My mom would be heartbroken if I ended up in prison.
“No, thanks. I’ll let you know if I ever change my mind though.” I sling my shirt over my shoulder and head for the door. Talon is hot on my heels, and I snatch another beer from him as we walk out to his car. The cool night air makes me shiver when it connects with my sweat-clad chest. Tipping the beer to my lips, I swallow down the frothy beer, letting the cold liquid cool me from the inside out.
Wiping my face with my shoulder, I crush yet another can and toss it over my shoulder once we reach Talon’s car.
“Dude, you want to binge drink tonight or something?” Talon says, unlocking his SUV. His family has money, hell, everyone that goes to Blackthorn has money. Or grades. Good grades will get you in, it’s how I got in, after all.
“I mean, it doesn’t sound like a bad idea, but…” I pause as I open the car door and hop inside. “Actually, I’ve got a better idea.”
“What’s better than binge drinking?” Talon cocks his brow, and even in the dark, I can see the smile tugging at his lips. In a way, he’s the devil’s advocate, sometimes pushing me to do shit, while other times, he tugs me back away from the edge.
“Tormenting someone.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” he asks, shifting the car into drive.
“It means I need you to take me over to Oakwood apartments.”
“What’s at Oakwood?”
“It isn’t what but who.”
“Sounds mysterious. Want to clue me in?” he asks, a little more curiously than I like. Do I want to tell him about Kennedy? No. My brain replies before I can even think about it. And not because I don’t want him to know who she is, or because I’m hiding something. I’m not. I don’t want him to know about her because I’m not ready for him to start asking questions, so leaving this entire thing open-ended is the best.
“Not really. It’s no one important. I just need to stop by and pay them a little visit. Then I’ll meet you back at the complex.”
Twisting around in my seat, I grab another beer and open it just as Talon speaks, “You don’t want me to stay and give you a ride home?”
“Nah, I’m fine to walk. It clears my head,” I say before taking a chug of the beer.
I’m a lot calmer now. My head felt like it’d been run through a blender the last time I talked to Kennedy. Being so close to her, her scent surrounding me, having her so close but yet so far away. She’s the only thing that I’ve left of my sister, and yet, I want to watch her burn. Want to see her bleed. No amount of pain I inflict on her would ever bring Jillian back, but it would make me feel better, and that’s the best I have.
“You sure you don’t want me to wait for you?” Talon says when we finally pull into the complex. It’s late and Kennedy is probably asleep, but I don’t really give a fuck. After following her home one night, I knew that I’d eventually come to this point. Showing up at her place, barging in. Briefly, I wonder if she’ll fight me? Call the cops? Scream?
The thought makes me smile. If she fights, I’ll fight back, and I can guarantee it’ll be the last time she pushes me.
“Jackson,” Talon says my name, and I realize I never answered him.
“I’m good, man. Go home. I’ll be a little bit.” I chuckle as I open the door and slip out of the SUV. Tugging on my shirt, I close the door and wave Talon off. When he starts to back up out of the parking space, I walk to her apartment.
I know I shouldn’t let my brain wander with thoughts of Kennedy, but it’s hard, so fucking hard. There was a time when I cared for her so much, I would’ve ripped my beating heart out of my chest and given it to her, but then everything fell apart. She couldn’t wait five fucking minutes. She couldn’t wait for me to show up and take her and Jillian home.
Part of me wondered for a long time if things would have been different if I had been at that party that night and not fucking Nicole. Then I realized nothing I did would have changed the choice that Kennedy had made.
Making my way down the sidewalk, I cut across the grass and walk right up to her door. The screen door creaks as I open it, and I lift my bruised knuckle, banging on it loudly. If she was sleeping, she isn’t now.
I keep my eyes firmly on the door and whistle a tune to stop myself from becoming impatient. A second later, I can hear the lock disengaging and the door opens, Kennedy’s tiny frame comes into view, her face full of sleep. I let my gaze wander for half a second over her body, which is hidden beneath sleep pants, and a T-shirt that says “Book Nerd” in big, bold letters and hangs off one shoulder.
She looks adorable, but that doesn’t change what I came here to do. Kennedy is going to pay, and the fun has just begun.
4
Kennedy
I must still be asleep because there is no way that Jackson is standing on my threshold right now. And yet, there is no way this is a dream because if it was how could I smell him so vividly, see him.
My nose wrinkles at the assault of scents that greet it. Sweat, alcohol, aftershave, and… blood?
Peering up into his face, his glassy eyes meet mine. He’s been drinking, and yet his movements are precise and without hesitation. I notice there is a small gash on his forehead, and his bottom lip is swollen and partially split open. Was he in a fight? My heart rate spikes at the thought. What happened to him? When I lower my gaze, my eyes find his hands, and I see that his knuckles are bruised, confirming my suspicions. Just another reason why he doesn’t need to be here right now. Drinking and fighting. Yeah, I don’t have time to deal with that.
“You need to leave,” I tell him, my voice still laced with sleep.
His eyes pinch together. “I’ll leave when I’m ready, thank you.” Pushing the door open a little wider, he continues, “Why did you open the door in the first place?” He looks around my small apartment, which looks even smaller with his large body filling up the space.
“I didn’t want you to wake up the neighbors,” I say, a half-lie. That’s part of it. The other part is I know it wouldn’t matter. If he wanted to get in, he would.
“Sure, whatever you have to tell yourself, bug.” I cringe at the nickname.
He used to call me Junebug when we were little as a pet name, but the way he says it now is filled with vengeful hate. It sounds more like an insult and not like an endearment that it was once upon a time.
Dropping my hand from the door, I take a step back. “What do you want, Jackson?”
“I want my sister back, but since I can’t have that, I’ll do with watching you suffer.”
All you have to do is open your eyes.
How does he not see how much I’m already suffering? Have I become that good at hiding it? Or maybe whatever he sees isn’t enough.
“Where is your bathroom?” he asks, scanning the room. I point in the direction of my bathroom, afraid that if I don’t, he’ll start opening and closing every door. Pushing past me, he waltzes through my apartment like he owns the place.
He flips on the light like he’s always known where it is but doesn’t close the door behind him. Instead, he starts opening the cabinets and drawers rifling through everything.