When dinner arrived we sat at the coffee table on the living floor, kneeling over plates, eating our food. It was a strange feeling. I enjoyed eating while she was in my company. Instead of just eating out of necessity, I found myself eating to enjoy the meal. We talked and had a few jokes. She opened up to me just a little by telling me more about her medical condition after I had told her about mine. I shared with her some idle gossip that I’d heard on the circuit and we both laughed over the things that the filthy journalists had been writing about me in the recent news.

It was so casual and she was more fun than she gave herself credit for. I loved her wit so much, and I found it to be one of the most attractive things about her. I loved that I didn’t need to be so correct around her, I was allowed to make fun of who I wanted without having to feel my conscience beating me down for it.

The conversation began to turn serious when she began speaking more about her father. “He and I sat today and talked for a few hours… I love my Dad; he’s always been there for me through everything. Family is so important, don’t you think?” She asked.

I was watching her eat. She stopped occasionally to tuck her hair behind her ear; it became an unfailing habit. Her hair was at all different lengths, the first length just slightly too short to pull back unless she wanted a high ponytail. I hadn’t seen her hair off her face before, and it got in the way of letting me see her beautiful eyes.

You know, I hated it when I took women out on dates and they would take a few bites and claim to be full, as if I actually gave a damn that they had an appetite. Not Jade though, she was eating really well, and I liked to see a woman enjoying her food because it made me feel more secure about enjoying my own.

“I think family is important.” I responded, taking a forkful of the Mexican rice. “I can’t wait to have my own family.” I added. I took another forkful so that I couldn’t say anything more.

Jade watched me pushing the food around with my fork. “Do you get along well with your mother and father?” She wondered.

I swallowed what I was chewing and wondered if I should just be directly honest or if I should keep it all polite. “I get along with my Mother. My Dad….” I shook my hand as if to show her it was a little here and there. I suddenly had her full attention. I noticed that she didn’t have any problems asking me personal questions this time around, every other time she had hesitated, or ignored opportunities to get me to elaborate on things, forcing me to think up other topics of conversation.

She was really making an effort this time and I loved that.

“How come you don’t get along?” She wondered.

I half-shrugged. It’s not like I didn’t know why, I did know why. I just wasn’t sure if I could condense it in to a mealtime conversation. “I guess we view the world with very different eyes.” It was a half-truth. I would give her more information later. I didn’t want to spoil my appetite with thoughts of my father.

“Tell me more about your parents…” I requested. I did want to know more. I loved learning about how other people my age lived their childhood’s, it was always so much more fun than my own. I had to live vicariously through someone didn’t I? “Did you live with your Dad or your Mom?”

Part of me just loved the sound of her voice and the way that she told stories. She was funny and articulate and intelligent and sometimes brutal, but that just made it all the more interesting.

“I mostly lived with my Mom, but I had a room at my Dad’s house and about a week a month there and most weekends.” She explained, “My Mom was more co-dependant than my Dad, so he didn’t mind much. He could see me whenever he wanted to, there were never any issues like that.”

I wondered how it must have felt to have parents that were divorced, still like each other. Hell, my parents were still married and it was blindly obvious that they couldn’t stand a bar of one another.

“You know, I only went to school for three years before we were yanked out to be pop stars.” I informed her. She rose her eyebrows in surprise.

“Are you serious? Did you finish school?”

I nodded, “Sure I studied on tour and got my High School Diploma but it would have been nice to go to regular school like everyone else.”

Jade scoffed, “Seriously, school is highly overrated.”

“Did you go to college?” I asked.

“Yeah, but I dropped out about 8 months before finishing.” She admitted as she decided she’d eaten enough and placed her fork down. She sank back on to the carpet and watched me. I was more interested in how she could have dropped out so close to finishing than I was in eating.

“Why did you do that?” I asked. To me, education was one of the most important things in life. I couldn’t believe she could just toss it aside.

“I had my reasons. It wasn’t a great year for me, and I was doing particularly badly anyway.” She answered.

I guessed she didn’t want to elaborate, and that was okay. “What about in school, I bet you were one of the A-list girls.” I told her with a smile, intending it to be a genuine compliment but she looked at me with repulsion.

