CHAPTER 4: SWEATER WEATHER

james to the side

"The problem with love is I'm blinded by it; (it) rattles my lungs. But my mind is
tangled between your little flaws," - the Neighbourhood

Nicolas Bear Forrest

SUN rarely irritated me. When it did, it was on exceptional, almost nonexistent days where I'd be walking back from university and its heat formed sweat buds rolling down my skin-that was the only time I felt nostalgia for autumn or spring. But when it poked onto my shut eyelids with persistence, I wanted to crawl in a hole and die.

"Get the fucking sun out of the way, Adrian," I mumbled.

I struggled to pull the covers over my head; they no longer protected my feet. I realized that my own covers were always long enough for me to hide my face and my feet, my eyes shot open.

"Morning, sunshine," said a teasing female voice.

I stopped rolling around on what felt like a couch, only to realize that there wasn't enough space for me to move like I was. Therefore, that led to me ending up on a carpet, a trashcan close by.

Drilling in my head and loss of reality was the trigger for me to understand that I had drank too much. That wasn't a dilemma, though. The only problem was-I had no idea where I was.

The girl, whom I assumed was the one to have spoken, was Zoey's friend: Jessie. She wore a shirt that covered her thighs, a bright smile and a hand that offered to help me up.

"C'mon, then. Take my hand," she insisted, the other hand holding a mug that read: I ROCK, I RULE, with cartoon drawings of a rock and a ruler lifting stick hands in the air. Signed at the bottom of the mug was z.h.

Zoey Hunter.

I shook my head and searched for the cushion of the couch with my hands, lifting my body up on the comfort of a seat. Tugging on my hair in desperate hopes to ease the pain spreading in my head, I looked at Jessie. "Where am I?"

"Casa de la Zoey et de la Jessie," she got up and opened a cabinet in a light brown wooden kitchen, in which the refrigerator and oven stood out like peas within carrots.

She handed me two pills and a glass of water, "drink up, buttercup."

Since Jessie had tried, in vain, to give me an opportunity to talk to Zoey one more time, I had decided to trust her. She didn't seem like someone who would try to poison me. (Or at least I hoped so.)

"Thanks," I murmured. I gulped down the pills and water, the simple effort of the actions causing me to shut my eyes and let my head fall back on the couch.

I'm at Zoey's place.

Shit.

I looked around, "Is she here?"

"No," shrugged Jessie. Almond shaped coffee eyes rolled in their sockets in annoyance, "she's handling the store for a bit. I'm supposed to be going down there in an hour, or else she'll kill me."

I set the glass on their table. She sat next to me, short legs crossed on the table. She looked at me, around me and then lifted my foot, taking a TV remote. Turning on the TV, she sipped onto her coffee as if I didn't exist.

"How in the world did I end up here?"

Jessie hummed, "you drank a little bit too much. And might have puked all over Zoey. You might have embarrassed yourself enough to last for fifty years."

My mouth dropped and the hopes of ever landing on her good side vanished like powder. "No. You're not serious, are you?"

"Dead serious," a smile appeared on her face, her eyes flickered to me, "it was priceless."

"I puked on her?"

"Indeed."

"I puked on her," it dawned on me. "Fuck."

Dread and lost chances showered over me. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I'm such a idiot." I shielded my face in my hands and tried to clear my mind, but it felt as if my thoughts were borderline chaotic.

"A little," Jessie's shoulders rose. "But then again, when aren't you an idiot? You broke her heart, left, vomited all over the outfit she likes and slept on her couch."

Bits and pieces of talking to her came back to me. It was hazy, but vomiting over her was the most vivid memory yet. This was just wonderful, after four years of trying to think of ways to talk to her if I ever saw her again; I ended up drunkenly talking to her and puking on her.

"What do I do?"

"Hope that the next time she sees you, she doesn't punch you. Her instructions were," she used a spot-on Canadian accent, "he wakes up, and gets out. Okay, Jessie?"

I snorted, "Great. I'm fucked, aren't I?"

"Not by her," the ends of her lips pulled. "That won't happen."

"Why'd she take care of me, though?"

