I'm jostled awake as the mattress moves, and the body next to me starts grabbing at my body with needy hands. I smile at first, so happy that Logan is with me.
My eyes spring open.
I open my mouth to cry, but nothing comes out besides a painful breath. Jackson lifts me up, tearing off my dress that's been bunched over my waist since the bathroom. I'm deposited on top of his cock, and I slide down, feeling like I need some more liquor to numb the pain. I'm definitely feeling sober now, and it's not a good feeling.
Not good at all.
I move up and down, wanting to fuck the pain out of me like Jackson did earlier. I ride him hard, slamming down each time and letting out a little moan. Jackson lifts up on his elbows, leaning forward and licking my cheeks. It's not until he pulls away that I realize I'm crying.
What… he's licking my tears?
He leans back on his pillow, his brows furrowed as he licks his lips. He places his hands on my waist, letting me take the lead but still keeping some control.
My eyes can't stop crying.
The burning heat ignites a fire between my legs. My chest feels like it's tearing in two. My head feels like it's pounding so hard, I'm going to crack open. My eyes stay focused on Jackson, and as I cry, and cry, and cry, Jackson stares deeper and deeper into me. Soon enough, we both tumble off the edge, together this time, and I weep, falling on top of Jackson and curling into his chest. I burrow my face underneath his arm and seek any kind of comfort and safety I can get.
Hesitantly, Jackson curls his arms around my body, caging me in and settling into a comfortable position. I stay there, curled into the nook of Jackson's arm as sleep takes me a second time.
When I wake a second time, it's to an empty bed and cool sheets. At least I know where I am this time. My body feels sore, well used. I stretch and if it weren't for the peek of light coming from underneath the darkened curtains, I would think it's still the middle of the night.
Jackson stands near those curtains, looking down at his phone with not a care in the world. When he notices movement on the bed, he glances up at me.
No furrowed brow from last night. What I thought was an inkling of emotion has been wiped from his face and in its place is his usual blank stare.
"Hi." I whisper. What now?
He bends down, and when he stands back up, my dress is in his hands as he tries to hand it to me.
I take it with a frown, looking at it, to him, and back to my dress. "Okay…" I sit up, pulling the comforter over my chest to cover myself. I suddenly feel very, very unwelcome.
He fucking started it.
I slip on my dress silently and don't say a word. Once I'm dressed, I look over at Jackson. I open my mouth to say something, but I'm not quite sure what to say.
He nods his head at the door. "Go."
Go.
That's the first thing that he's said to me since Logan died. He screws me until I can barely walk, and when he finally speaks, it's telling me to leave?
I balk. "Fuck you."
His lip curls up, baring his teeth. "Leave." He growls.
My eyes start to water. I'm not usually this much of an emotional loon, but I'm feeling all over the place mentally and Jackson is not helping.
I stand up, grabbing my phone off the floor and leveling him with a look. "Fucking soulless bastard." I sneer.
"Fucking leave!" He squeezes his hand into a fist and pounds it into his wall, and I swear the entire trailer shakes with the force.
I bite my lip to keep the tears at bay and lash out. "You weren't even a great lay anyway." I stick up my pinky, hinting that he has a tiny dick and running out of there before I get murdered. His bedroom door slams right behind my ass, and a moment later I hear a slam of something.
Not sure what, since there is absolutely nothing in his room.
Grabbing my heels, I book it out of there. The tears start creeping up again, but I run my hand over my face to wipe them away. I was lying about Jackson not being a great lay. He was fucking phenomenal, but I'd never actually admit that to him.
Or anyone.
Fuck, I can never tell Rose.
I run to my house barefoot, wincing every time my feet run over an especially sharp pebble on the ground.
Once I get into my house, I slam the door shut and lock it, leaning up against the back of it as I calm my breathing.
Shit, I can't believe I just did that. I can't believe I slept with Jackson. Logan's best friend. The thought of Rose sleeping with Logan if something were to happen to me is so painful, I want to rip these thoughts out of my brain and stomp on them with my knock-off heels.
I feel a heavy presence in the room. Looking over my shoulder, I know I'm not going to see anyone. I've been alone in this trailer for a long time. I'm surprised it's still standing.
The feeling gets stronger.
Is it… is it Logan?
Nope.
I drop my heels on the ground and rush to my kitchen. I just can't, mostly after what happened last night. I reach up and grab the bottle of Vodka from the kitchen cabinet and race to my bedroom, slamming the door and leaving out the feelings and the presence that lingers in this house like a bad fucking demon.
Leaving me alone, as usual.
With Vodka.
2
Jackson
Before
Shit.
Fuck, shit, fuck, shit, fuck.
I don't know who hates me more. Logan, or myself. I wouldn't blame him if he dug himself out of the solid casket, crawled his way all the way to my house and tore me apart.
Piece by piece.
I would welcome it.
I deserve it.
I shake my head, hating the look on Cara's face as it flashes through my head. Sadness, worry, anger.
Regret.
That one hit the hardest.
I knew it was coming from a mile away, though. I barely remember what happened last night, but I do remember screwing the shit out of Cara. I remember how she felt wrapped around me like she was tailored for my fucking cock or something.
I couldn't help myself, and I know that's a terrible excuse because—come on—I'm a guy with a dick and it controls me more than my two fucking legs do. But at the end of the day, I know I could have stopped it before it went as far as it did, and I didn't.
I didn't want to.
She looked at my back and touched it with such sympathy that I felt rage. Rage that I've never felt even an inkling of that kind of comfort in my entire life. Rage that Logan had that type of comfort in his life from his parents, and then he gets someone like Cara, too?
Fuck me, I must have been some John Wayne Gacy fucker in my past life to get this short end of the stick.
Anyway, I knew it was wrong and I did it anyway. The line between right and wrong was blurred heavily with all the liquor and green I consumed last night, but I knew.
Then this morning I woke up and felt phantom pain like no other on my back, and I knew I was fucked. It was wrong, I was wrong, and I was so, totally, fucked.
So, I kicked her out before I got the poor, pity, Jackson speech. Fuck it, and fuck Cara.
Not like she even really sees me anyway.
No one sees me.
That's okay, because I'd rather sleep in the shadows anyway.