Stay(50)

I felt dizzy. My ears rang and I wanted to throw up. I rocked back on my heels and sank onto my butt. Jackson feebly lifted his hand and touched my arm. His gesture of comfort caused a shiver to ripple over my body. I took a breath but felt like I got no air. I needed to compose myself.

I reached out next to me, feeling around until my fingers graced the side of the bowl. My vision was fuzzy; I wasn’t exactly watching what I was doing. Water dripped on the floor as I moved the towel over to Jackson’s body. I placed it over the cut and looked at Jackson’s face. His eyes were closed again, and his eyebrows pushed together. I didn’t want to think about the level of pain he was in.

When I moved the towel away, bright red blood pooled in the shallow wound. I pressed the towel to it, but the wet fabric did nothing to stop the bleeding.

“You need stitches,” I whispered and tipped my head, examining the bruises on his ribcage. “And probably an X-ray. Your ribs could be broken.” I traced my eyes over the rest of his exposed torso. He was lean and muscular, and I suddenly realized that all the yard work I had seen him doing wasn’t by choice. Like us, he was forced to work. Just in a different way. How could I have been so blind to it before?

“I’ll be okay,” he tried to assure me. He took a ragged breath and slowly sat up. He reached for me, taking the towel from my hands. He pressed it against his nose and leaned back.

“You should tilt your head forward,” I told him softly. “That way you won’t swallow the blood.” It took effort for him to bend over. “I’ll get you another towel,” I offered and began to stand.

“No,” he said, his voice muffled by the towel. “It’s okay.”

I settled back down, hugging my knees to my chest. I ran my eyes over Jackson, taking in the strength of his arms and his broad chest. “Jackson?” I asked quietly. He tipped his head in my direction. “How come you didn’t fight back?” I blurted.

He put his head back down again. “There were two of them and one of me,” he began. “Zane is almost always carrying.” He coughed and spit blood into the towel. “And I used to,” he said and looked at me. “Fight back, I mean. The last time I did, I hit Zane in the mouth, knocked out one of his teeth in the front. He has a fake tooth now. You can’t tell unless you’re really close though,” he muttered. “And Nate broke my arm. He made me wait nine days to get it casted.”

I didn’t know how to respond. I looked at him, wanting to apologize and nurse his wounds. I opened my mouth when the floor upstairs creaked.

“Go,” Jackson told me. “Now!”

I scrambled to my feet, almost tripping over the bowl of water. I picked it up with such haste that I sloshed half of it out of the bowl. The unmistakable sound of liquid splashing onto the floor sent a jolt of terror through me.

“Go!” Jackson said again. He unwrapped the towel and planted a hand on the floor. He tossed the towel over the spilled water. “Adeline, get out of here!”

I scuttled into the kitchen and dumped the bloody water down the drain. I flicked on the sink and scrubbed at my hands, getting rid of all evidence of helping Jackson. I heard footsteps behind me. I took the towel and started wiping down the sink.

“Good enough,” Nate spoke, causing me to jump, even though I knew he was behind me. He went to the basement door and waved us in. I set the towel down and stole one last look at Jackson before I went back into the cold, dark basement.





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE





TWO WEEKS PASSED before I saw Jackson again. I was startled awake when I heard him plodding down the stairs. The bruises on his face had faded considerably. I opened my mouth only to snap it shut. I had no idea what to say to him. He looked at me before crossing to the table and setting our food down.#p#分页标题#e#

“Jackson,” I said and sat up. “A-are you okay?” I stuttered.

He looked down at his body and shrugged. “I think so.”

“Where have you been?” Zane had taken over the job of providing us with food and water. Instead of carrying it down the stairs like Jackson did, he threw it. The water bottles had burst open more than once, and we had to scrape our sandwiches off the dirty floor.

His eyes went to the floor, and he shook his head, not wanting to talk about it. He took a step back and turned around. “I can’t stay down here,” he told me and took another step.

I tossed the blanket back and got out of bed. “Thank you,” I said quickly. “I never said thank you for what you did. I wish I could pay you back somehow.”