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- 08/23/2013
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Don't Cross The Threshold. - 1. Chapter 1
It has been years since you have even thought about your first love. However they were on the news today and before you had a chance to find out why there is a knock on your front door. As you answer you find yourself face to face with them. What brought about this encounter?
Seasoned TV regular, Jeremy Cason, comes out on national television in his Good Morning America appearance. Age 27, Cason was quoted to 'have had enough of hiding his aspects of his personal life due to pressure from his manager.’ This comes in following a huge wave of celebrities…
You did it, Jeremy, I mused.
A smile tugged the corner of my lips upwards as I leaned back into the soft cushions that lined my living room couch. I watched the side-swept dark hair curl against Jeremy’s forehead, his pink lips moving quickly. His brilliant green eyes shone with unshed tears. The camera panned out to the live studio audience: handkerchiefs dabbed at watery tear ducts, as they stood up clumps at a time: in a rousing standing ovation, concluding the excerpt of the interview.
Always the performer, I chuckled.
The doorbell rang: a loud intrusive noise echoing through the house. The image on the television snapped into a white cross in the centre, the edges pulling out quickly into darkness as I pushed the button on the remote control. I shuffled over to the front door and pulled it wide open.
Brilliant green eyes met mine as I stood there, shock seizing me.
“Hey there,” he said, a shy smile spreading across his face as he averted his eyes.
“Jeremy?” I asked, incredulous.
“The one and only,” he said, a dazzling grin armed and ready.
“Don’t you save that just for the paparazzi?” I teased.
The grin pulled into a tentative smile, the one that I remembered best. His eyes fell back to his feet. I remembered this Jeremy.
A tense silence filled the space between us, as we each stood on different sides, connected only by this open open doorway in front of us.
I broached the silence jokingly, gesturing at his Porsche parked in my driveway, “You really know how to show off, don’t you?”
“Oh, that? It’s nothing,” he said, but the usual faux arrogance failed to make an appearance, “At least, nothing worth showing off.”
“So, congratulations,” I said, steering away from the beginnings of an awkward silence.
He lifted his eyes to meet mine: widened. I noticed his fingers fumbling and pinching the fabric of his branded jeans.
“On the renewal. I heard you got another season,” I continued.
His fingers stopped their repetitive motions as his shoulders visibly sunk.
“Oh that,” he said, traces of relief in his voice, “Yeah, thanks.”
I watched as his eyes darted nervously about my porch, settling on the wooden swing before bouncing off the white exterior, landing on the wooden bench before focusing on my own. His fists clenched visibly at his sides, as though the effort it took to maintain eye contact required physical force.
“Jer –" I asked.
“They figured they could milk the story line some more,” he blurted.
The pregnant pause sat heavily on our shoulders. The weight pulled at me insistently, a cold lump in my gut. I watched as determination and fear battle across Jeremy’s refined features. Something inside me broke.
I reached out my arms and curled them around his shoulders, pulling him into me, feeling his warmth through the layers of fabric: the firmness of his body against my own.
“I’m glad you’re doing well,” I said, as I held him, feeling the tension lining his muscles dissipate.
He dropped his chin onto my shoulder: the familiarity of his touch bringing forth the memory of his first successful casting.
***
Joy bubbled forth from his demeanour, as he leapt into my arms. He tightened his hold around my chest and squeezed, swinging me around like a child with their rag doll.
“Woah, ease up a little,” I teased.
“I got it… I got it… I got it!” he panted, exhausted from running all the way.
“Of course you did,” I said, pressing my lips to his cheek.
***
I pulled back from the embrace and watched his eyes flutter open, glistening with unshed tears. The freckle under his left eye, leaning against the bridge of his nose, drew my attention. I wondered if they airbrushed it out of his magazine features.
“Jeremy,” I said.
“Why are you here?” I finally asked.
“I… It’s… I just…,” he stuttered, eyes glued to the wooden floor.
“Jeremy,” I said.
“I came out,” he said.
“I saw,” I said, a smile crawling across my face, “I’m proud of you.”
“Yeah,” he said, “I thought you would be.”
I pursed my lips at his statement, knowing the words that would come next.
“I’m sorry –" he said.
“No, don’t. It’s over now. You did it. I’m proud,” I interrupted, a dormant sadness rising inside me.
“But it isn’t,” he said, lifting his eyes slowly.
“It isn’t over for me,” he said, looking me in the eyes, flinging me into the past.
***
I looked over at him: shades covering up the brilliant eyes I often lost myself in, and a baseball cap flattening the thick hair I enjoyed raking my fingers through. The sunlight illuminated his bronze skin as we walked down the street.
I reached for his hand, seeking to twine our fingers together: to feel his touch.
A hand swatted mine away as I looked up to see a menacing scowl pulling his soft pink lips into an ugly spear of hurt.
“Not here!” he whispered.
***
“I forgive you,” I said quietly, “I know what it meant to you.”
“But I can’t forgive myself,” he whispered.
“Don’t –" I said.
“I just shouldn’t have…,” he trailed off as I sunk into a memory.
***
“So this is it?” I asked.
“This is the end?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, looking away.
“Don’t be,” I said, “I know that this is your career. It’s your whole world.”
“It’s what you want most, isn’t it?” I asked.
“It is,” he replied.
I watched from the doorway as he dissolved into a separate realm: one I could not enter.
***
“You were doing what was right for your career,” I said, “I understand.”
“No,” he replied, “I wasn’t. I was doing what everyone else thought was right for my career.”
“I never thought you were bad for me,” he said, “In any way.”
“Jer –" I said.
“No, let me continue, I owe it to you,” he replied.
“You don’t owe me anything,” I sighed.
“Maybe, but then, I owe it to myself,” he said.
I watched him drill his fingers into his palm, resisting the tears that were threatening to spill from his loaded eyelids.
“I shouldn’t have treated you that way. I shouldn’t have shied from the pressure. I shouldn’t have hidden you away like a dirty secret,” he said, “I shouldn’t have let you believe that I loved you any less. And I definitely shouldn’t have left.”
“Jeremy –" I said.
“I love you.”
The words settled in my mind, sadness weighing heavily inside me.
“But Jeremy,” I said, watching him through the doorway, “I loved you.”
It has been years since you have even thought about your first love. However they were on the news today and before you had a chance to find out why there is a knock on your front door. As you answer you find yourself face to face with them. What brought about this encounter?
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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