Enough

For my beloved beta, who is ever-so-much more than that, SorceressCirce. Thanks to kimberlycullen10 for tweaking my grammar.

Twilight isn't mine. Neither is the movie that inspired this little vignette.

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It's freezing out here.

But he's inside, and I owe this to myself.

It's been years that I've been harboring this ... this ... thing. For him. About him. Only him.

And now he's married, and I'm royally fucked.

But I have to do this.   

-

May 15th, 2009

"Whitlock! Show the new guy 'round the office, will you? I've got a meeting five minutes ago."

I stood there, scratching at my temple anxiously, wondering what the hell I'd gone and gotten myself into, taking a job for one of the most sought after photographers in the city. I knew I had a good eye, that I could see the artistry in a shot easily, but I was sort of socially inept, or so I thought. How the hell was I supposed to navigate a scenario as busy as this one?

God, please don't let me fail, I thought to myself.   

I needed the job badly. Needed it like air, because if I couldn't succeed in this endeavor, then my father had been right: I was a loser with no real world skills chasing a pipe dream that would never lead anywhere.

I was lost in my ugly little reverie when I heard a throat clear near me.

"You're Cullen, right?" his voice asked, and as my eyes trained on his, everything else seemed to go out of focus.

His hair was blonde and brown, mussed like he'd just gotten out of bed, but strangely, it reminded me of organized chaos. He wore a genuine grin on his face, and his eyebrows were arched above lively, blue eyes. His jaw could cut glass, and the definition in his arms was visible even beneath the loose sleeves of his black, long-sleeved t-shirt.

I gulped, realized I'd been staring,  and then shook my head. "Uh. Yeah. Cullen. And you are?"

"Whitlock. Jasper. Come this way; we're in the same studio for the week."

I nodded and followed wordlessly, wondering what I was going to do with the fact that I was 10 minutes into the job and already part of some exercise in futility: a crush on a co-worker that would go absolutely nowhere.

-
I've been sitting in my car for thirty minutes, like a first rate creep, but I can't make myself move. I know what I want to do, what I came here to do, but I'm frozen, a block of ice in the driver's seat of my car, barely able to allow my chest the centimeters of space it needs to allow the steady inhale and exhale of my breath.

My cell phone vibrates in the seat next to me, and the caller ID flashes on the screen. It's my sister, but I have other things to deal with at the moment, so I let it ring until my voicemail picks up, and then sigh.

Slowly, I open the door of my car, clutch my wares in my hand, and stare at the block I've got to walk.

-

February 22nd, 2010

I'd fallen in love with him.

I knew that, but I also knew that he was straight, and so I kept my feelings to myself, knowing - as I always have - that the whole thing was pointless.

It had been a year and a half since my crush started.

By the end of 2009, I had spent more hours with Jasper than I had my friends, both because of work and because he and I really got along. We went to bars together and hung out together at work events, and once or twice, I passed out at his house, drunk off my ass and horny as hell but aware that I would get no release that night.

After all, there was almost always a girl.

He had no real type, other than brainy and somewhat bookish. Blondes, brunettes, even a ginger or two; he'd dated them all, casually. No one was serious until Alice.

She was barely five feet tall with dark, short hair and pale blue eyes, and he had fallen hard and fast.

He'd spent Christmas and Valentine's Day with her.

I spent both holidays alone.

-
A gust of wind blows around me, and I gasp, wishing I was wearing more layers or something to keep me from the element.

I'm three houses away, and I know what I want to do, but I also wonder if there's any goddamn way I'll ever garner the courage to actually follow through.

I think of Rose, who knows how long I've been pining away, and how she told me so long ago to make a move. "He knows you're gay, Edward. Just...do something. Or you're going to lose it."

I never did. What was I supposed to do? Just kiss him? Be really bold and kneel in his office, behind his desk, asking for his dick to have a meeting with my mouth?

Not that I'd daydreamed about that or anything.

I wish, sometimes, that I'd never taken the job, because if I'd never met him, I'd never have had to come face-to-face with this impossible love that has taken up residence in my bones, in  my heart, in my mind. I wouldn't have to know that I love a man who will never love me in return. 

I would never have had to realize that no one will measure up to the ideals that I've gathered in my mind.

No one but him, anyway.

I shove my free hand in my pocket and duck my head down, moving slowly toward my intended destination.

-

January 15th, 2011

They got married on January 3rd. They spent a week in Napa Valley for their honeymoon.  He'd been back for five days, and I could never grow the nerve to take any of his calls or to accept any of his requests to go out for a beer.

I just... couldn't.

I avoided the task of standing as a groomsman for him by volunteering to video the wedding but quickly regretted that moment of ... whatever it was. Perhaps stupidity.

I spent three hours following them around, documenting their kisses and first dance, their shared piece of cake, his arm around her waist.