“No way, I stayed right away from that tacky shit.”

I almost laughed, and would have if she weren’t so serious. “Really?”

Jade gave a cynical laugh and nodded as if she was thinking about her school days. “I was a complete loner all the way up to middle school, and then I started making friends through a boyfriend, but I never really knew them very well.”

I was surprised that she mentioned a boyfriend, especially in high school, that was kind of young. “Seriously? How come you were such a loner?” I asked. I’d had enough of my meal too. I put down my fork and took a sip of my coke.

She shrugged and frowned a little as she stared down at the remnants of her enchilada. “I guess I was a bit of a geeky kid. I liked to read all the time and the other kids thought I was weird and didn’t want to play with me.” She mockingly pouted, but hid a smirk. I don’t know why she found it so amusing; I found it to be heartbreaking. I remembered being singled out at school because I was the nice kid and all the others took advantage of that.

“Kids can be pretty cruel huh?” I asked, thinking about my own experiences. “But their behavior is just a reflection of their parents.” I added. I had kids all worked out. I knew the way they acted was always just because of their parents, their upbringing and so forth.

“They sure can be.” She agreed. She gave a stretch. “What do you remember about your school experiences?” She wondered, she had a great knack for steering the attention away from herself, and finding ways for me to tell her things. She would have made an awesome reporter. She was great to talk to.

I felt myself smiling. Having school lessons were fond memories, and even though there were some bitter feelings about being singled out, I still got to enjoy it and I had plenty of friends. “School was fun. I loved my teachers so much. I loved doing the work…We were doing gigs that early on, and I used to take my pocket money and buy candy for all my friends…”

Jade was grinning, “That is so cute, and so giving…Man, I hoarded all the candy I got, no one was gonna take any of that from my mouth.” She added with a laugh.

I laughed with her. “I made a lot of money for someone my age, so I didn’t mind sharing my wealth.”

“Did you ever get picked on for being famous?” She asked curiously.

“No… not really, I was too young, I wasn’t really that famous while I was at school anyway. My brother’s got a fair bit of trouble, but they also reaped all the hot girls, which was where it all stemmed from.” I laughed, thinking of all the various dates my brothers were all sneaking out to.

We talked for awhile longer at the coffee table before we cleared away our plates. Jade was adamant about washing the dishes and making sure all the mess was settled before we went back to the living room, I couldn’t convince her that I would clean it up myself later.

We sat on the couch together. I was going to offer to put on the television or ask if she wanted to watch a movie, but she seemed to be content just talking with me. She was explaining about how her friends had tried to pull her in to a cheap liquor party, but she preferred to have a quiet night in with me, sharing dinner. I smiled lightly at her. I knew it was a big compliment, and I was pleased.

“You don’t really go to any of those parties, do you?” I wondered.

She laughed with disbelief at the mere notion of it. “Are you kidding? I’d rather spend the night giving myself paper cuts on my eyeballs.”

I cracked up, but also winced at the same time. The thought of getting a paper slit in my eye was a painful one, but it was also random and hilarious. She laughed too, knowing damn well that she was pretty funny and brutally honest.

“Well, I’m glad you agreed to have dinner with me.” I said, after I had calmed down.

“Me too.” She agreed, turning her head to face me. We were both slouched back in to the two-seater couch. I had an urge to take her hand, but I went with my better judgment. My eyes fell over her shoulders, I reminded myself of how much I loved them. They were so perfect and straight and her part of me found myself wanting to just kiss her softly on her collarbone.

I had to get my thoughts away from that. Her shirt was cut so that I could see her upper arms and her shoulder blade on the left of her body. I noticed a deep scar that peeked out only just from the top of her shirt. It looked like it could have been a large one. I didn’t say anything and tried to puzzle together what it could have been from.

“So how come you moved out of your parent’s house?” She asked me. I was a little bit unprepared for that question, and my mind was still searching for answers about her. I decided that I should be honest, as it would be the only way that she would be open with me.

“I hate my father.” I said simply.

She widened her eyes; “Did he make you move out?”

