Me: You can’t cut yourself anymore. If you do, I’m telling someone. I won’t let you hurt yourself anymore. Promise me you won’t.
I hit send before I can stop myself. I’m reaching that point where I want to just shut down and say fuck it, but this is part of moving on, and I can only deny that I care about her for so long. It’s time to face the music.
K: Promise.
Reading her single word text, I don’t trust that she really means it, so I send her another.
Me: On Jillian’s grave.
My phone dings, and I imagine she’s staring at her screen with the same conviction I am.
K: On Jillian’s grave.
Dropping the phone onto the mattress, I tip my head back into the pillows and let my mind wander. Maybe I can forgive Kennedy? Maybe I can let go of the pain? Or maybe I can’t? At the very least, I know Kennedy won’t be hurting herself anymore, and that’s the most important thing of all because if she ever killed herself because of me, I wouldn’t forgive myself. It’d be like losing Jillian all over again, and I doubt I could survive that.
20
Kennedy
Life seems to be headed in the right direction. For once, I feel like I’m not suffocating. Like I’m swimming back to the surface, instead of being dragged down deeper. The fact that Jackson isn’t doing everything in his power to make my life hell helps immensely.
We’ve come to this strange agreement that we aren’t quite friends, but we aren’t enemies either. Every day I see a little bit of the old Jackson returning. He smiles more, laughs, and seems as if he too is healing.
I still wait with bated breath for the other shoe to drop. How long is he going to keep up this act of caring before he snaps on me again? I keep hoping things will stay this way, and we can heal together, but I’m not stupid enough to believe that’ll happen.
As sad as it is, I’m wary of every little thing he does. I don’t understand how he flipped a switch, how he went from hating me so passionately to showing he cares in the blink of an eye. It’s not like he goes out of his way for me, but he also doesn’t actively try to make my life difficult anymore.
Descending the steps outside of my economics class, I find Jackson sitting casually against a bench. He looks ruggedly handsome in nothing more than jeans and a T-shirt. He’s surrounded by his friends, or at least, I assume they’re his friends. I stare at him for a second longer than necessary before turning to walk toward my apartment.
I’m not a part of his life in that way, and I’m okay with that. I’m okay with being alone because I’m used to it. I can’t say I don’t miss being his best friend, hearing his laugh, and watching him smile. His joy was once my joy. I used to think I loved him, and part of me still feels that way. I don’t think you can stop loving someone once you’ve started. Your love for them just changes.
Halfway home, I get this odd feeling that someone is following me. Shivering, I turn around to look over my shoulder and find that Jackson is behind me. I’m not sure if him being here is a good or a bad thing yet, but I’ll slow down anyway so he can catch up with me.
“Hey,” he greets, his hands shoved in his pockets.
“Hey,” I reply as he falls into step next to me.
In an awkward silence, we walk side by side the entire way home. When we get to my apartment complex, I wonder what his next move is? Is he going to leave? Come in? He answers my questions without even knowing it when he continues walking with me up to my door.
“I’m coming inside,” he tells me. I guess we’re still not on asking terms. “I want to check your thighs. Make sure you’ve kept your promise.”
“I did.”
“Then you won’t mind showing me, right?”
“Right,” I huff.
He follows me up the stairs and into my apartment. I drop my backpack on the ground and take off my sweater jacket while Jackson closes the door behind us, locking the deadbolt into place. Leaning against the door, he crosses his arms in front of his chest and looks down at my jeans, motioning for me to take them off. He doesn’t seem annoyed or even impatient, so I should be thankful for that. I know he’s already seen my scars, but the thought of showing him them again is frightening all the same.
“Show me,” he orders, pushing off the door, taking a step closer.
Insecurity takes hold of me as I start to unbutton my jeans with shaky hands. Careful not to drag my panties down too, I shimmy my jeans down my legs, exposing my thighs to him.
He closes the distance between us and gets down on one knee to inspect the scarred area even further. I close my eyes, unable to look at his face while he does this. I don’t want to see the disgust or pity in his eyes. I shiver at the contact, wondering what he’s thinking?
Hot breath fans against my thigh, a moment before lips brush over my skin. His lips against my skin is like a firework going off in an enclosed space. My eyes fly wide open, and I stare down at him, watching as he places soft kisses over the uneven skin.
“What are you doing?” I ask, a light tremble in my voice. I’m ready to push him away, shove his body away from mine, even though part of me wants to pull him closer.
He places one last kiss on my leg, peering up at me while he does before pushing himself off the floor to a stand.
I open my mouth to speak, but before a single syllable can make it out, his lips are on mine. My eyes flutter closed on instinct, and I give in to the feeling… give in to him.
I don’t want to need him, but I know a part of me does. I’ve come to love these secret moments we share together, where we’re not Jackson or Kennedy but two entirely different people. His arms wrap around me, and like putty in his hands, I mold to him, my body curving into his. His tongue darts out and runs over my bottom lip, begging for entry, and I part my lips, granting him access.
He tastes like fresh mint and sin, wrapped all in one. I can’t stifle the groan that slips from my throat, but that doesn’t matter because Jackson swallows the noise, his tongue gliding against mine with ease.
This isn’t my first kiss, but it almost feels like it is. Because nothing I’ve ever done has felt the way this kiss feels. All-consuming, provoking, searing. It’s one of those kisses you won’t forget, that will be forever ingrained in your mind.
One of his hands stays on my lower back while the other travels down over my butt. He strokes me there before giving it a tight squeeze.
Only then do I remember that I’m standing here with my pants down to my ankles.
Jackson doesn’t seem to mind, judging by his hardness, which is pressing into my lower belly. His other hand moves lower until both are cupping my ass.
Without ever breaking the kiss, he picks me up and carries me into the bedroom. Snaking my arms around his neck, I hold onto him like he is my lifeline.
Once in the room, he gently places me on the mattress, breaking our kiss. Opening my eyes, I find he’s hovering above me, his lips swollen from our kiss. There is something different about this moment. Every time we’ve ever had sex, it was me facing away from him, and we never kissed, not once.
“I need you,” he whispers, and I understand what he’s trying to ask.
“I need you too,” I confess.