She crinkled her nose, "because she's a good person with a good heart. Even if you're her worst enemy, she took care of you."

The channel changed again, back to the Sherlock episode Adrian had recorded. The thought of him made me pat down my pockets, take my phone and call him.

He answered on the third ring, or rather she did. A girly voice said: "Hello? Who is this?"

"Shouldn't be asking you the same thing, considering I called my friend? Is he with you, by any chance?"

"Uh, wait."

Thirty seconds later: "Nico. My head hurts."

"Adrian. So does mine, stop complaining. Are you at home?"

"Nah. I'm at, um-Sarah's."

A voice added: "It's Sofia."

"Right. Sorry."

"You safe?" I asked him.

This was far from the first time a situation like this had occurred. When Adrian had too much to drink and disappeared, I usually called in the morning to check on him. He was reckless when drunk.

"Yeah. You?"

"I'm...alive. At Zoey's place."

There was an unnecessarily dramatic gasp, "shit. That's not good. Is her friend there too?"

And since Adrian was known for being loud on the phone (and generally), Jessie had heard. She licked her lips and flickered her gaze away from me.

"Yeah. Want to say hi?"

"Nicolas, you want me to start making a move on her through the phone? Do you not know me at all?"

Jessie blushed.

"My bad."

"Look, mate, I've got to go. Sarah is going to shower and you know what I say-"

"Save water, shower with another human," I completed. "See ya."

Beside me, Jessie clutched on her mug tightly. "Go shower," she said. "You smell like shit."

"You're blunt."

She smiled, "so are you. That's why we get along."

"Who says we do?"

"I do. If you don't get in the shower, I'll probably throw you in there myself."

"You can't," I scoffed.

A glint of craziness popped in her eyes, "would you like for me to demonstrate?"

And even if 90% of my mind was sure that she couldn't, that doubtful 10% was enough to make me get up. "Where's the bathroom?"

"First door beside the kitchen," she replied.

"You got a shirt that'll fit me? I smell like-"

"Shit? Yeah," she headed to the room facing our position, "I keep male jumpers around. Companies always make them way more comfortable than the female ones. Just because I have boobs doesn't mean that I'd like a jumper that shows my belly button."

Their flat was smaller than Adrian and I's, but the decorations were enough to give a sense of hominess. At least one painting, tiny or massive, added a touch of color on the walls. Zoey's art and Jessie's eccentricity, it all showed.

I stood by the door frame, waiting for Jessie to get a sweater. She rummaged through drawers, throwing clothes on the ground.

Two beds, one with purple covers and the other with dark red colors, opposed each other in a symmetric way. Jessie sat on the red one, working on finding a shirt. Above hers, a Columbia flag hung. The opposite one must have been Zoey's. Picture frames were on the wall above her bed; I could see photos of James and her from afar.

Aware that if she had ever found me in her room, she'd murder me slowly, I took cautious steps to take a closer look. The covers were neatly folded, a white plush bear seated on her pillow.

They were Polaroid photos, most of them anyway. Half of them were of James and Zoey, the other of her family, group photos and random objects; like coffee cups. The transition of the timeline was noticeable, there were ones of them on the summer I had come to Silvercrest and even before then. There was one of fallen hair strands, one of James smiling, others of Diana, Julia (who, from what I saw, was growing to be as beautiful as her sisters) and one of Walters, hand over a mailbox.

The bittersweet memories of my first days working with her came back, but I pushed them away. Flashbacks hit me from time to time; but they left nothing but salt on a semi-closed wound behind.

"Found one," announced Jessie. But I was too concentrated on the pictures to turn around.

There were subtitles at times beneath the photos. Some had dates written, some were marked with song lyrics. The dates varied from 2010 to 2017.

James and Zoey kissed in one. He had his arm around her, holding her close. Even on the picture, I could see her smiling into the kiss. The words written were: j&z. valentine's day 2016.

One of them caught my eye. Placed lower than the pattern of pictures, it wasn't a Polaroid photo, instead was familiar to my eyes. I was sure that this was taken from the summer we met, but I had to look closely to see if it was me in the picture.

