I’m shocked that I push Jackson with enough force that he releases me. I know he’s stronger than I think he is; it’s in the way he carries himself and I instinctively know that he wouldn’t just let me go so I could fall over again. So how the fuck did I manage to throw him off?
This thought is echoed by both Jackson and Shaun, but I don’t hang around to hear what they say – I’m sprinting for the stairs, surprisingly surefooted, while Jackson yells my name and shouts after me. I suspect he’s faster than me, but I’m hoping that he won’t chase after me naked and has, therefore, had to spend time dressing, giving me valuable seconds to flee.
At the bottom of the stairs I race past the red-headed bitch who appears startled to see me, but she’s just one of several faces I run past in my quest for the open front door. I sprint through it and drink in the fresh air of the cool night and pause briefly to orientate myself in the direction I need to get home.
With each stride I push off the ground as hard as I can, urging myself to go faster towards a shortcut through a small wooded embankment, but I can feel the adrenaline surge fading and the fog is creeping back in. I make it to the trees and look back to see Jackson – dressed – and three of his housemates sprinting after me.
Fuck, they’re fast.
I disappear into the mottled darkness of the trees, stumbling my way down part of the slope until I find a section where the earth has slipped away beneath a large tree and the gap created is big enough to hide in. I just manage to tuck myself away before Jackson and company come barrelling through the trees. The world swims in and out of focus as he calls my name, softer than before.
“Emilia? Emilia, Angel, come out. It’s ok.” His soft voice calms my raging pulse.
“There’s no point hiding, we can smell that you’re still here,” taunts one of his idiot friends.
“Jared, shut up,” hisses Jackson.
Smell me? What the…?
“I don’t get it,” murmurs another, “normally when a roofie knocks them down, they don’t get back up again for a few hours.”
“Well, she’s not like the others,” Jackson mutters through gritted teeth.
They move slowly through the trees and down the slope, it won’t be long before they find me, but it occurs to me that that might not be a bad thing. I know I ran because in my current state I’m irrationally afraid and have no idea what the hell is going on with Jackson and my nightmares, but the realization already came to me when I bolted from his bedroom. Despite the crazy conversations and the thoroughly fucked redhead, he cares about my safety; he just beat the shit out of one of his friends for what he did to me.
The dizzying fog is creeping in too fast for me to make it back to my room and if I’m going to pass out, it’s probably safer to do it with Jackson looking after me than for me to be out here, alone and at the mercy of whoever else finds me.
“Jackson,” I can barely whisper through the haze, but something tells me he’s able to hear it.
I fumble to my feet, using an exposed tree root for support so that he can see me. He does and sprints down the slope toward me, but he’s not faster than the loose earth that gives way under my feet. I tumble down the remainder of the slope, rolling over a few times, but the earth is soft and I avoid hitting any trees. I start to think that maybe I’ll walk away unscathed…until I see the sidewalk. There’s a four-feet drop from the edge of slope down to the sidewalk and I have a lot of momentum. I screw my eyes shut and try to brace myself for the face-first impact, completely convinced I’m about to break something when at the last second, strong steel arms catch me and halt my fall. The sudden stop relocates my stomach into my throat for the second time today.
“Fuck. Angel, are you ok?” Jackson whispers as he picks me up completely, one arm around my back, the other under my knees, holding me tightly to his chest. He still stinks of sex, but that’s the least of my worries as the black fog finally wins and my eyes roll shut.
* * *
A bobbing motion pulls me from unconsciousness long enough for me to open my eyes and glimpse my surroundings. Everything is blurry, people have fuzzy outlines and their voices make no sense. I’m still being carried – up the stone front steps, I think. One of the face splodges is streaming bright red liquid.
“Jackson, you’ve busted Shaun’s nose pretty bad,” an accusatory voice rises above the babble. Sonya.
“He’ll heal, more to the pity.” There’s something a little sexy about Jackson still being pissed, a gravelly edge to his deep voice.
The fog claims me again as he climbs the stairs with me cradled in his capable arms.
* * *
Something cold lands on my face and draws me out of the darkness for a second time…a compress maybe? I try to focus on the face in front of me, but the more I try the more elusive the features become.
“Emilia,” Jackson’s voice is soothing but laced with anxiety. “Open your mouth, Angel. You need to drink some water. It’ll help, I promise.”
My best guess is that I’m sat on his bed with my back resting against the headboard, while he holds my face firmly with one large hand. He tilts my head back slightly and brings a cool glass of water to my lips with the other.
With his help, I’m able to take small sips that I can feel leaving a frozen trail from my throat, down my chest, and into my stomach. The chill thins the fog a little and I can see his handsome face frowning with concern – he’s still a little out of focus, but I’m not imagining it; he cares.
“Are you hurt? You fell a distance before I was able to catch you,” Jackson sounds utterly guilty about this.
I’m able to shake my head but regret it as my brain bounces around the inside of my skull.
“I need to clean you Emilia; you’re covered in mud and grass stains and I can’t see where your cuts and bruises are until I’ve washed it all off. You have to trust me, Angel; I won’t hurt you or do anything inappropriate to you. I promise. Will you trust me?” His voice is pleading and even in my state of total helplessness, I trust him. It doesn’t make sense, especially after what I saw this evening, but I do. I nod as much as I can while my brain still treats my head like a bowling alley.
Jackson exhales in a relieved rush and scoops me effortlessly into his arms once again. My head spins as he carries me to his oversized bathroom. It’s all shiny black and white stone tiles and in my dizzy, befuddled haze, it’s dazzling.
He sets me down on my wobbly feet, with one arm firmly around my waist, as I lean back into his chest. I’m completely unable to support my own body weight, but he holds me like a weigh nothing.
Jackson leans down quickly to fill the giant sunken bath with water, steam billowing around our bodies. I’m not sure how he does it while holding me up, but he strips down to his boxer briefs in record time. Obviously, he’s had practice at that.
He then leans me further so that my back is against his impressively solid chest and cages me in with both of his muscly, tanned arms. At first, I think he’s hugging me until I feel his swift, nimble fingers undoing all of the buttons on my shirt that he then peels off my shoulders and down my back.
Not being able to see clearly acts like sensory deprivation, elevating the sensation of the soft cotton shirt kissing my skin and his feather-soft touch, causing every muscle south of my bellybutton to clench deliciously.