I almost laughed. I didn’t want to brag, and I certainly would never tell her or else it would seem as though I was. The truth was, I owned most of the house that my family lived in. I paid for so much of it, and continued to pay for more whenever they asked. I maintained it’s upkeep and gave money to my mother whenever anyone in the family asked for it. I didn’t begrudge it, though. Despite my father, and the habits of everyone that I didn’t always agree with, I loved them and wanted them to live as well as I was.

“No, not at all. I just decided that it was time to. I’m almost 26, it’s a bit old to be living at home, and I’d prefer to not have to see him.”

“What makes you hate him? Maybe you just don’t understand each other…” She paused and glanced in to my eyes as if trying to read what I was feeling. Her eyes were a brilliant green color, they always sparkled and when she wore green eye shadow as she had been, they looked stunning. “There was a time when my parents and I didn’t even really have a relationship… and it was just a phase.”

I liked her idealism. “It’s not a phase at all. It’s my Dad being an abusive jerk.” I blurted out. “I don’t like him, and I can’t be around him, not after everything he has done to our family.”

I could tell Jade was curious and part of me was insisting within me that I had said enough. Her eyes burned in to mine, and it made me feel a little unsettled because I knew I was saying far too much. I spoke for the first time in front of her with anger and vehemence and I knew immediately that she had held on to everything I said, and was processing it.

“Abusive how so?” She wondered, “You don’t have to go in to it if you don’t want to…” She added. And when she added that, I knew I wanted to say more, because I felt like I could trust her and it was the first time I’d ever really had the desire to tell anyone about it.

“He beat my brother’s and I all through our childhood and he used to cheat on my Mom all the time.” I filled her in honestly. I knew I had said it all with such bitterness, and I avoided her eyes. There was a certain sense of shame filling me, since I knew that it could have been stopped.

“I’m sorry Michael…” She replied in a tight, voice as if she was trying hard to breathe. I saw her swallow hard.

I shrugged, “It’s over now, I don’t live there.” I replied. “I just can’t look at him without feeling all of those memories coming back to me. He used to knock us down so hard that the wind would be blown out of us.” I regressed.

I felt her soft hands for the first time touching my wrist. I knew it wasn’t much, but to her it was probably a big step. “Did you ever try to stand up to him?” She asked.

I felt embarrassed that maybe she thought that there was something I could have done to prevent his beatings, but she didn’t know him. “Once.” I replied. “I threatened him and said if he ever hit me again I wouldn’t sing.”

“What did he do?” She wanted to know.

I kind of smirked, even though there was nothing at all amusing about it, but it soon dropped as I released the words, “It was the hardest beating I ever took. The belt came out and all.”

“Didn’t anyone ever notice?” She asked in such a soft voice. I dared myself to look at her and saw that her eyes were glassy. I felt terrible for turning the conversation in to something so somber when I was doing great now.

“No.” I shook my head. I felt her hand slip in to mine subtly. She gave my hand a little squeeze. I took the opportunity to curl my fingers through hers until we held hands. I wondered why she had turned so warm toward me. “But … Jade, we don’t have to talk about this.”

She ignored it. “What did your Mom do?” She asked, “I mean, she had to have known your Dad was beating you so much. Did he leave marks?”

“Girl, I still got a few little scars…” I confessed. “My Mom knew, of course, but she was too scared to do anything and I don’t blame her, my Father is still pretty damn scary to this day. He unsettles me when I’m around him.”

I noticed a tear falling from her eye that she quickly wiped away. “What’s the matter?” I asked with a smile, trying to lighten the mood, “I’m okay now…” I assured her. I didn’t want her to think I was still suffering over it.

“My Mom knew about it too, and she didn’t do anything…” Her voice trailed off. “I never told her but I know she knew deep down…”

“Knew what?” I asked. “Your Father beat you as well?” It didn’t make a lot of sense since she said she got along so well with him, unless it had all been a lie.

She shook her head. “My ex-boyfriend.”

Everything seemed to connect together for me. “He’s the one who hurt you….” I remarked out loud as if the puzzle fit together.

She wiped her eyes and made it clear she didn’t really want to talk about it. “I don’t talk about it. It’s better left forgotten.” She added. “It’s easier for me to move on, that way.”

