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NOTE:
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1 2 | Until There Was You

Waverly seemed to find Jude in the most vulnerable states—always during the times where he felt ripped from his body. Nothing but a lingering soul. In a way, she grounded him and Jude never seemed to mind. Especially as she collected a seat next to him, forcing the beer in his direction. His hand was in too much pain to grab it. As if Waverly realized this, she placed it in his lap instead, and sighed as she leaned her head against the tree. Then, she turned back in Jude's direction.

Jude watched as his hand continued to bleed and bruise and burn under his touch. He was being careless, reckless even, when he decided to deal with his emotions another way, rather than talking about it. That was the thing, Jude knew if he talked about it everything would disperse and spill out like the blood drenching his knuckles. He wouldn't be able to hold it in.

"I thought you could use it," Waverly explained, gesturing to the beer in his lap that started to leave a mark on his pants. He looked down at it, then at his bloody hand where the bruising swelled and his hand burned. All feeling was gone. Completely numb. He wouldn't even be surprised if he found out he broke a few bones. Jude felt absolutely traumatized, and despite the dramatic approach he chose, it still didn't make the feeling of blame go away. Panic was all he could feel next to regret rushing to his face. Jude felt a light sensation ripping in his chest like rain against concrete splattered against the earth.

"What happened to you?" She wondered and at first Jude didn't want to say anything because he knew if he opened his mouth everything would spill out. He stared at the entrance of the house and fear crept up his neck like an eerie fear. Similar to the monsters he was afraid lived under his bed when he was younger. Waverly's eyes sparked with genuine concern; her gaze slid to his hand then back at him. She wanted an answer.

"I fucked up," he whispered out into the hoarseness of the quiet, his own quiet he would presume, and the one that surrounded him and Waverly so desperately. He looked at the parts of his hands that were calloused, damaged, and absolutely bloody, wondering how similar he resembled its reckless state. He wanted to believe his hand hurt more than the pain inside him, but it didn't. Not even the fact that he gave up the last bit of strength he had for his knees to buckle and land in the itchy, yet dying grass.

The tree bark suddenly felt like it had been digging imprints in the back of his skull at the center of his head. He felt the beer stain his pants with it's wetness more and more, and again he didn't care. It hadn't been important. What was important was the fact that he was going to be a father. It was his baby forming inside Beverly. His baby. Her baby. Their baby. A living fucking being brought into the world by the decisions of carelessness.

Maybe, he could turn it into his own form of hope. Raise the kid to be a better person than Jude ever was. Be a better parent than his own parents. Or it could be a form of destruction. Jude wondered if he would even be a good enough parent. Would he be too easy on him or her? Would he be too strict? All those worries dumped into his head spreading throughout his body. With those thoughts came so much more; different paths to his fate.

"Jude, what are you talking about? What happened?"

She was even more concerned now, turning to look at Jude with more worried eyes. His heart pounded in response, unmatched and wild. Irregular and fearful.

"Beverly's pregnant," he mumbled out. All it did was make it more true to himself. He was going to be a Dad.

"What?"

Jude didn't want to say it again because that sudden tug blasted through his body, making him wince in pain.

"Beverly's pregnant? How did you find out?"

"She told me," he responded, finally finding the strength to pick up the glass bottle. Instead of drinking it though, he pressed it against his fingers, allowing the cold to melt away and sink. He concentrated on the piece of nature that fell near his legs. Anything to distract himself.

"What are you going to do?" Waverly asked. Not even Jude had an answer for it. He had no idea what he was going to do for himself or Beverly. Would things change with Waverly? Would that mean going back to his old life to support the baby? There were too many plot holes and gaps, spaces of never ending questions. The ones no one really had the answer to.

"I don't know," he replied in a deep, far away voice. It was as far away as the satellites that swept the churning, midnight sky. The blues shriveled down on Jude and the moonlight danced in shadows alongside Waverly. It would have been the perfect scene if it hadn't been so discombobulated. "I don't understand where I went wrong. Waverly, I-I'm not ready to be a father."

When his voice cracked he knew it was over. The very walls he had built around himself crumbled and collapsed. He couldn't hold it in anymore. Jude knew what happened next was something he couldn't control. The tears came out like the uncertainty that gripped his shoulders as they shook. His head was in his hands again. He couldn't even imagine how Beverly must have been feeling. Was she considering an abortion? Keeping it? What would her parents think? His parents?

His face was soaked in tears. In the process, he hadn't even realized that he had been holding onto Waverly like life support, and she had been holding him back. Silently, Jude continued to cry while Waverly lingered and underneath him he could feel her heart lines, imprinted on the palm of her hand against him. In a way, it put him at ease.

He felt like a kid, and maybe he had been overreacting but there was so much on the line. The saddest part was Jude knew he didn't know how to really un-love Beverly Greyson, and now that she had been carrying his child it made things a million times harder. Finally, Jude stopped crying and the outermost rim of his eyes were stained red.

