"Sure, no problem."
"It didn't go so bad, did it?"
"It was okay."
"I thought the prices were fine for what you got. The fabric is good quality. My mom used to sew, and she taught me quite a bit about textiles. These are clothes that will keep. That's what you wanted, right?"
"Hm?"
"JJ." I realize Amber has stopped walking, and I almost plow into her back.
We're standing on the street, crowded in by buildings, their dirty windows looking in on us. Graffiti sprawls around us. A sun. A skull. A winged demon. A green dumpster looms a few feet away, a crimson stain barely visible in the gathering gloom.
The world narrows, darkening at the edges.
"Hey." She's staring at me. "You normally talk a mile a minute, and instead I'm the one chatting away. Is everything okay?"
My skin is crawling as if with a thousand insects. Dizziness hits me, and I stumble back a step. Fuck. Bile rises in my throat.
I know this place, this dumpster, that graffiti. It lives in my nightmares.
I need to get away. Right the fuck now. If only I can move my legs, but my feet weigh a ton each.
"Jesse." Her hand touches my face and I jerk away, the past and the present mingling, bleeding into each other. "What's the matter?"
"Can't," I hiss, my breathing shallow. Can't get enough air. Can't focus. Can't talk about that night.
Blood. Pain. Yelling. Screaming. My arm burns. My head rings. The world darkens for a moment, and when I blink again, I find myself pressed against the wall with the smell of piss and decomposition, Amber's face an inch from mine.
"JJ. Can you hear me? Jesse!"
"I prefer JJ," I say automatically, trying to get my bearings. "What the hell happened?"
"You tell me." Her slender brows are drawn together. She looks worried. Looks like I scared the crap out of her.
Again.
"What did I do?" My throat hurts when I speak.
"You spaced out, then stumbled and almost fell. You didn't seem to hear me."
Fucking hell. "Sorry, Embers."
"It's okay. Just tell me what happened?"
Finding my feet is one thing. Finding my mental balance is another. I need to get out of this street, move as far away from the graffiti mocking me, the drawings that are etched in my mind like tattoos.
"It's just that … " I lick my lips, try again as I push off the wall, forcing her back a step. "I need to get the fuck outta here."
I stumble away and don't expect her to stick by my side-why would she?-but a moment later, her arm slips around my hips, holding on.
Not that I can't walk on my own. My head is clearing and my balance is getting better. I should tell her that. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I don't speak them. She feels so incredibly good pressed to my side-and yeah, maybe I'm still a bit unsteady because her scent hits me like a sledgehammer, and there I go, stumbling again.
"Careful," she whispers, only that, and guides me back to the main street. It's as if she understands it's this place that's bothering me.
It's not until we've boarded the bus and are sitting side by side that she puts her hand on top of mine.
"Remember the three questions you promise to answer?" she says. "Well, here's one: What happened back there?"
What the fuck? Of all the things she could have asked me, why this? I hate talking about this. Haven't talked about it in years, not since I lost Helen. I thunk my head on the window pane and stare morosely at the city as it sinks into dusk.
Why did I accept to answer her questions? Me and my fucking big mouth.
Chapter Eleven
Amber
As the bus rumbles closer to home, I keep stealing glances at Jesse, who's dozing, slumped against the window. He works a lot, though today's the day he gets the afternoon off, which is why we agreed on going shopping. Still, he looks so tired, the dark circles under his eyes starker than ever, and the way he looked back in that alley …
Jesus. So pale and drawn, shaky. Eyes wide and unblinking, as if he'd seen a ghost. Scared me half to death.
He said I don't need to change. That I'm fine as I am. Could he be right? That I don't have to change for the world to accept me? That I'm not the problem? If Jesse likes me as I am …
My hand is still resting over his, its warmth reassuring. What I want is to reach up and touch his cheek, demand to know what is wrong so I can fix it. So I can see him smile again.
Don't go there, Amber.
Ev warned me about him. Being friends-if that's what we are-is okay. But if I fall for him, I might as well carve my heart to pieces and give it to the dogs.