A girl in a sky blue dress was being held. It was amidst other people, but they seemed to stand out the most, as if in a movie. Her feet were on his, eyes locked together. There was no caption, so I reached out to see if there was anything written on the back.

"Nico," warned Jessie softly, standing by my side. "Don't. You can't go through her things like this."

"I just need to look if-" I turned the picture and even if the tape covered a part of it, I could still read the caption. I flinched.

aug. 2013 || If these sheets were the states, and you were miles away, I'd fold them end over end to bring you closer to me. (even if I hate you, n.b.f.)

Jessie snatched the picture from my hands and shoved a blue jumper and a black towel in them instead. "Go shower, Nico."

If she didn't care, she wouldn't have kept this on the wall. Every little piece of her art mattered to her, and whatever wasn't a part of her heart; she threw it away. In her wall back in Silvercrest, she painted about elements of her life that made a change. Perhaps that her keeping this meant that she somehow still cared.

"She kept it. This must mean some-"

"You were supposed to leave as soon as you got up," she said. "I've done enough to her. I can't have you doing this kind of crap too."

"Jessie," I pointed to the picture, "she kept this. If she still has this, this means something to her!"

"What if it doesn't?"

"What if it does?"

The look in her eyes let me know that I was right. That even if the world had vouched for different paths for Zoey and I, I was somehow meant to mend things with her-to fix my mistake.

Jessie grabbed my hand, shockingly tugged me out of the room, opened a door to the bathroom and pushed me inside. She lifted the picture to me.

"Listen, I know people. I have a gut feeling about things and I'm almost never wrong. I've got one about you, and I'm gonna start trusting you. But you broke her heart, handsome. If you think that making her stand to be in the same room as you will be easy, you're wrong. I need to know-do you care about her? Will you hurt her again?"

"I care about her," I let out a breath. "I want her to stop hating me."

"So, you want forgiveness?"

I nodded. "Nothing more."

"Okay. While you go shower, I'm going to think of a way for her to not hate you."

"Actually," I grinned, "I think I've got an idea."

"Please, do share."

"Does Elisa need any more employees?"

An invisible light bulb shone over Jessie's head.

-

11:30 am.

The woman walking by my side held out an arm, putting a halt to my pace. She analyzed me carefully; the look in her eyes reminded me of the way students seemed when a teacher explained an important subject.

"Don't say anything stupid," she said.

"I'll try," I drawled.

Jessie's eyebrows rose and began counting on her fingers, "you lied and told her that you don't love her four years ago, resulting in her first heartbreak. You also got pissed off your arse and ended up on her couch. You won't try, you will simply not."

We entered the store, her in front of me. There was a short line of people waiting to pay, and around five or six others examining the store. Zoey's smile was forced and pasted, a look of panic breaking through it.

Upon seeing us, she shouted: "Jessie! Would you please show the customers around?" There was a hint of a you-abandoned-me-I- hate-you tone in her voice.

I stood close to the corner of the store, waiting for the momentary rush to pass. I watched as both girls handled the place with struggling ease. I could see how their friendship and partnership worked. Zoey handled the technicalities and Jessie smoothed her stress.

I wondered if Zoey had changed. In the pictures I saw, she was a one-dimensional memory. The smile on her face stayed the same. Through the paintings, I noticed a slow evolution. There was strength and security in every stroke of the brush. An aura of vigor surrounded each piece, as if she poured a piece of her soul into them.

Satisfied faces left the store. After a moment of peace, I was almost 100% sure that Zoey pinched Jessie's arm. She was in front of me, furtive eyes staring at mine.

"What are you doing here?"

Was there a right answer to this? "Shopping."

"Shopping?" she spat, incredulous. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

Jessie waved to me and moved her hands as in: ABORT MISSION!

"Do you know what you did?" Half of her hair swayed along with her.

"I was a dick to you."

She opened her mouth to reply, "You-" then stopped, realizing that I hadn't answered what she expected me to say. "Yes."

"I'm sorry," I said.

And as I looked at her, I remembered how it felt to be around her at eighteen. The clumsy feelings, messed up decisions and kisses-the fights, the rain and her smile. I smiled without understanding; because here she was, mad at me, about to ramble on and on about how much of an idiot I was.

