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I know that I'm a fathead. I know that I'm mentally negligible. I know that I'm dumb, a moron and an idiot and all the other words that mean the same thing. I know that all and I still did it. I told him. I shouldn't have. It was all perfect and I ruined it like a bull in a whatsit. I would normally ask Jeeves about this, he'd know, but I can't. I can't even let him know that I'm writing this.
This isn't for the public eye, and, if you're here, reader, I hope that I am dead. This is another tale of my fatheadedness but Jeeves couldn't save me from this one. Paragon and pearl of wisdom that he is, he couldn't help me. I wish he could. I wish- I wish it'd all go back.
It was a perfectly normal, good even, night in Berkeley mansions. The sun shone so brightly that morning, for the first time in so long, and Jeeves and I went for a walk.
It was brilliant. He dressed me in his favourite suit of mine, a dark navy blue one that he insisted brought out the colour of my eyes or some other thing, and I, in my- in my state, my infatuation, let him.
It was a perfectly brilliant day. We talked about everything and nothing. Books, plays, clothes, food, music, friends and family, travels, everything.
It was all so perfect. After our walk around the metrop, I suggested that we get lunch together, something that we used to do a lot in New York. I don't know how, but I managed to convince Jeeves to let the feudal spirit hang itself for the duration of lunch that day, and we ate together. The pleasant conversation continued, and I even managed to make Jeeves laugh. I don't quite remember how, now that I look back on it, but the sound was so bally wonderful and I think I gaped, rather fatheadedly, when I heard it. It was beautiful and I wanted to keep it to myself. Everything about Jeeves was, really. His tall, sturdy corpus. His deep, soothing baritone voice. His eyes, chilling and beautiful. His chiseled face and slightly crooked nose. His peachy lips. The man was an Adonis. He was magnificent, simply bally wonderful, and I wanted him all to myself. I selfishly wanted to keep that man all to myself. I knew, and have known for quite a while in the dozen years that we've known each other, that I was positively dippy about Jeeves. I don't think I could exist without being so. I don’t think I could live without loving Jeeves eternally, no matter how unrequited said l. might be. That was my mistake. That was my Achilles' whatsit.
It couldn't have been anything but perfect. We returned, much, much later than we should have, to the flat happily. The conversation was still flowing like a smooth stream between us and I cherished every moment of it. It was a quiet night. No engagements. No family to flee from. No need to steal objects for said family. No letters nor telegraphs from Aunt Agatha. It was all so peaceful, so wonderfully quiet. It was perfect.
Then I went and shattered it all. I didn't lose Jeeves; I don't know how he didn't leave, why wasn't he disgusted, repulsed by me. I- I like to think that I have lived my life without regrets. There is very little that Bertram Wooster looks back on and feels remorseful, if that's the word I want, for doing. However, the manner in which I ruined that perfect day, what I said, is something that will haunt me until my corpus touches the dirt that will cover me.
I told Jeeves that I loved him, that night. I wish to know what made me think that it was a good idea. After all, how could such a brilliant, strong, brainy man love, or even like, anything like me? Mentally negligible, he even said it himself. Good for nothing. I didn't even look good, the only thing that the Wooster corpus could be called was willowy and that was hardly handsome. Why did I tell him? Why did I ruin it all? What made me even-
"Jeeves, uh, old thing, there's something important I need to tell you."
"Sir?"
"Can you sit down, Jeeves? Next to me?"
"That is hardly proper, sir."
"I know, Jeeves, but this is- I can't tell you this- this thing while you're standing like that, old fruit."
Jeeves looked displeased and soupy, a look I was awfully familiar with. He sat down, however, without fighting much.
"I- Jeeves, I- I bally well love you, old thing. I'm in love with you. Positively dippy about you. I just- I needed you to know and-" I stopped. I don't quite know what I was going to tell Jeeves afterwards, possibly some other confession of my undying love for the brilliant cove, but it all died in my throat. I looked at Jeeves, I had been giving the speech, if you can call it that, while looking down, couldn't face Jeeves and all that, don't you know. He had his usual stuffed frog face, but it looked more soupy that usual. I knew it then. I messed it up. I took something so bally perfect, a friendship with such a brilliant, bally marvellous cove, and I threw it away because I was in love.
"I apologise, sir, but I do not hold the same affections that you do towards me. It is an honour to be liked, loved even, by a gentleman as kind as you are, sir, but I am afraid that I cannot return your love."
I wanted to do so many things. I don't think that I ever wanted to do so many things at a moment in my life. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run away. I wanted- I don't really know what I wanted. I just felt so bally desperate. I wanted, no, I needed to do something. But I didn't know what.
In the end, I just chuckled, an empty sad little thing, devoid of any actual humour, that I hoped would relieve the tension and awkwardness surrounding the air.
"It's alright, old thing. Tickety boo. Oojah-cum-spiff. I understand," I said, looking down again, this time in shame and fear, not just fear. "Just, uh, please don't report me to the authorities, Jeeves. You can hand in your resignation if you want, I'd write you a generous reference, though I doubt a cove as brilliant as you even needs one."
"I will never do such a thing, sir. You, and your secrets, are safe with me, sir. I will also not be leaving, as uncomfortable that may be for you, sir, as I have become rather fond of you, how one is of a friend, and I don't wish to depart, if that's alright with you, sir. If you want me to leave, I shall."
I should've wanted him to leave, right? Maybe then time would heal the old wound and whatnot. But I couldn't let Jeeves leave. I think that would be the end for me, then. I couldn't survive without Jeeves, and I was going to take what I could get. If I was allowed his friendship, then his chum I shall be. It pained me, but I couldn't bare to lose Jeeves. Not more than I already have.
We came to an agreement and I retired early that night. Jeeves didn't dress me. I didn't allow him to. I wasn't tired. I don't think I got any of my 40 winks that night. I just sobbed. All night. Rather pathetically, really. I hoped that it would be alright by the morning, that this was all a horrible nightmare, but it wasn't.
Everything was the same, but it wasn't. Jeeves was a little colder, a little more formal, a little sterner than he would usually be. He was uncomfortable with me, I could tell, and it pained me.
I wish I just didn't ruin it all by that blasted "I love you".