. "I screwed up. I know! You don't have to be so mean to me." I plead. I'm practically crying and on my knees.
"No you don't get it!" he roars back. "How could you keep something like this from me? Do you really hate me that much?"
"You know I don't hate you. I...I love you." I say, the tears stinging and on the brink of falling.
My final admittance of truth does nothing for him, as if he doesn't care anymore.
He turns away from me.
"No you don't love me. This isn't love Becca. Now I'm curious if we even really had it."
I take a step towards him. Now he's just being foolish.
"Harry," I call gently. "I didn't mean to not tell you. I just needed time to comprehend it all."
He quickly turns back to me.
"Didn't mean too, is a day... maybe a couple more...I could have understood that Becca. If you needed time. If you were scared... But didn't mean too, is not two fucking years!"
"But I couldn't tell you." I cry out. "You were mad at me. We were fighting all the time. You were starting to hate me. Hell, you hate me now."
His face immediately screws in protest. "I didn't like you when you became pregnant? Impossible Becca. And hate is a strong word. I've never hated you until now."
I swallow as he confirms my thought. I look down.
"I mean by the time I lost her. It was after the premiere for the movie, after you left for your first tour, after you asked me to-" I pause. He cuts his eyes at me.
That was a whole different source of pain for us. I bypass the way I turned him down- in front of his family, in front of his friends...
I look back at him.. "It was weeks later, but just believe, I didn't want to make the situation worst."
"And what if you did?" he argues. "That's not an excuse! I deserved to know this. I should have known this Bec. I should have been included in every discussion and every thought!"
He points at me accusingly.
Once more I slink back into myself.
I don't really have anymore excuses, and he's right, there really isn't a good enough excuse for why I didn't tell him.
As I think of the events back then, it made sense, but looking at how hurt and broken he is, I realize nothing about that time authorized me to keep this from him; even after the miscarriage.
He should have known.
"So how do I make it better?" I ask.
Forget this berating and back and forth. How do we move past this now?
Let's just skip to the point.
He immediately rolls his eyes, and moves away from me.
I try not to stare at his bare back as heads to the bathroom in the room.
He keeps trying to get away from me.
"You don't." he says. "You just fucking leave."
"Well I'm not." I say stubbornly.
He stops and turns back around.
He scoffs.
"What don't you fucking get? I don't want you here anymore."
"I don't care. I'm not leaving. I deserve to be here too."
He heads back towards me.
"Who do you think you are?" he begins.
His expression is perplexed, but I don't get his confusion.
He knows exactly who I am.
He knows exactly what I meant to him.
That's why we are here.
"I'm me." I answer, surprised I'm getting the strength back to my tone. "I'm the same girl you were just stripping in the kitchen."
"No." he says. "You're not her. You haven't been here for a very long time.", and then he throws my own words back at me.
"What did you say earlier 'I don't know you anymore' right? It's probably the only true statement you've said lately."
I move away from him and sit on the bed.
I sigh.
This is going nowhere.
I'm ready for a resolve.
"So how do I make it better?" I repeat. "How do we fix this?"
Again he is puzzled.
"Am I even speaking?" he asks, glancing around the room. "Are words even coming out? Because I hear myself saying them. I hear them clearly coming out and in complete sentences, but you're not hearing me."
He moves back over to me, until he is standing directly over me.
He bends over me and I lean back in cowardice.
"Get. The Fuck. Out Of This House. This time, I don't want to see you ever again. Get it?"
The tear finally breaks and hits my cheek as he throws my words from two years ago back at me. That was the last thing I said to him, beside 'fuck you'.
I try to find my courage again, and quickly wipe it away.
"No. It's my house too. And we're finishing this."
I meet his gaze dead on.
"You're going to have to throw me out." I challenge.
He looks at me.
I look at him.
I can see he is thinking about it, but he wouldn't' dare...would he?
We are interrupted before we get the chance. As a loud buzz erupts through the room, both of our eyes go to the noise.
It is Harry's Iphone on the dresser.
I'm sure once more work calls.
Thank God for his job...today it is a welcome distraction.
Knowing he has to at least check the caller, he moves away from me in frustration.
