Stay(88)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR





I WAS ALONE once again. Around the time the sun had set, Phoebe had been summoned upstairs to work. I was wearing Jackson’s sweatshirt with the hood pulled up over my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, and I missed him so much it hurt. I hated that we were in the same house, so close together but separated by one locked door and lots of threats.

He was in the kitchen, or at least I thought it was him. I was able to tell the difference in Nate, Zane, and Jackson’s footsteps. Zane was a fast walker and often took his shoes off when he was in the house. Nate, on the other hand, kept his on. Usually dressed for business, his dress shoes clicked on the hardwood floors. Jackson shuffled his feet and moved slowly. I assumed it was his way of silently protesting being forced to work.

Whoever was in the kitchen clanked dishes around. I heard water running, and the pipes shook when the dishwasher started. It was definitely Jackson. I got up, holding my arms out in front of me and shaking my hands so that the long sleeves fell back, and crept toward the stairs. I was halfway up when someone unlocked the deadbolt.

I froze, heart pounding in my ears. I grabbed the railing. It was Jackson. It had to be. My fingers tightened around the splintering wood as the oval doorknob turned.

“Shit!” Jackson swore and jumped back, almost dropping the laundry basket full of clean clothes he was holding. He immediately winced. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

My heart continued to beat faster, but not from fear. “I knew it was you up there.”

“Really?” Jackson asked and looked behind him before slipping down the stairs. “How?”

I ungracefully walked backwards down two steps before turning around and jogging down the rest of the way. “Who else washes dishes?” I asked ruefully.
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“True,” he agreed.

I stopped at the base of the stairs and turned around. “What happened?” I asked and felt a stab of sickness. I took the laundry basket from him, set it down, and carefully touched a tear in Jackson’s gray shirt. The edges were soaked in blood.

“Zane,” he huffed and shook his head.

“You’re still bleeding.” I brought my fingers away, showing him the blood.

He shrugged and winced again. I put my hand over the cut on his left shoulder. “It’ll stop eventually.”

I pressed my lips together and shook my head. “I hate this.”

“It’ll be okay,” he promised me and took my hands in his. Blood smeared against his skin. “Somehow, it has to be okay.”

“I almost believe that,” I whispered and let my head rest against his chest. I wrapped my arms around his waist and closed my eyes. “At least let me wash the blood off,” I said and pulled away from Jackson. He nodded and sat on the cot. I grabbed a clean washcloth and wet it from the shower. I pulled the neck of his long sleeved t-shirt down and gently blotted at the blood.

“Thanks,” he said, unmoving.

I pressed the cloth over the wound. He had so many scars. I slipped my hand inside his shirt and ran my finger over a jagged pink line of scar tissue that ran across the right side of his chest. “What is this from?”

Jackson put his hand over mine, feeling the scar. The he curled his fingers through mine. “Broken glass. Five years ago.”

I removed the washcloth from his shoulder and dropped it on the ground. “What about these?” I asked and pushed up his sleeve. I traced five straight scars on his right forearm.

“Razor blade. A few months ago.”

“And this?” I asked, pressing my lips to another rough patch of healing skin on his neck. Jackson’s arms wrapped around me.

“Fire poker,” he whispered. “Right out of the fire.”

I kept my lips against his skin and reached under his shirt, running my hand up the horrible, thick scar on his side. I had seen the particularly nasty mark the night I learned Jackson’s true nature. Before I had the chance to ask about it, Jackson put one arm around me and used the other to cup my face. He gingerly turned it in and kissed me. I stopped thinking about scars and focused on how warm and wonderful Jackson’s skin felt. I pulled myself closer to him, pressing my lips harder against his. I ran my fingers through his dark hair and leaned back, bringing him with.

“Are you sure?” he asked so quietly I could barely hear him.

“Yes,” I breathed and pulled him close. He was so careful and gentle and I wasn’t afraid. His eyes were wide and he trembled slightly. He was nervous. He exhaled and put his lips to mine, starting off slow. He opened his mouth and waiting, pulling back. I moved my hands to his face and brought him to me, deepening the kiss. Then he suddenly stopped kissing me.