“Travis,” Mom scolds, her cheeks turning red.
“Don’t bother, Mom. I don’t know why Dad doesn’t admit that he’s ashamed to have me as his daughter. He’ll never let go of what I did. He’ll always hold it over my head, reminding me of how shitty of a person I am.”
“Kennedy,” she says, sighing. I can see how torn she is. She’s being tugged in both directions, but I don’t need my mom to take my side. I know I fucked up, but I don’t need to be reminded of it every day.
Scooting out of the booth, I can see my mother wants to reach for me, but I shake my head at her. “I’m going home. You guys don’t have to come here anymore. Clearly, Dad doesn’t want to see me, and I’m done feeling like shit. Done being treated like this. I know what I did was wrong. I know I fucked up, but I can’t change it. I can’t fix this.”
“Wait, Kennedy, don’t leave, you haven’t even eaten yet.”
Almost laughing, I say, “You’re more concerned about me eating than what I just said, and that is one of the problems, Mom. I love you, but I can’t do this anymore.”
I leave the diner with tears in my eyes but hold my head high as I walk down the sidewalk.
When I get back to my apartment, I make myself some breakfast and crawl back into bed. My fingers move all on their own, tracing over the scars, each one a reminder of how close I was to breaking. I’ve survived so much so far, surely, I can survive Jackson a little longer.
I’ll just avoid him, just like I’ll avoid my parents. I’ll live in my own little bubble and hide from the rest of the world. Either way, I’ll survive because something tells me that’s what Jillian would’ve wanted.
15
Jackson
My parents spent the rest of the weekend trying to calm me down, telling me I need to stop being angry and see a therapist. Fuck, therapy? There is nothing and no one that can fix me. Sitting and talking about my sister’s death with some doctor, who has no idea what I’m going through, isn’t going to help me. I don’t care if it helped them.
I’m actually relieved when they finally leave after dinner. We said our goodbyes at the restaurant, and I started walking home. The problem is, I don’t want to go back home. I don’t want to sit alone at my place, but I also don’t want to go anywhere else. I don’t want to talk or feel, which leaves me aimlessly walking around town.
It’s dark outside, the air crisp, and when I check the time, I realize it’s almost midnight. Tucking my phone back into my pocket, I look around to see where I am. It doesn’t take me long to notice I’m basically standing across the street from Kennedy’s apartment complex. Fuck, can’t I get away from her? Anger surges to the surface and all the calming down I’ve achieved by walking around evaporates into thin air. She fucking ruins everything.
Before I even think about what I’m doing, I’m across the street and walking into her apartment building. Climbing the stairs, I take them two at a time, suddenly, I have this deep, primal urge to see her, feel her like I did when she was at my place, bent over my couch with her ass in the air.
I bang my fist against her door, the sound echoes through the otherwise silent hallway.
“Open up, Kennedy,” I yell at the door. “Do it, or I’ll kick it down.” I continue banging, not giving a shit who I wake up. I’ll wake up the entire fucking building if I have to.
A moment later, the door opens, and Kennedy appears in front of me. Her silky blonde hair is in a messy bun on top of her head, and she squints her eyes at the bright light flooding into her apartment from the hallway. Clearly, I woke her up. Oops.
“What are you doing here?” she rasps, her voice still sleepy.
Instead of answering her, I shove past her and into her apartment without an invitation. She closes the door behind us and turns to face me, turning on a light switch beside us. At least she’s starting to understand how this works. I’m tempted to bring up whatever the fuck it was that I felt on her thighs, but I want to sink my cock into her more than I care to hear what the hell is going on with her. This is all part of convincing myself that I don’t care about her. If I don’t ask questions, then I have nothing to care about.
“Take your clothes off. I want to fuck you again.”
Her mouth falls open in shock as if she can’t believe what I just said. What did she think I showed up here for in the middle of the night?
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
She can’t be serious, can she? Us fucking is always a good idea. It’s the only good thing between us. It’s either we fuck, or I’m hurting her or she’s hurting me. There are no other options.
“I didn’t ask you what you thought. I told you to take off your clothes.” Folding my arms over my chest, I scowl down at her. “Tick tock. I don’t have all night. Do it, or I do it for you.”
I watch her closely as she bites her bottom lip. Nervously, she looks around the room as if she is thinking about how to get out of this.
Oh, bug, there is no getting away.
Run, and I’ll just drag you back here screaming.
She doesn’t look scared though, maybe uncomfortable, but not scared. Her cheeks are a light shade of pink but redden when she finally says, “In my room, lights off.”
Unable to stop myself, I smirk as I give her a nod and follow her into her bedroom. The lights are off in her room, but the hallway lamp shines enough light to let me see where the bed is before she closes the door, blanketing us in darkness.
I can hear her taking her clothes off, the sound of fabric hitting the ground. I shove my shorts and boxers down in one go before tugging my shirt off over my head.
“I want you on your hands and knees. No fucking talking. I don’t want to hear a whimper or cry. I just want to fuck you. You owe me that much for making me bleed the other day.”
“Fine,” she whispers, and I listen as she moves toward the bed, climbing up onto the mattress. Walking over to the bed, I go slow in the unfamiliar room. When I reach the bed, I feel around for her and find her as I asked, on her hands and knees.
Running a hand from her shoulder and down her arched back, I only stop when I’m cupping her firm ass. She shivers under my touch but doesn’t move or say anything. Positioning myself behind her, I run both hands over her lower back and ass, enjoying how smooth her skin is. My cock is impossibly hard, and my balls ache for release.
Fuck, why do I want her so badly? I could have any girl on campus, and yet I choose the enemy.
Keeping one hand on her slender hip, I snake the other down between her legs. My fingers trace her lips, her sweet arousal coating them already. She can act like the innocent, unwilling girl all she wants, but her body doesn’t lie.
She wants this, wants me to fuck her, probably as bad as I want to.
“You’re wet, bug. So, fucking wet. You act like you don’t want this. Like you hate me, and maybe you do, but we both know you love me fucking you.” The swollen head of my cock bumps against her entrance, and I pinch her clit between my fingers. I smile at the rapid intake of air into her lungs. She grows wetter and wetter, and soon I can’t help myself.