"You'll figure something out," she told him in a voice that wasn't like her. It brought comfort. Solace. Assurance. "And please stop crying, you're getting tears all over my shirt."

That was the Waverly he knew.

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Reentering the party wasn't on Jude's agenda. Really, he wanted to leave, but Waverly had to fetch Lincoln who had been lost somewhere in the sea of music and the people that made this party so alive, as Lincoln usually put it. He was their ride home after all. So, Jude waited by the exit in the living room, busying himself with his cellphone.

He tried not to draw too much attention to himself. Internally, he wondered if anyone had noticed the signs that he was crying in the first place, or saw through the cracks in the blinds Jude breaking down in Waverly's arms like the weak man he was. He still remembered the way the lights shadowed and fell around him as his crimson stained hand drowned itself in droplets. He still remembered that he was absolutely clueless when it came to what he would do next.

The smell was getting to him again, allowing his nose to scrunch up in disgust. Only for a moment he could recover, hiding his phone away at the sight of Waverly approaching with Lincoln's arm around her shoulders.

"A little help would be nice," she said through gritted teeth as Lincoln put his nose in her hair. He was definitely drunk if not surpassing the bar of tipsy. He was barely able to stand on his own two feet. Jude walked over to aid Waverly and took the task in his own hands. He led Lincoln outside with Waverly holding him up on the other side and they made their way down the road, several feet down where his truck sat. Lincoln groaned under his breath.

"Your hair smells like coconut oil," Lincoln blurted and Jude creased his eyebrows in confusion.

"It's argan oil," she corrected. Lincoln muttered a series of incoherent phrases, most of which neither of them understood. Waverly couldn't contain the smile on her face as she laughed at the dire circumstances.

"The fuck is wrong with this guy?" Waverly wondered. It looked as if the weight of his arm was weighing her down, and still he needed the keys out of Lincoln's back pocket. "Is he the sentimental drunk type?"

"I don't think so," Jude uttered, trying to reach with one hand to grab the keys out of Lincoln's back pocket. It was a weird position and Jude hoped that drunk Lincoln wouldn't make it weirder.

"Are you trying to touch my ass?" Lincoln questioned in a twisted slur. "At least take me out first, shit."

Some of Lincoln was still there. Just not all the way. He ignored Lincoln's words and retrieved the keys. Suddenly, the truck seemed further than Jude had concluded. Maybe, if they had come earlier there would have been a closer spot available.

They walked in the middle of the street, searching for the truck with Lincoln being a bothersome liability. Jude assumed that things could only get worse from there. He was always expecting the worse, and then images of Beverly formulated in his mind. Lincoln broke out in song with his crackled voice, scorching into the night like an echo. His alcohol breath singed the air as he sung the lyrics to a song he had played in his truck prior to their arrival. Over his scratchy, glass bottle voice Waverly said, "I never expected my first high school party to go like this."

Jude almost stopped walking, but didn't. "Like what?"

"It wasn't completely lame."

Jude didn't get to explain because they had finally found the vehicle. Jude helped Lincoln into the backseat. "Alright, Linc, I think that's enough singing for tonight."

"No! You just don't appreciate real talent," he snapped. Jude tried his best not to laugh, a true laugh. Lincoln had actually been serious, and Jude believed that if he really knew how bad he sounded he'd be cringing his eyes out. If he could hear himself right now he would deny it till the Earth was at its end. "I have the voice of a fucking angel."

Jude closed the door at that and turned to look at Waverly whose arms were crossed against her chest. Jude sighed and walked toward the driver's seat. He waited for Waverly to get in and then started the truck. While he was driving he couldn't stop thinking about what Beverly had said at the party—it would be the reason he wouldn't get any sleep that night. It was the wrong thing to be thinking about while he was driving. The only thing he should have been focused on was the road.

"Stop overthinking," Waverly said annoyingly when she caught Jude tapping his fingers against the steering wheel in anticipation. The radio wasn't turned on, so anyone could see that Jude was thinking of something. Waverly knew exactly what.

"I'm not," he responded, but wasn't sure who he was trying to convince. "I believe you still owe me a dare, Waverly."

She didn't say anything. Jude proceeded. There were no cars on the road. They sat at a bright, luminous red light. Jude contemplated for a bit until he figured out what he wanted her to do.

"I dare you to stick your head out the sunroof," he challenged and Waverly smiled. A smile brighter than Jude had ever seen. It actually met the corners of her confusing irises. He watched as she unsnapped her seat belt and touched the button on the roof. The sunroof undressed until the night sky was revealed, a blur of stories and dreams. She stood up and her head was now out of the car in the reality she was coexisting with. Jude could hear her wooing as he drove. He watched as her hair danced behind her and her arms raised up to touch the sky. The lights beamed across her face. Yellow. Red. Green. White. A spectrum of such. Lincoln groaned in the backseat.

"Close the window, it's cold."

