LoveandLogic
Refugee
So here it is, folks, the very last chapter of the journey. Thank you to all the readers who have followed Jessica and Bono on this very long, heartbreaking and loving trail! You're all amazing! 
x a million!Disclaimer:...really?
Epilogue
Your voice is adrift
I can't expect it to sing to me
As if I was the only one
I'll follow you
The leaf that's following the sun
When will my weight be too much for you?
When will these ideas really be my own?
Cause this moment keeps on moving
We were never meant to hold on
This was a scene worth waking up for
When I woke up
You planted me in my own body
Don't know why
But somehow it just feels so wrong
When you're sad I will be lonely
But when you rise again I'll become the sun
I will shine down upon you
As if you were the only one
Your voice is your own, I can't protect it
You'll have to sing
A verse no one has ever known
Don't be afraid
Cause no one ever sings alone
Your weight will never be too much for me
Your ideas have always been your own
And this moment keeps on moving
We were never meant to hold on
The first night I stayed in my old room, it was impossible to sleep. In comparison to the city, the country side was annoyingly too quiet, too serene for my comfort. Already I missed the shimmering lights, the honking of cars and the big screens of Times Square. Restless, depressed, city-sick, I tip-toed through the empty house like a sleepwalker, pausing occasionally when something brought back a memory: the fireplace where I almost made love to Bono when I was eighteen, the kitchen table where we would drink and laugh. Then there was the basement in which I avoided at all possible costs. Now and again I would fight with my myself, putting my hand on the doorknob, letting go, grabbing it again.
It was too soon.
Like a thief, I stealthy climbed up the stairs, taking a right instead of a left towards the guest room. Pressing my hand against the door, I rested my cheek on the cold wood, closing my eyes and exhaling. Did he really ever sleep in this room? Did we ever really love and kiss and laugh and cry? Or was it all a dream? More than anything did I wish it was all a dream. Dreams faded in minutes, reality stuck with you for the rest of your breathing life. .
Opening the door slowly, a scent blew into my face, a scent I knew all too well, a scent that told me, Yes, all this happened, he was really there, in your arms, on your lips. Flicking on the light, I had almost expected to see Bono lounging on the the queen sized bed, one leg angled, the other flat on the mattress. An image of him dressed in blue jeans and a black button up shirt played through my mind like an acid flashback. Nonetheless, it was all my imagination, the bed was made perfectly with black sheets and a white quilt, undisturbed. His musk, his cologne lingering through the room, was that all in my head? Was I really going insane?
No. The familiar black bottle of expensive French cologne sat on the dresser, along with his shaving cream and shampoo. With a chuckle, I shook my head with amusement. The man always forgot one thing or another whenever we went somewhere. Facing the foot of the bed, I wanted to cry but there were no more tears to shed. My river of sorrow ran dry. All I could do was stare blankly, thoughtlessly, left with a broken heart and an empty, dark tunnel in my soul.
Crawling into the bed, his scent surrounded me like an intoxicating drug. Dizzy, sleep-deprived and lonely, I curled like a fetus and felt as though I were a child all over again. Thoughts of him tortured my mind, following, like demons, into my subconsciousness.
Many nights began and ended like that for a straight year and half. Everyday I missed him more and more and his letters never went unread, remaining on my nightstand until I couldn't bear to look at them any longer. Yet no matter where I hid them--the closet, under the bed, even under the bathroom sink--they always found their way back to me. Silly of me, but I'd like to think that it was Bono's way of not letting go, always wanting to be near me in my rare moments of peacefulness. Eventually the nightmares stopped and I made mom throw out the cologne and shaving cream, not having any shroud of sanity left to be in the same house as them.
It took me forever to get back on track. For days I laid in bed, unable to sleep or eat or even look at my cameras. I had no motivation to do anything whatsoever, even though Mom pressured me to go to the grocery store or to family gatherings. It's not that I didn't want to be around my mom, I just didn't want to see the tabloids and magazines at the check out stands. I know that Bono and I were still the talk of the press and my mind just couldn't handle seeing news of Bono's possible wedding. Although, out of pure amusement for my mother's sake, I would drag my sorry ass out of bed and go wherever she took me, zombie like and only the shell of a woman. People would talk to me, try to make me laugh only to give up when I didn't respond.