Swiping the phone off the counter, he looks at the caller and immediately rolls his eyes.
"Fucking great." he mutters.
He connects the phone to his ear, and I don't move.
"Hello?" he calls out, and brings his eyes back to me.
He is itching... just burning... to say something to me. I can just imagine the obscenities on the tip of his tongue.
Boy I hope this is a long call.
He sighs.
"Yeah I know," he says into the phone. "What's up?"
His eyes continue to watch me, and I continue to watch him.
He is listening to who is talking, until he is not.
"Well I'm busy." he says, much to my chagrin. "I'm going to have to call you back."
I swallow again. If he's pushing back work this is going to be bad.
I don't know what's coming.
I shift in apprehension.
"I'm working." he says suddenly, and I know then, it is not work. "I'm not." he follows up a couple seconds later.
I wonder who he is talking too, when his eyes move away from me.
I use the quick distraction and at look everything while I have the chance.
I'm about to be cussed out and thrown out of here- I can feel it.
Security will be swiftly called when that call ends and i'll never see him again outside of an internet article.
I start memorizing.
Hello Brazil Tattoo.
Hello Tiger.
"Who says I'm with anybody? I'm just working."
I ignore his harsh tone in the phone.
Hello Laurels.
Hello Butterfly.
Hello Birds.
"Why?"
His voice is defensive.
Hello 17BLACK.
Hello Packers tattoo.
Hello Half a heart.
Hello Bumblebee. The 'bee' a representation of my na-
"Why are you asking me all these questions suddenly?"
And then he has my attention.
It's Bubblegum Barbie he's talking too. I'm almost sure of it now.
His eyes move back to me.
"And I've told you, I'm working."
Once again, I'm interested.
I like these small peeks into their relationship.
"I've already answered that question...what do you want Julie? Why do you keep calling me? You've called me twice in the last twenty minutes. Obviously I can't talk to you or I would have answered your text."
I want to smile.
A mini fight is unraveling before me, and I'm glad that she's not getting any special treatment too.
It would just kill me, if he was nice to her right now.
He waits for her response before he dismisses her.
"Well I can't right now." he says shortly. "So- I'll call you later or something."
I want to celebrate that he is ending the call, but I know what is coming after.
Or well...I don't know...I just know that I will once again have his complete, and full, pissed off attention.
"Nothing." he says to her quickly. "Why are we even still talking? If its nothing important, then I'll call you back later." he practically shouts in the phone and I know Bubblegum is confused.
For a second, a small one, I feel a little bad for the fiancé.
It's not her fault he's being rude to her; it's mine.
I've changed his whole carefree mood today.
Just another example of how our relationship filters through to everything else.
I don't hear anymore, because seconds later he ends the call and then immediately his attention is back on me.
"Yeah," he says not a second after the call is disconnected, sliding the screen and then tossing his phone near me.
"Let's finish this until there's nothing more. I'm tired of you in my space."
I blink taken aback by his words. I would think he was still talking to Julie, if the phone hadn't just landed inches from me.
"What?" I say. How have we already hit resume this quickly?
I look back at him.
"Come on," he gestures to me. "Give me your fucked up version of events, so you can go. Where did we leave off? Your birthday? Billboard?"
I look at him in disbelief.
"You're not serious. You can't possibly want to finish that. I'm talking about the baby."
"Well I'm not, because I'm tired Becca. I just want you out of my life and I want to move on. I just want to go on tour and marry my wife and have the happily ever after with the right person. I want to be happy again and I can't as long as I'm thinking of you. So come on. Tell me. I don't want to think about this shit ever again. No more loose ends. No more what if's."
There is nothing but sincerity in his tone, and I know he means every word.
Our reminiscent game is no longer for his pleasure, it is to end this.
Well I won't be any part of it.
"No." I say. "I'm not doing that."
"You will-"
"No. So you can despise me more? Absolutely not."
"You owe it to me!" he demands. "Do something right in our relationship for once. Let me finally know the truth."
I shake my head no.
"You just want to yell at me so more. Well then just do it. But don't do it at the expense of our past. Let me hold on to the last good we have left."