Zoey crossed her arms and shifted her gaze away from me, "for?"

"Being a dick to you. Thank you for taking care of me, it meant a lot. You could've left me there."

"Right," she nodded forcefully, "that. You know how you could repay me, Forrest?"

She pointed to the door, "by leaving."

"I want to buy something. And you're kicking me out?"

"Yes? Is that a problem?"

"Yeah. I'm a customer."

"Fine. Jessie, can you help him get something?"

And the dark-haired girl began to move. I said, "no, Jessie. I want recommendations from you," I looked at Zoey.

"Jessie-"

"Jessie," added the curly girl, "is frankly very done with you two playing around with my name. I know it's an adorable name, but stop it."

I followed Zoey to a section of the store. It was the wall she had created, filled with astounding art. They all were unique in their own way, but somehow were each an essential piece to an unfinished puzzle. Scenery, portraits and words-the variety was beautiful.

"What're you looking for?" she asked.

"I don't know. What's your favorite?"

Her eyes got lost on the paintings. "I can't pick. That's like asking me to choose my favorite kid."

"Please?"

She loosened up, "how about this one?" A finger was pointed at the one in the middle.

A man stood on top of a cliff. Arms spread out, head held high-he was free. His back was visible, and the sky was black as the night. Only his body was painted in different shades of grey to white.

"What's his story?" I asked. Because behind anything she did, there was a meaning.

Zoey pulled her bangs away from her face, "he lost everything he loves. Heartbroken, he climbs to this cliff and shouts at the top of his lungs. I've always imagined that he'd say: you will never take me down, world!" she said.

"Good job, Hunter. You haven't lost your touch."

"What can I say, Forrest? I love what I do."

I picked it up, "I'll take it."

"Of course you will."

"You know, it wouldn't be a bad thing to be in this setting everyday."

Zoey's eyebrow rose, "what?"

"I like this place. I mean, if I could, I'd work here everyday."

Her expression was priceless. Her mouth dropped, closed and turned into a frown. "Yeah," she said, slowly, "if you could. But you can't and you shan't."

"It wouldn't be a bad idea," chipped in Jessie, concentrated on whatever was on her laptop. "Having two extra hands around here would help. Plus, he's fit. The amount of people coming in would go up like crazy. Ouh, Brooklyn Beckham is lookin' hella good. The things I'd do to him."

"You're onto this?" Zoey looked at her friend, with astonishment. "You want him to work here?"

"Think about it," said Jessie. "Three points: a, he brings in more people. B, he helps us. C, basically that's it."

I held up the painting higher, "I could deliver them to houses?"

"You want to-" she failed to stifle a laugh and began to laugh without stopping, "-be a mailboy, again? Are you kidding me?"

"No, I didn't hate it the first time," I stayed with a blank face, "it led me to meeting you."

"Forrest, first of all, do not be all charming and shit," she pointed a manicured finger in my face, "second of all, no. I've worked with you once and it messed up my life. You literally  destroyed the beginning of my senior year. Third of all, stop looking at me like that, would you?"

I never realized how much I'd missed her.

"Like what?"

"Like I'm-" she waved her hands around, failing to come up with an ending to her sentence.

"Beautiful?"

She puffed a breath and blinked, "I think you should go."

"What're you doing tonight?" I asked.

"Not you," whispered Jessie.

I glanced at her, but she was too busy hiding behind the screen. Zoey scolded her and looked back at me.

"Something."

"Okay, well, I'm working at Moon Café. Karaoke nights are on weekends. Come check it out, both of you," I said. "It's fun."

Zoey shook her head, "thanks, but no thanks."

"Just swing by, alright? And think about the job thing."

Considering my current life situation, juggling two jobs and university work could be impossible. But if she did hire me, it would give me the chance to gain her forgiveness.

I went to Jessie, nodded to her. I pulled out my wallet and gave the amount of the painting, plus an extra five pounds. She wrapped it up in dry, brown paper and plastic. Giving me the package, she winked.

"Don't come back," I heard Zoey cry out behind me.

I laughed, "I'll see you around, Hunter."