Still, time moves on whether I welcomed it or not. Edge kept to his promise and he would call me every night, not caring how busy or tired he was. And, also like he promised, Bono would never be the topic of conversation. Every now and then his name would be on the tip of my tongue, just burning to escape. Willpower always won, nonetheless. Edge would always chime in at the right moments, his enthusiastic voice excitedly providing me news of their album All That You Can't Leave Behind and of their Elevation Tour. When they reached Cleveland, Edge, Adam and Larry wanted to stop by for a visit but it was impossible. Bono would catch on and none of us wanted to take that chance. Knowing that they were so close and yet so faraway hurt like a knife.
After so long, I returned back to a normal enough state. I was photographing again, developing my own black and white's in the old darkroom of the basement. At first I couldn't stay in the room for more than a few minutes at a time. Alan and Mom took the pictures of the band off the clothesline for me and hid them so that I didn't go more mental than I already was. Money was not an issue for me due to the funds of my exhibit and the selling of my work. Click, the company Brooke got me a job at in NYC, sent pictures for editing and a good chunk of cash landed in my bank account from those. Life was actually pretty good. I was conversing again, going out to movies with friends and enjoying family reunions. Many men asked me out on dates but I always turned them down, not only because of Bono but because I didn't have time for it.
Three years passed by like a blink of an eye. Three years without the city, without Brooke, without the Edge...without Bono. Another summer turned into a beautiful, Ohio fall season and I sat on the front porch, sipping a cup of coffee, watching as the leaves fell to the ground in a whirl of red's, yellow's and oranges. Corn fields, which were once vibrant green and in bloom, turned into dry stalks of dead brown. Autumn in Ohio had the best smell: crunched up leaves, dirt and fresh, plump pumpkins. How I lived without it I'll never know.
Mom sat down beside me and stole a cigarette from my pack and I copied, lighting one up for myself. Silent for a moment, she ended the silence with a very motherly-concerning tone.
"So, you've been away from the city for three years now."
I looked at her. "And?"
"And I'm just kind of wondering why you never go back."
"I don't know," I shrugged. "I'm comfortable here. Do you want me to go back?"
"Not necessarily. I'm just...concerned is all." She said, hitting her cigarette.
Dumbfounded, I sat up straighter in my seat and waited for her to continue. When she didn't, I pressed on. "Mom, what are you getting at exactly?"
"What I'm saying," She said sternly. "Is that you're twenty-six years old and living with your parents. Not that I don't love you. I do. And I love having you around but I can't just sit back and watch you waster your life away."
"I'm not wasting my life!" Defending myself, I shrieked. "I still work, I make great money."
"I'm not talking about your career, sweetie, I'm talking on behalf of your personal life. Ever since you and Bono split you haven't been on one single date. Not one!"
"Mom, I don't want to talk about this." I groaned.
"It needs to be talked about! You really want to spend the rest of your life alone? You have a lot to offer to someone! You're whole life you always talked about getting married and starting a family and you're not even one step closer to that! You have to move on, Jessie. I understand that you loved him and that it's hard to let go but you need to. Three years is long enough. Go back to New York, go back to your city. I know you miss it and I know it misses you."
Calming and fighting back the tears, I said seriously. "I don't know if I'm ready to go back. It's so hard to think about living in the city again."
"Sweetheart," Mom took my hand. "You can't hide forever. Ohio is not the place for you. You're childhood is here, yes. But your adult hood is just begging to be in New York. Just try it. Go back for a month or so and if it doesn't work then move back here. You have to at least try. If you don't, you'll regret it."
Needless to say, a few days later I packed up once again and, now, here I was, two months later, surrounded by the many busy feet of NYC. Mom was right, as mother's often are. The city was calling me back and welcomed me with open arms. Winter was settling and small flakes of snow fell from the gray, smoky sky. Brooke invited me into her home and it felt like we were starting college all over again, enclosed in an apartment, sharing the same bathroom. Only difference was, this time we had our own room and a decent amount of space for privacy. Edge was in Dublin to my deep despair but he told me he would visit me in the a month or so.
Quitting Click, Brooke and I started our own business in Times Square called Independent Photography. We had our own line of employees, unique photographers from all over the world. The company took off quick and famously, our clients ranging from super models, actress's, actors, directors and musicians. We did weddings, family portraits and senior photos as well at a decent cost. And, most importantly, I had my very own fully equipped darkroom.
Life. Was. Perfect.