"It was all a lie!" he shouts. "Don't you get that?"
Finally I stand. I've had enough.
"It wasn't!"
I am defensive of us and our past relationship.
I won't let him ruin it.
I will protect that time at all costs.
"Look at this." I gesture around the room.
His eyes lift and look at the pictures over the bed behind us.
"Look at our life Harry." I cry out.
Our sheets are still on the bed, my candles in the corner, our dresser where his phone was resting, my damn Falcon brown paint on the walls!
This is all us. This is our world.
"We weren't a lie. I just made a fucked up decision. And I'm trying to make it right."
His eyes don't move from the pictures on the wall. I wonder what he is thinking, but I use the distraction.
I dart to the hallway and pull my favorite picture off the wall.
I go back in the bedroom and thrust it at him.
"See! Tell me you don't remember this."
His eyes narrow down slowly until he looks at the picture in my hand.
San Diego, 2015.
"We're still these people Harry." I reassure. "I'm still her."
My voice cracks, and this is my final plead.
At the moment, I can't think of any tricks in my basket.
He looks at me and then at the picture. Me, and then the picture. Me...
I can tell he's trying to see it.
I shake the photo again.
"Look at it."
He sighs loudly and grabs the photo roughly.
He doesn't say anything as he takes the picture from my hands and sits on the bed.
Resting his elbows on his legs again, he studies it.
It is silent as he keeps his eyes on the picture.
When he looks back up at me, seconds later, his eyes appear to have softened.
He remembers.
It's in his eyes all again.
Yes, yes, yes!
I can turn this around, until....
He tosses the photo behind himself.
"Becca just stop."
Huh?
"I don't want to look at any fucking pictures."
What?
"That's the fantasy. I want to hear the truth. Your truth. Your fucked up version." he re-states. "So sit down, and tell it to me."
I don't say anything immediately. I can't.
It seems his way is the only way out of this.
I sigh and look around the room, delaying what I'm going to do....what I have to do.
I want to stomp my foot and pout.
I can't see any way to win this and it irritates the fuck out of me.
Why does he get to have the upper hand all the time?
"Fine." I say in a huff and a burn passes through me.
He still looks so...damn...good.
All.. the.. damn.. time.
"Can you put some clothes on at least?" I suggest. For my own sanity.
I don't hide my irritation, and my voice has taken on the same level as his; over this shit.
He nods yes and stands slowly. Once again, since we are standing close, he towers over me.
"Sure, and then I'll meet you in the living room in two minutes." he orders.
I roll my eyes.
He then turns from me and leans picking up the picture he's casually tossed to the side.
"And here,"
He hands it back to me.
"You can take this with you when you leave. You can take all of this." he suggests. "I'll probably sell this place when I get back in town, so I'll give you a key. You can clear it out over the next two months."
I tsk my tongue.
"That's a bit dramatic isn't it? In a couple weeks you'll probably be over this. Once you know the full story, you'll forgive me." I reassure.
He smiles, the first time since he was peeling my clothes off me in the kitchen.
"You think so huh?"
I nod yes. I'm sure.
"Don't plan on it." he says and then nods towards the door.
"Two minutes." he reiterates. "And we'll pick up where we left off."
"So London, your European leg." I say smugly, realizing I can shift the tables. That was when he fell in love with me.
His eyes thin.
"No." he says. "We'll start back in California. After. When we both should have left each other alone."
"When we didn't." I remind him, having to get the last word.
His eyes meet mine and we look back at each other.
The battle of the exes, ready to commence once again.
This time I smile.
We are still on the good part. Before Christmas and Yacht-gate as his fans call it, we were inseparable. We were still incredibly happy.
It's going to be so much fun to remind him.
"See you in the living room." I say getting excited. "Two minutes right?"
He says nothing. He just bites the inside of his cheek.
What can he say?
This is his idea.
Yet he doesn't know who he's fucking with.
My basket just got reloaded.
Bring it on.

Notes

Alright guys, three updates tonight, and the NOW is finally back. Hope you guys enjoyed the new updates. Thanks for any comments, likes etc. It's always appreciated!