Nevertheless, when we approach the stop near Damage Control, I don't wake him up, telling myself he needs to rest. Not that I want him back in my apartment, my kitchen.
Good try, Amber.
It doesn't matter, anyway. Too late. As we rumble close to home, I shake him lightly, and his eyes snap open. He gives me a bleary look, glances outside, and frowns.
"What's going on?"
"Come on." I tug on his hand, and luckily he gets up and follows me off the bus without hesitation. "Didn't want to wake you up. Besides, we have meat pie Ev's mom brought us, and you owe me an answer."
Not to mention Kayla isn't home, which gives me some breathing space.
"An answer, huh? Kill me now," he grumbles, staggering after me, his hand still wrapped around mine. "Save us both the trouble."
"No trouble for me," I say and keep my hold on him as I unlock the building door and let him in.
No idea why I turn into a smartass around Jesse. Few people put me at ease like that. My parents, Ev … Kayla maybe. I never thought I'd be so comfortable around a boy like him, so … wild. Covered in tats and dipped in bad history.
Handsome like a girl's wet dream.
"Meat pie," he mutters as we climb the stairs, and his stomach rumbles. "Shit."
"And garlic and mushroom risotto."
"Ev's mom made that, too?"
"I made that."
"Damn." He gives a wolf whistle. "You know the way to a man's heart."
My pulse stutters, and I stifle nervous laughter. "Yeah, right."
He says nothing more as we trudge up to my floor and I open the door to let him in, but he seems lost in thought, and I leave him by the couch to go and warm up the food. My question can wait ten minutes.
My mind buzzes with worry. Whatever happened back there can't be good.
Only when I return with the pie and risotto in ceramic bowls, he's asleep again. He's curled on his side, an arm thrown over his eyes, the colorful ink and the scars underneath fascinating. They aren't parallel, like the ones I once saw on a schoolmate's arm, from self-harming. These are irregular, crosshatched, some deeper and darker, and some shallower, paler on his tanned skin.
I place the dishes on the table and softly sink to my knees in front of him, observing the way his broad chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. He works too hard, training at the tattoo shop in the mornings, at the café in the afternoons and a fast food joint evenings. Ev said Rafe pays for his rent, so why did he take on an extra job?
His hand twitches, and his breathing changes. He curls in more tightly, and a tremor goes through him, tensing the muscles in his arms. Funny how in sleep a tall guy like him can tuck his long legs in, fitting into a corner of the sofa.
Okay, maybe funny isn't the right word, especially when his breathing speeds up and a low moan escapes him. I watch as the nightmare pulls him under, hoping he'll come awake on his own.
But he doesn't. Sweat trickles down his face as he twists on the sofa, his lungs laboring. He's muttering something under his breath, over and over again, but I can't make out the words. His arm jerks, almost hitting me in the face.
"JJ, wake up." I wanted him to rest, not exhaust himself worse with nightmares. Jeez, he only just fell asleep. I shake him gently, my fingertips digging into his tightly coiled, rock-hard bicep. "Wake up. Come on. JJ!"
He bolts up on the sofa, his eyes wild, and cradles his inked arm to his heaving chest as if it hurts. "Stop," he whispers. "Just fucking stop."
I'm at a loss. Don't know what to do. Never seen him like this before, so shaken. He's always so confident and sure of himself. The fear in his wide eyes is unmistakable, and I don't even know if he sees me, his gaze locked on something I can't see-a scrap of nightmare that lingers.
I pull myself onto the couch, and his eyes snap to me.
"Embers?" he whispers.
For some strange reason, my throat is tight. He's out of sorts today, and it's breaking my heart.
"Hey," I say and put my arms around him. "I'm here."
I half expect him to push me away and stomp out of my apartment, but he remains very still, breathing harshly in my loose embrace, the arm he holds to his chest pressing into my breasts. My embrace gentle, I let him be for a while, let him breathe until his heart stops pounding and his muscles unlock. His arms drop to his sides and he slumps against me, his chin resting on my shoulder.