#jay mehta

You don’t want Jay around wildlife, he’d definitely try and fight a wolf.

“We need the money.” You scoff, taking a few steps out into your living room. He steps so lightly, but you can still feel him as he follows you. 

“I’ve got a job, are you serious?” It wasn’t great, but money is money, especially in times like these. 

In a way you were angry, so deeply angry, that the customers you had to interact with just . . . didn’t care. They didn’t care if you lived or died and you felt the same. 

You’d done everything right. You’d worked your ass off in school, you’d gotten the degree, but your research program had been the first to go when the Pandemic hit. 

“We need the money, you’re in danger every single day.” His voice is low, eyes half shut, like he was trying to convince himself. It was like he knew he was being impractical, but he didn’t want to be.

You were familiar with that feeling. 

“I can pay for food and this apartment, we're fine.” You know he’s bored, he’s restless, and you can’t do anything to help him, to get him some relief. He’s been stewing for weeks, for what? 

“We need more.” You place your hands on his. You were going to beg if you had to. He tenses into your touch and your blood goes cold. 

“Is there anything I can say to make you stay?” Jay stares down at your hands for a moment, hardening his gaze before he looks back up at you. 

You’re finished, you quickly drop your grip on him.

“Be safe.” Your heart suddenly decides to try and escape your chest, but you keep it together until he steps out the door. No kiss goodbye, nothing. You knew you were going to regret him, but not like this. 

You have to lay down on your living room floor, your back cracks as the tension of the conflict is released. Sometimes laying on the floor makes things seem clearer, but not today. 

You’re terrified. 

COVID-19. You’d read everything that you could, you’d made the biggest effort to stay off social media, and you’d gotten a routine trying to keep Jay safe. 

You come home from work, boil yourself in the shower, and come out for dinner. 

Things had stagnated though, you know what he does for work. He’d gone on about three jobs in your past six months together, and he’d always seemed slightly different whenever he’d come back. 

He wants to leave again, and you realize how much he needs it. 

Maybe he doesn’t know how to do anything else. 

You take a deep breath, trying to get your vision to focus. The whole concept of the two of you was ridiculous. He’d die in a crappy motel, and not be able to contact you. He might get to a hospital and be turned away, what if he gets a bed and they can’t even find his real name, you don’t even know his name. 

You’re not his emergency contact, you’ve got nothing.

The carpet you’d thrown yourself down on was soft, a dark maroon, soft, setting off your furniture’s dark varnish. 

You’d never noticed it before. It caught the dying sunlight, once warm, now felt cold. You had no idea where it had come from, or how long the rug had been in the apartment. 

Maybe Jay had bought it, he seemed to make a habit of buying home décor. 

You’d noticed the lamp he’d put in your bedroom immediately, but he’d deflected when you complimented the design. 

Maybe the thought made you cry.

 You cry.

You cry a lot. Probably until you passed out. 

It was suddenly a few hours later. It must have been, the sky was the blackish-grey you could only find past 7pm. Jay must have left around five. 

There’s a knock at the door, 

You have to move, right? You can’t just ignore it. 

Slowly, you shuffle over to open the flimsy door. 

It’s Jay, he’s here. He seems like he’s two dimensional, tired. You don’t know what to think. 

You never seem to know what to think anymore. 

“Back already?” You ask quietly, taking him in. you must look hideous, but he somehow looks even worse, a daring feat for someone so handsome. 

“I didn’t get out of the driveway.” Jay’s voice is low, rasping. He’s got his jacket on, boots lace tight, and backpack half-open. His eyes look red, like he’d been rubbing them too hard.  

“Are you staying?”  You may not want to know the answer, but you ask the question anyway.