He caught me staring at him once, I think, and a darkness came into his eyes, but I smiled quickly, jiggling the camera that was balanced in my hands and then lifting it to my shoulder and panning right, ignoring the tugging that pulled at my heart and my head.

When they got engaged, back in May, which was, coincidentally, one full year after I started working with him and consequently fell for him, I told myself, "Alright, Edward, this is it. Move on with your life."

It didn't work.

Standing at his wedding, watching Jasper walk around in a black tux, his hair in it's usual state of disarray and his hand always intertwined with Alice's, made me feel bereft - which was pathetic, when I really thought about it.

Bereft? Because of what? A relationship I never had to begin with? 

Sad, sad, sad.

I still loved him, and I knew exactly what I needed to do.

While he was gone, I made the decision to do it on the 21st. That was my birthday, and at least maybe it would give me some closure.

I had six days to prepare, if that was even possible.

-
I'm sick with nerves, literally nauseous with anxiety, and I shove my glasses up the bridge of my nose as I approach his yard.

I don't have to do this, I realize. I could turn around, go back to my car, and he would be none the wiser.

I could, but I won't.

I have to do this, for me. I have to have this moment, because God only knows how long I can harbor this without sharing it with someone other than my baby sister.

I'm at the corner of their lot when he comes through the front door, a bag of trash in hand.

I freeze, about to make a clip turn and get the hell out of there when he glances over at me, and his eyes brighten as he waves, excited. "Edward! What are you doing here?"

I can't even smile, and as he drops the bag of refuse into the metal container, his brow furrows.

"Edward?"

I inhale deeply and begin.

He's confused at first, until he begins to read.

My last day is Monday.

My hands are shaking, but I did it this way because I knew I wouldn't be able to speak. I knew my voice would quake and quiver, render itself useless in the face of this moment.

"What? But... why, man?" He is stupefied, and I notice his blonde hair, moving easily in the Chicago wind. 

I lick my lips and move that sign to the back in order to showcase the second one I prepared.

I can't do this anymore.

He takes a step toward me but says nothing, clearly waiting for me to continue, so I wait a moment, giving myself some time to take in his lean body beneath the fleece he's wearing. His masculine hands. His perfectly formed mouth.

As I move to the last sign, my chest is full of pressure, and my arms are heavy, but at the same time, I feel the beginning of what feels like release. Could I really let him go? 

To me, you are perfect.

I meet his eyes for a full minute, staring into the depthless ocean I find there, knowing that this is the end.

He is the most attractive man I'll ever want, and the only one I can never have.

I exhale loudly and slowly turn away from him, heading back to my car.

I feel a strange amalgamation of pride and fear, because I really have quit my job, and I really am starting my own studio, and I really did just tell Jasper that I have feelings for him.

My feet are heavy, but I feel some lightness melting over my form. I have released this secret, the only one I'd ever kept this long, the only one that was ever so intrinsically personal.

I think about how everything is on the up-and-up, how my father has even apologized for his asinine commentary about the way I live my life. About how finding a space to rent for my studio was much easier than I ever expected it to be. I think about training my sister to work with me, about having another photographer or two under my supervision.

It will all be good.

Although it hurts to think about, I know that getting away from him - a hard break - will be good for me and my poor, pathetically-battered heart.

I'm meandering this cloud of thought, three-fourths of the way to my car, when I hear it.

"Wait! Edward!"

I pause, disconcerted, and turn to see Jasper rushing down the sidewalk toward me.

I wait, wondering what it is that he wants, completely uncertain about what will happen next.

And then he's here, his hands are on my face, and his lips are on mine, and it feels so amazing I gasp for breath and thread my fingers through his hair, finally feeling it on my skin as the poster board signs I made scatter around our feet on the ground.

His tongue is silk and his hands are strong, and I can feel the muscled plank that is his chest against mine. I revel in it before he pulls away, and once he does, I instantly drop my hands.

"I..."

I shake my head.

Then, I kneel and begin to gather the signs.

He does the same, his fingers brushing the back of my hand, and though a trill makes its way through my body at this intentional contact, I know it can go nowhere.

He has a wife, after all.

Jasper stares into my eyes and I drink him in one last time.

His eyes are confused, and I see fear there. Pain. Questioning.

But then I softly say, "Go back to her."

My chest is tight again, unbearably so, but I make myself watch him as he stands up. Then I make myself return to the task of picking up the three signs I made.

When I rise to my feet and look toward his house, he's standing at his gate, one hand poised over the fence and his face turned toward me.

Though I know she can't see me, I watch Alice step out onto their porch, smile broad as she asks him a question.

He is distracted, and I watch his mouth move as he answers her, and then, before he can move toward her, I turn around and make my way back to my car.

The cold no longer matters.

"Enough," I say, brushing my fingertips over my lips as I insert the key into the ignition. "Enough." 

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