She shook her head. “No. Are you?”
“I’m afraid of how bad yours will be.” His shoulders felt tight, and he shivered.
“I’m going to run through as many as I can. Hunter, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, not just for taking bad memories, but for being you.”
“Compared to what I’ve seen in your head so far, that’s not much praise. But I know what you mean. I want to be.”
She closed her eyes.
The pounding started immediately. He stood outside his mother’s bedroom door and heard himself panting then “Ahhhh! Ahhhh!” Just like Plant during the middle section of “Whole Lotta Love.” He heard his mother moan, then “Yes! Yes! Yes!” The hall turned pitch black. He wandered, disoriented toward the wall, seeing nothing.
A young, much thinner Jazz stood outside a bedroom door, listening, wide-eyed, her ear pressed against the door. She heard the bed moving and Micah grunting rhythmically.
“Oh, God, Micah! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” Her mother yelled through gritted teeth.
“Uh! Uh! Uh! Goddammit!” yelled Micah.
Then silence.
Then laughter. Jazz smiled, lifting her head up.
“Whoa, Claire! That was special.”
“Especially amazingly good!”
They laughed again. Jazz laughed and slipped, banging her knee against the wall.
“What’s that?” asked Micah.
Jazz’s eyes flashed open. She heard footsteps. She ran away from the door, through the kitchen, and down her hallway as silently and quickly as she could. She slid into her bed, turned her back to the door, and tried desperately to calm her breathing.
She heard his footsteps approach her room. Squinting her eyes open, she noticed the light change against her far wall and knew he was standing in her doorway.
“Jazz?” he whispered. “Are you awake?”
She did not move or breathe.
“Did you listen to us? It’s OK if you did. I made your mother feel real good tonight. Remember that.”
He walked away.
Jazz inhaled a slow breath. Why did he come to her room? What did he want?
She replayed the sounds of their lovemaking in her mind.
The next day appeared in flashes of moments. Micah paid special attention to Jazz’s looks at him, trying to get her to smile when Claire wasn’t looking. He rubbed his hand up and down the zipper on his jeans, caught her looking, and pointed at her with a wink. Finally after lunch, her mother went outside to smoke a cigarette. Micah moved very close to her and tried to get her to look into his eyes.
When she did, he smiled. “Did you?”
Jazz felt her face heat up and knew she was blushing.
“Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Did you listen outside our door?”
She tried to turn away. He grabbed her arm gently. “I know you did. Was it fun? Did you enjoy it?”
She looked to the floor.
“C’mon, Jazzy. I’m not going to bite you. Do you even know what we were doing?”
Jazz looked at him like, “Do you think I’m an idiot?” but said nothing.
“You just admitted it without saying anything.” He laughed. “You’re pretty smart, Jazz. And you’re pretty good-looking, too.”
She glanced at him and couldn’t keep the smile from stretching her lips.
“Did you rub yourself?”
Jazz felt her skin tingle. She couldn’t keep her mouth closed. She looked away.
“Did you?”
Her heart raced as she turned and ran down the hall to her room.
How did he know? She felt lightheaded as sweat beaded on her brow.
She heard footsteps then the creak of her door.
“Tell you what. I’m going into town in a few minutes. Think I’ll get you something special. Just between you and me. You’ll love it.”
He walked away.
Another scene flashed.
She’d just taken a bath and opened the door to peak outside. She had been trying to avoid him all evening. Every time their eyes met, he smiled and winked. She didn’t see him in the hall, so she walked quickly to her bedroom and closed the door.
Later when she pulled back her covers, she found a magazine full of naked men and a computer tablet. Plus a note: Have fun, Jazz! Tell me in the morning whether you liked my gifts. He’d also written out some website addresses.
She wanted to put everything in her closet and have nothing to do with them. But she couldn’t stop looking at the magazine, and she couldn’t stop panting. Her heart felt like it would jump out of her chest. She slowly opened her door and peeked down the hallway. Empty.
She picked up the magazine and opened it. Oh, my God! She stared. Turned the page. Stared some more.
Her face burned as she climbed under the covers, every nerve on edge.
Other scenes flashed by quickly for most of the night, full of sounds and incredible sensations. She crashed sometime near dawn, her body slick with sweat, gasping for air under the sheets. Her head ached.
Hours later her door squeaked open.
“Jazzy,” said Micah softly, almost singing. “Time to get up, girl.”
Her eyes snapped open under her covers. She tried not to move.
“Lucky this is summertime and you can sleep late. And stay up late . . . doing whatever.” He laughed. “I know you’re awake. Either show me right now, or I’ll rip off your covers. One, Two, Three . . .”
“I’m awake! What do you want?” She still hid under the covers.
“How was your night? Fun?”
“I slept.”
“The magazine was on the floor, so I guess you looked through that.”
Her stomach clenched.