Getting my regular cup of coffee at the usual Starbucks Cafe, I found a seat in the corner of the restaurant, away from the cluster of poets, writers and businessmen on laptops or reading books, to review a bible-thick pile of photo's. This was the worst thing about owning your own business--being the boss, making deadlines, discarding people's hard work into the "Denied" pile. There was never anymore time for play or partying. Which was good, for me, because it took my mind off things, kept me busy and motivated. After all, I worked hard for this. This is what I always dreamed of and I finally had it.
Grunting annoyingly, sifting through the endless amounts of photographs, resting the side of my hand in my palm, something distracted my concentration. Across the table stood a man in a black leather jacket and...blue...sunglasses....Easing my head up ever so slowly, my heart stopped in my chest, taking the very breath out of me.
"Jessica?" Asked a low, thick Irish accent I knew all too well.
Standing up on wobbly legs, a large smile spread across my face. "Bono? Oh my, God, look at you! You look amazing!"
"Me? Look at you!" He waved his hands up and down. "All business like and professional!"
"Some of us have to give up the rock star life sometime."I joked, revealing a laugh out of him and he roped me into a bone-crushing hug.
My heart found it's rapid beat again, fluttering at the very touch of the man against me, the leather of his suit strong, overpowering the aroma of coffee. Pulling back, our eyes met for only a brief second and I cleared my throat nervously.
"Sit, sit!" I invited and he sat across from me at the table.
How strange, I thought. This was the exact cafe where we saw each other for the first time in six years, where we departed three and a half months later and now we were here, for the third time, face to face. What did all this mean? Was Edge up to something? Did he tell Bono that I was back in New York?
"So how have you been?" Bono asked, interrupting my thoughts.
My back stiffened. "Great, actually! I went back to Ohio for a few years, worked from home. I just moved back to the city two months ago actually."
"Really? You really went back to Ohio for three years?"
I nodded and chuckled. "Yeah. I had to get away. But three years away was enough for me. Brooke and I have our own business now a-"
"Yeah," He intruded again. "Larry was telling me about it. That's amazing! You did all of that in two months?"
I hadn't thought about it in that way. I guess it was impressive...
"Yep! Found a large building, fixed it up, hired some great photographers. It's going really well! We make good money and have enough clients to last us years. Enough about me, how are you?"
Bono shrugged. "Good. Just bought an apartment near Central Park last week so I've been setting that up. Our tour ended last year and now we're working on another album. Er, my old man died last year, too. Cancer."
As soon as the news left his mouth, guilt coursed through my veins. Edge never told me about the passing of Bono's father. That bit he could have informed me. No matter the circumstances, the passing of a parent is never an easy one. Finding Bono's hand, I squeezed his fingers.
"I'm so sorry," I cooed. "That's horrible."
He smiled weakly. "Thank you. And yes, it's quite unfortunate. 2001 was a rough year for me. I'm glad the album and the tour took off like it did but personal wise, my year could have been better."
I didn't want to ask, but I had to. "How are you and Olivia?"
Taken aback, Bono laughed loudly. "Do you ever read the papers?" I shook my head and he asked. "Television?"
"Not often." I admitted. "Why? What happened?"
"We got married in November of 2000, a month after the release of the album. Let's just say the marriage didn't last long. Things were ok for awhile, to say the least. Decent enough. She cheated on me, divorced me for some English Calvin Kline underwear model."
"Oh...fuck. I feel so stupid. She really had me fooled."
"Yes she did." Bono agreed. "She never really loved me, Jess. I knew it all along."
My voice was at a near whisper. "Then why did you marry her?"
Glaring up at me from behind his blue shades, Bono twitched his lips. "Because you told me to. It's what you wanted me to do."
Speechless beyond reasoning, I shifted my eyes to the table, avoiding Bono's face as best as I could, which was almost impossible. He's never looked better in his leather jacket, sky blue shades and shoulder length hair. How sorry did I feel now for letting him go, for never being there when his father passed, for allowing him to marry someone who would only let him down. I know how he felt about divorce and for him to go through it made me feel like the worst type of human there was.
Not feeling worthy of his presence, I gathered my stuff together, threw my coat on and wrapped my scarf around my neck. Standing up, I said in a rush. "I have to get back to work. It was nice seeing you again."
Leaving Bono with a shocked look on his handsome features and dashing out the door into the cold, winter New York City air, I walked as fast as my feet could carry me down the block. Not more than a minute later, I was being grabbed by the arm and I stopped, knowing well who was behind me.