“How can you move on when you haven’t dealt with something?” I questioned her. I knew she hadn’t moved on, if she had, she wouldn’t fear me as much as she seemed to. At that moment, she pulled her hand from mine. I knew our intimate and honest moment together was finished. That was okay, though. At least a few more things were starting to fit together.

She gave a shrug. I felt her stiffen beside me. “It’s just the way I deal with some things.”

I was at a loss for what to say. I wanted to know about what had happened with her ex. I wanted her to share her stories with me and be open and honest so I could understand and be there for her and gain her trust, not because I was nosey. I reached for her hand and took it again, and even though she went to flinch from my grasp, I didn’t let go. I wanted her to know that I had her back. Her eyes still remained glassy as silence passed through us like a cool breeze.

“How long were you with him?” I asked, ignoring the fact that she had made it clear that she didn’t want to talk about it. I hoped she’d open up even just a bit more.

“I guess since I was about fifteen—“ She paused and pondered her time with him. She shrugged, “The last time I seen him was right after my twenty first birthday.” Her voice was hoarse, almost a whisper, but with a monotone that I wasn’t used to hearing from her.

I was shocked that she had been with someone for so long. “Was he always abusive?” I asked. I felt horrified and prayed that her answer would be no. I could tell by her stone exterior that the abuse had been pretty bad. From the moment the details escaped her mouth, it was as though she had turned in to a shell. It was as if the Jade that I’d just spent the past three hours with didn’t exist. She was a different person.

She shook her head. She looked directly ahead, focusing her eyes on the wall. “For three years.” She supplied. I spied the scar on her back and wondered if it were any relation. My eyes studied her, I wanted to ask so many things but it was clear she didn’t like going back to that place, her way of dealing with it was to block it out.

“Jade, if you don’t want to talk about it, we can talk about something else. But I am always here for you to talk to if you feel-“

“I was such a stupid, stupid naïve moron.” She scolded herself. She hung her head, and looked down at skirt. It was almost as if she were talking to herself. “I just kept believing that he would change back to the way he was when I met him. I kept thinking that it was my fault, just as he drummed it in to me.”

“But it was never your fault.” I said, gently, noticing the tears welling in her eyes. She looked in to my eyes and I saw a flood of emotion that I never, ever thought Jade would show me, not at this point in time. There was so much hurt in her eyes, so many wounds that just imprinted my heart and made me want to cuddle her so close to me.

“I wanted my Mom or my Dad’s help so much, and I knew my Mom could see what was going on, Michael, but she never, ever did anything. I couldn’t ask for it and I tried to block her out, but she didn’t help me and I try not to hold it against her and she tries not to hold it against herself – but it’s so hard.”

I didn’t care if she was about to flip out based on my actions. I put an arm around her shoulder and I pulled her inward toward me. “I know, Jade… I understand.” I assured her. It was true, I did understand. Sometimes I had questions that clouded my mind too, such as why our Mother didn’t just pull us away from my father, but I guess she wanted to pretend it didn’t occur, possibly the way that her mother did.

She felt awkward in my arms. I knew my attempts at comforting her were probably making her feel a bit uncomfortable. I was even surprised that she had let me put my arm around her. I knew she felt silly for unloading just like that, but I didn’t mind at all. I didn’t want to make a big fuss over her tears, nor did I want to coddle her and make her feel any more embarrassed or feel as though I was put out. “Sometimes I used to look at the world through such bitter eyes.” I informed her, “But there’s also a lot of amazing people in this world—there’s a lot of goodness and kindness, you know? It’s just that sometimes we have to meet a lot of jerks to get to something great.”

She sniffed. “People make me feel claustrophobic. I’m scared of putting myself in any situation that could lead to me being as stupid as I was back then.” She admitted. I knew it had been something like that.

“I understand that.” I replied. “But you’re not like that with me…”

She managed a half-laugh and half-sniff. She wiped her wet eyes and apologized for crying. I just shook my head and smiled. “You don’t have to be sorry.” I assured her.

That was pretty much the end of the conversation. She immediately changed the subject, but I could tell it was still on her mind for the rest of the night.