Jude laughed to himself. Somehow this relaxed his mind for a moment, enjoying the sounds of the world and ignoring the works of the universe that continued to fuck him over each time. Waverly was out there for most of the ride until she finally stuck her head back in, closing the entrance afterwards. Jude spared a quick glance, then said, "Do you miss your father?"

That was her truth. Profound and heartbreaking and maybe she had been too afraid to admit it. Jude could see it in her eyes as they stilled on the window and her grin faded.

"False," she stated and there was no emotion staining her voice. Not even a slip up to know if she was lying; if she was lying Jude couldn't tell.

"Do you think things would have been different if your father was still there?"

"Hey, you asked your question. That's not how the game works," she responded, waving a finger in his direction.

"You have your version of it and I have mine," he shrugged, slowing down at a yellow, then red light. She groaned and let her head hit the head rest.

"I have dreams about it. Sometimes nightmares. Each time I think about it, there's always a different version of it. I wonder if I would still be the same, and that's what makes me realize I don't really know who I am, or who I should be, or who I'm supposed to be. I know I exist. Just like you and everyone else."

"That's really how you view life?" He questioned, dazzled by her logic of things.

"Why are you guys yelling?" Lincoln asked loudly and Jude ignored him. They were hardly talking above a whisper. Suddenly, Jude felt like a babysitter.

"I view life as temporary. Almost everything is. You have to do everything you can so you won't be forgotten. When that time comes and you can say that you were remembered for something, then that's your purpose. You mattered to someone. No one looks at the job you have. No one looks at how many friends you have, or the number of cars you own. It's pointless," she informed. It was like the philosophy of optimistic nihilism. Jude realized how captivating her words were, engraving an entire different perspective of life. What would Jude's purpose be? A great father? Great football player?

"My point is there's nothing that's infinite," she finalized, and to Jude it looked like she was recalling her own words.

"Not even the universe?" he whispered.

"Stars are in people, Jude, and not even they last forever."

Finally, Waverly's house was in sight and they were parked right outside of it. Waverly flashed an epiphany filled gaze ahead, and Jude wished they could talk forever about all the things Jude never really paid any mind to. He remembered before all of this how his only worries were getting a good ACT score, stressing over exams, and being the best on the football field.

There was always more to what he believed in, and tonight after discovering what he had, he realized he wanted to matter too. He wanted to live. Not in the way that meant popularity, but in the way Waverly had explained. He wanted to not let his parent's control his life. He wanted to be a good father, and maybe that was what he would be remembered by. Because leaving your mark didn't necessarily mean being reckless, or being extraordinary, or even famous, but it meant living for yourself

"You are something else, Waverly Clarke," he said.

"That I am," she responded and left the vehicle giving Jude a little wink before leaving. Still, she had his jacket. At this point Jude didn't care. He watched as she disappeared into the house and almost forgot that Lincoln was in the backseat. He realized belatedly that he couldn't drop Lincoln off when he'd wake up with a hangover. Jude knew how strict Lincoln's father was when it came to those types of things, so Jude drove home and helped Lincoln inside his house. Lincoln muttered several incoherent things under his breath as Jude helped him onto the sofa and went to retrieve a blanket.

"You're gonna thank me in the morning," Jude said to Lincoln, then he snuck upstairs to his room and checked his phone. He stared back at it and saw that he had no notifications tonight, except that he got tagged in a picture with a bunch of the football guys. The caption read that Jude was the real MVP tonight. Waverly was in the picture too, holding the beer in her hands and standing next to Jude. In the picture one of the guy's put bunny ears over Waverly's head and Jude wasn't even sure if she noticed. Jude didn't even recall taking the picture, but he did remember that counter top. The very one he had stood on.

After that Jude turned his phone off and put it at his bedside. He sat near his window, staring down at the emptiness with one hand tangled in his hair—the one that wasn't dried and pinging. Jude knew he wasn't going to get any sleep after such a chaotic night. He could already feel the bags forming under his eyes like crescents of the moon, and he felt warmth hollow out of his cheeks as he sighed and continued to stare and stare and stare.

He was going to be a father and had no idea what the first step was in doing so—being there for Beverly, maybe. So, without thinking he decided to call her. The phone rang four times before someone picked it up on the other end.

"Hello?" The voice said and it sounded nothing like Beverly. More like Bridget.

"Is Beverly there?" Jude asked. He could feel the nervousness of his question rising in his throat. Why was he nervous? And why did Bridget have her phone?

"She's busy right now, and I'm pretty sure she doesn't want to talk to you," Bridget spat. Jude could really feel the love.

"Can you tell her I called?" he asked with as much politeness as he could.

"No, I can't," she responded and Jude was at the end of his wits with this chick. He didn't understand why she hated him so much when it should have been the other way around. Her logic was confusing and her actions were inappropriate.

"Why is it that you hate me so much, Bridget?" he questioned and he swore he heard the phone shift on the other end for a moment. She didn't respond and instead hung up, letting the ringing of the call kiss Jude's ears.

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TO BE CONTINUED

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