“Don’t worry. I picked it up. Wouldn’t want Claire to find it.”
Jazz tried to decide what to do. She bit her knuckle.
“I guess the tablet is under the covers with you? I spent some good money for those, Jazz. Thought you’d appreciate them.”
Jazz slowly pulled the covers down to her neck, squinting in the light. He stood against her door, now closed, with no shirt, wearing boxers. And he had an obvious erection. She caught herself staring then snapped her eyes away.
“Can you say, ‘Thank you, Micah?’”
Jazz felt her lips tremble and couldn’t look at him. Her stomach felt like she’d swallowed a rock. What did he want? Why did he buy those things for her? Last night she felt excitement, but now she was embarrassed. And worried. What should she do? And say?
“Thanks, Micah,” she said softly.
He smiled. “No problem, Jazzy. I aim to please. Just want you happy. If you think of anything else you’d like to have, let me know. By the way, Claire went to get her hair done. She’ll be gone for a couple of hours. I told her I’d let you sleep in, but you’re awake. So I’ll make you something to eat. You want to get dressed? Or do you want to stay in your bed for a little longer.”
“No, I’ll get up.”
Her heart raced thinking about being alone with him in his trailer for two hours. That hadn’t happened before. Was she excited or scared?
He still stood by the door.
“So go make me some food while I get dressed.”
He smiled. “Sure.” He scratched his stomach then left the room.
Jazz got out of bed and dressed quickly. She hid the tablet under her mattress. She thought about showing the gifts to her mom. That’s what she should do, but how embarrassing would that be? She’d had them all night.
And she’d listened to them having sex outside their door. How would she explain that? Still, she should talk to her mother.
But she didn’t.
Would she do the same tonight if she had the opportunity? Maybe, but she knew she shouldn’t. Especially not if he was going to walk into her room again, shirtless, and . . .
Would he keep asking her question
s? Would he try to do more? Why? She was twelve. She didn’t want to talk about it anymore with him. She’d just ignore him.
But what if he kept talking about it? And forcing her to talk?
Maybe he just wanted to embarrass her. Make fun of her. Watch her squirm. He’d keep doing it if she let on it bothered her. So she’d have to stop acting embarrassed. Just like with bullies at school. If they knew they were getting to you, they’d keep after you.
Hunter opened his eyes and watched Jazz. She was breathing heavily, like she’d been running laps for an hour. He wanted to scream at her to run from the house, to call her mom. He knew what would happen to her because he hadn’t left his mother’s room when he had the chance. They had made the same mistakes and paid for them with years of doubt and self-loathing.
Chapter Twenty-Two
She walked down the hallway into the kitchen. He’d set a plate with toast and a fried egg. A glass of orange juice stood next to it.
He sat on the other side of the table, his face hidden behind a magazine, still shirtless.
Oh, God! He was looking through the nude magazine he had given her.
She almost ran outside. She should run outside.
But she couldn’t take her eyes off the nakedness. The men were gorgeous. She had to force herself to breathe.
She couldn’t let him get to her.
With as much sass as she could muster, she asked, “Did you buy that for me or for yourself?” She sat down and jabbed her egg with a piece of toast.
He turned the magazine around. “I think you stared at this guy the most.”
Jazz flinched and stared at her egg. Yes, that was the one. How did he know?
He laid the magazine on the table between them. “I see a smudge here and here. Think you kissed the page a few times.” He chuckled.
She took a sip of orange juice and grimaced. “What’d you put in here?”
“You know what I put. You’ve snuck drinks out of the bottle several times. You’ve been doing it for weeks. I made you a Screwdriver. Since your mother won’t drink with me anymore, I thought we could share a toast.” He lifted his glass, waiting for her to clink it.
“Mom’s pregnant. She can’t drink.”
“So she tells me. But you can. Maybe we could share a drink before you go to bed tonight. Might make your evening more fun.” They locked eyes, his glass held above the middle of the table. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell your mother. This will be our little secret.” He smiled at her while moving his tongue across his teeth.
Her breaths were quick and shallow. She should leave the trailer, but she couldn’t make her legs work. Just walk outside and wait for Mom to come home and then tell her what Micah did. Her chest ached.
But then, how would they eat? Where would they sleep? Go back to MawMaw and PawPaw’s? Mom didn’t want that. This was Micah’s house. He bought everything for them. Mom was six months pregnant.
“Jazz, I really didn’t buy you anything yesterday.”
What? She scrunched her eyebrows and stared at him.
“This is your mother’s magazine. She’s had it for two months. You took it out of her nightstand.”
Jazz felt her blood drain from her face as he sneered at her.
“And the pad is mine. You snuck it out of our room sometime yesterday. I found it on your bed when I got you up this morning.”
She gasped. Her hand shook so she put down her fork and held her hands in her lap.
“You know that’s a lie,” she choked out. “You wrote me a note!”