His breath was hot on my ear. "Don't walk away this time. For the love of God do NOT walk away from us! Look at me. Please, love, look at me."
Turning on my heel, I brought my attention to his diamond iris's. Snow fell onto his hair and jacket gracefully, almost like we were inside a real life snow globe. With both hands on my arms, Bono pleaded with eyes, his eyebrows crossing in concentration. I waited for what he had to say next patiently, debating on whether or not I wanted him to speak at all. Really, all I wanted him to do was kiss me with those perfect, Irish lips.
"Don't you dare stand there and tell me that you haven't thought of me in three years," He said. "Don't stand in front of me and say that you haven't dreamed of me or cried out for me because I know that I have. These three years have been the worst years of my life, Jessica. Not a day went by when I didn't dial your number and hang up in fear of upsetting you. Not a night passed where I didn't pray to have you next to me. Every morning I would hope that you were there, greeting me with your beautiful face. Don't tell me that you don't love me!"
Hot tears streamed down my cold face. "I do love you."
"You promised me that if fate brought us together again that you would believe in us. We're here, girl, together! Third time is a charm! Be. With. Me. Don't leave me again. I can't survive the rest of my life without you."
With my tears like a river now, I shook with sobs and buried my face in his chest. Yes, Bono, take me! Protect me! Be my shelter!
"I can't live without you, either." I cried, resting my forehead on his while he chased away my tears from my cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. "I was so stupid! So fucking stupid! All I want is you. That's all I ever wanted."
He kissed the tip of my nose. "No more playing around, Jessica. It's now or never."
"What do you mean?"
"There can't be any more doubts, Jess. Either you marry me or leave me. That's my offer."
Turning to stone, I felt faint and dizzy. Marry him? WAS HE INSANE? It's been three years, nine all together if you leave out the three months we spent together. Marriage was the last thing on my mind! Shit, I had a growing business! My life was at it's first chapter! There was no way I could possibly MARRY him!
"You're crazy," I murmured finally.
Bono laughed. "Yes, I am. I've been thinking about this for a long time now. I should have asked you when we were in France. We're meant for each other. You're my soul mate. There are no more questions, Jessica. There are no more doubts. If I lose you again I'll go mental! Marry me. I know it's a lot, I know it's sudden. But I've never been more serious about something in my whole life. If you say no, then you better walk away right now."
Searching his eyes, I asked myself one question: do you want to walk away, Jessica? Do you have the strength to walk away? Did I just forget how to move or was I not moving for a purpose? With my mind buzzing like a disturbed beehive, my actions spoke before my words and I grabbed the back of Bono's head and pushed him onto my lips. I had to kiss him. I had to be sure.
Instantly his hands were in my hair, running down the length of the long locks. Asking permission with his tongue to deepen the kiss, I allowed him access and tasted all the wonderful flavors that made up the rock star, a mixture of cigars and mint. His stubble was sharp against my chin, his lips velvety and smooth. Sliding my arms into the openings of his jacket, his body heat was hot underneath his shirt. Everything about him was imperfectly perfect.
The kiss lingered on and on, like our lips were meant to be fitted to become one pair. Bono was the first to pull away, only enough so he could speak. "So does this mean you're not walking away?"
"How can I walk without you there to carry me?" I smiled.
Bono exhaled, almost as if he had been holding his breath this whole time and then brought me to him, with one arm around my shoulders and the other circled about my head. And, surrounded by the city streets and thousands of people walking around us, I think we both knew that this was truly the start for us. Where would time take us? I don't know. Would we suffer hardships? More than we would like to think. Would there be fights, raised voices petty disagreements? Most defiantly.
More importantly, would there be love? Yes, there would be such a strong love between us that could make even the most devoted martyrs jealous.
Would it be like a fairytale? Will we live happily ever after? No. Not in this tale, not in this lifetime. Just as long as we lived, side by side, that's all that mattered.
That was enough for me.
Song is "Adrift" by Jack Johnson! You really need to check him out if you've never heart his music.
I love your story.
That means you're a damn good writer, girl 
is next! mwuhahah!
and this 
and 
while reading this chapter - what a perfect ending , even if it did take them 3 bloody years heh. 
i'm 21. hehehehhe.
lol! and a tender trap is slowly being written. it's sometimes too emotional for me to write.