-

The coffee shop was full to an extent where small arguments erupted. I mended the arguments and attempted to get places for everyone, which was an impossible mission. Once the clock struck 8:30, the first guitar strums were heard. The routine was that the regular employee singers sang first, and then the night was free to the customers. Josette was on the stage, she was the opening act every time.

As always, she sang a Whitney Houston song. Tonight, it was I Have Nothing. "Share my life, take me for what I am. 'Cause I'll never change all my colors for you. Take my love, I'll never ask for too much. Just all that you are and everything that you do."

It was an understatement to say that her voice was powerful. It loaded all the holes and corners of the coffee shop. She sang for years, from lullabies to almost getting a record deal at sixteen. She was the pillars to Moon Café, holding it all together like glue.

The song was over sooner than I had realized. Adrian was by my side, patting my shoulder. Drumsticks in his hands, he ushered to the set on the modest stage. We were a duo, we had been for almost five years. He was the closest thing I had to a brother.

I plugged in my guitar and stood close to the mic. Adrian gave me a thumbs up, and I said: "Hello, Moon Café! Hope you're all doing great. If you aren't, we hope that our music makes your day better. We're going to sing-"

And at that precise moment, Zoey walked in, trailed by Jessie.

"If These Sheets Were The States, by All Time Low. This is for a girl I can't seem to forget," I said. I turned to Adrian, who stared at me with a baffled expression. This wasn't our original song choice. I covered the microphone with my hand and murmured, "do me a favor, please."

Adrian nodded and gave me a thumb up. I began strumming the beginning chords of the song, watching as Zoey's eyes narrowed. She nudged Jessie, who shushed her to listen.

I began to sing, letting myself get lost in the song. Every lyric hit home; I hadn't listened to this song in a long time. The picture, folded in my back pocket, felt present. We played every chord as if it was our last.

Once the song was over, we received more than the normal amount of applause. I smiled at the crowd and took a gulp of water. I gave Adrian a high five, before heading amidst the late night coffee drinkers and music lovers.

"Forrest," called out Zoey. She was dressed in a black blouse and dark skinny jeans. Her lips were of a pastel pink.

I went to her, "hey. You made it."

"You two are matching," snorted Jessie. At Zoey's deadly stare, she left to seductively chat with Elliot, one of the waiters. Little did she know that he was gay.

She sipped on her coffee cup, "nice song."

"Thanks. Do you know it?"

"A little," she bobbed her head, "it reminds me of someone."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He was somewhat chaotic and cathartic at the same time. But, apparently, he was also a thief."

She twisted the front of my shirt with one hand and shoved the other in the back of my pocket, also grabbing the picture I had. Stepping closer, she proceeded in making our noses almost touch. Was it chap-stick or lipstick she wore? Her smell was a mix of coffee and strawberries, which somehow suited her. If I leaned an inch closer, I would be kissing her. But I could never do that to James.

"If you ever, ever steal from me again, I will murder you." Her smile reminded me of too many sugar spoons.

"Big words, Hunter. I wonder if you'll ever act upon them."

Zoey let go of my shirt. "I want you out of my life. You broke my heart once, Forrest. There is no way in hell that I'm letting you come back in it."

"But you stole my heart once," I blurted, "The only thing is-you still have it and I want it back."

"Stole your heart, Forrest?" she burst into laughter so dry, you could sand rocks with it. "Don't bullshit me. I was nothing but a game to you, a summer fling you could toy around with. You lied to me a long time ago, made me love you and then told me that you didn't love me. You're an asshole, that's what you are. You can shove what you just said up your ass."

She threw the picture in my face, but it fell on the ground, "on second thought, keep it. I couldn't care less about it anyway."

"I'm sorry," I said. But it was too late; she was out of the shop. "I'm sorry."

There were a billion things I was sorry for. I was sorry for hurting her. For breaking her heart. For kissing her and seeing the stars. For letting go of her. For her hating my guts.

Most of all, I was sorry for still loving her.

-

not my best. but HEY THANKS FOR 500K VIEWS ON THIs.

questions of the update: what do you think of this Nico? do you trust this whole thing? what do you think of Zoey's reaction?

love, yas