It was agony to be in the same room without being able to touch each other. He was so close I could feel his body heat, and I desperately wanted to throw my arms around him and feel my skin against his, to have our hearts beating against each other’s. Instead, I turned away, pretending that I didn’t love him.
Several times Nate had called Jackson upstairs and put him to work. He was gone most of the day and returned exhausted. Just the day before, Nate had him outside doing yard work. Jackson left right as the sun came up and didn't come back until after dark. He was tired and sore and fell asleep as soon as he got in bed.
The lights flickered. I looked up at the single bulb that hung at the base of the stairs. Heavy rain pelted against the small window and water dripped down the wall. Lightning flashed, and the power went out for a few seconds.
“The alarm system stops working when the power goes out. The electronic locks too,” Jackson said, his voice thick with sleep.
I whirled around. “Go fucking figure,” I huffed and shook my head. I went back over to the cot, set the bobby pin down, and sat next to Jackson. He took a deep breath and snaked his arm around my stomach. “Go back to sleep,” I urged, twisting so that I was facing him. I ran my fingers through his hair.
“That feels good,” he mumbled, already falling asleep.
I continued combing my fingers through his hair until his breathing slowed, steady and even. Wind pressed into the old house. Fear flickered through me. It was an old fear, one I’ve had since I was a child: tornadoes. My eyes focused on the small window. Now I hoped one would rip through the house, pulling apart the frame, leaving nothing but the foundation. Jackson and I would crawl out of the rubble and run to safety.
A boom of thunder made me jump. Lightning followed just seconds later. The worst was nearing.
“Lay down,” Jackson spoke softly.
I nodded and stuck my feet under the blanket, snuggling next to him. It was an uncomfortably tight fit on the cot. I felt like I was going to fall off if I moved just an inch.
Jackson pulled me on top of him, solving that problem. “Don’t like storms?”
“Storms are fine,” I answered. “I don’t like tornadoes. Though right now, I honestly hope one rips this house apart or knocks down a power line and catches the house on fire.”
“We’re trapped in the basement,” Jackson reminded me.#p#分页标题#e#
“I know. Maybe the fire department would get here before we die of smoke inhalation.”
“I’m not willing to risk that.” He began rubbing my back. “We’ll get out of here, Addie. Don’t give up,” he said.
“I’m trying.” I rested my cheek against his chest. “I would have given up if I didn’t have you. After Phoebe died … I couldn’t have done it on my own.”
“Yes, you could. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”
“I don’t feel like it.”
He slid his hands under my shirt and traced little circles with his fingernails on my skin. “I think that’s part of what makes you strong. You don’t try to be strong, you just are.” The lights flickered again. “If I didn’t have you …” he trailed off. “When I told you before that I was close to giving up, I meant it. I’d put a lot of thought into killing myself, not because I wanted to commit suicide, but because I wanted to die on my own terms, not Nate’s. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of watching me slowly die.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
“Me too.”
I raised my head and kissed him. Warmth tingled between my legs as I pushed my tongue past his lips, drinking him in.
“I am sure,” I whispered before he had the chance to ask. “I love you, Jackson, so much.”
“I love you too, Addie.” A gust of wind hit the house, which creaked and groaned in protest. Fully knowing what we were risking, I slipped my fingers along the hem of Jackson’s pants. Not only did making love to Jackson feel good, it felt right. And it made me feel like I was putting a piece of myself back together, and no one could take it away.
***
I scratched another line in the dry wall, completing the eighth row. Another month had passed and I only had roughly thirty days left. I had been slightly nauseous the last couple days, and seeing that I was getting closer to being shipped overseas made a lump of vomit burn in my throat.
I retreated to the cot, thinking about the girl numbered 261. I wondered what happened to her and where she was. Did the man who bought her use her exclusively himself? Or did he see her as a business investment and put her to work?