He pulled the note out from the magazine. “Yes, I did. But now it’s gone.” He wadded it up. “So do we keep our little secret?” He wiggled the glass at her. “If we did, things would go much better for your mother. Don’t think she wants a big fight right now.”
Jazz’s heart raced. What should she do? “What do you want from me?”
“Right now, I’d like you to share a drink with me. Will you do that?”
She tried to think of options, but they all ended in them leaving Micah. Maybe she could deal with Micah for the time being. If he tried anything, then she’d tell Mom. She picked up her glass and clinked his.
Micah nodded his head and smiled. “Drink up!” He poured the drink down his throat. Jazz sipped hers and winced. This was a strong drink.
“No baby sips in my house. Drink it!” His voice commanded while his smile twisted into a leer.
Jazz took bigger sips and felt dizzy. “Drink up, Jazzy!” He laughed. “It’s good for you. Everyone needs vitamin C in the morning.”
Jazz finished the drink and closed her eyes. Her head felt numb. She leaned back in her chair and tried to breathe. Heat flooded her neck and face. Her skin tingled.
She felt fingers raking through her hair then rubbing her neck. It felt so good. She leaned her head forward and felt the fingers go down her back and along her ribs, then up, then across her shoulders and down her arms. She felt so relaxed.
Her chair moved away from the table. Hands lifted her out of the chair and pressed her against . . .
She opened her eyes and saw Micah’s chest. His hands moved around her back then down. She tried to push herself away, but she was too weak.
“What . . . what?” She tried to speak.
“You need to lie down, Jazzy. I think that drink was a little strong.” He laughed then picked her up and carried her into her room. He laid her gently onto her bed.
Jazz’s vision was blurred. What did he want?
Somewhere behind the humming and the tingling and the fog in her brain, she realized she had made the wrong choice.
Hunter wiped his eyes and looked at Jazz. Her cheeks were wet with tears. Her breathing was quick and shallow as she shook her head slowly.
Several scenes flashed by quickly, most in her bedroom. Hunter’s fingers flew around his keyboard. Jazz was not recalling stories anymore, just events. And emotions.
Sometimes Jazz begged Micah to stop, sometimes she laughed. Often she groaned. Micah commanded, grunted, laughed. Sometimes he spoke tenderly while Jazz cried.
Jazz heard more and more fights between her mother and Micah—glasses breaking, fists pounding on furniture. Jazz covered her ears and sobbed. He screamed about her looks and her feeling bad all the time. He slapped her often then came for Jazz. The louder the fight, the more likely Micah came to her room.
Her mother felt horrible and rarely left her bed. She apologized to Jazz who tended to her whenever she could.
Her mother must have noticed how tired Jazz was, how dark her skin was under her eyes.
“Are you OK, Jazz?”
“Sure, Mom. I’m fine.”
“Is Micah treating you OK?”
Jazz looked at her mother, trying to keep from crying, trying so hard to bite her tongue. Why did Mom ask her now? Did she suspect? Had Micah said something?
“Sure. Why wouldn’t he?” Jazz fluffed up her pillow.
“You look so sad lately. And distracted. Are you sleeping OK?” Her mother touched her cheek.
No, I’m not sleeping. I do whatever Micah wants me to do, except screw him. He hasn’t tried that yet, but I know it’s coming. That’s what she wanted to say, but all she could muster was, “I’m OK. Looking forward to having a sister.”
Mom smiled and kissed her forehead. “Won’t be long now.”
One night after Micah left her room at three in the morning, she ran to the bathroom and puked her guts out. She stared at the slime that came out of her mouth as it drifted around the toilet bowl. Another spasm twisted her gut, but all that emerged was a groan from deep inside, a retching from her soul so dirtied, so corrupted.
She wailed and pulled her hair until some came out in her hands. But she felt no pain—just relief. She pulled out some more with a stifled scream then looked at the strands in her fist. For those few seconds when she pulled, she didn’t feel dirty. She didn’t feel Micah.
She saw the
razor sitting on the edge of the tub. The tiny blades hypnotized her. Three of them. Shiny. Clean. Sharp.
Her hand reached for the handle. She wondered what it would feel like to drag the blades across her ankle.
In her mind she could not stop seeing Micah, smelling him, tasting him. But her eyes saw the blades as she set them on her skin then dragged slowly. The burning sting closed her mind so all she saw was the blood trickling onto the floor.
She gritted her teeth and released all the breath in her lungs.
She moved the blade up and pushed it harder this time. Deeper. Longer. Until the pain forced her fingers to drop the razor.
She watched the blood drip into tiny little puddles.
Her mind was a blank, numbed by the aching pain in her ankle. She sat there for several minutes finding comfort in the singular focus of her consciousness—her blood, the throbbing, and her mutilated skin.
Finally, she wiped her ankle with toilet paper then cleaned the floor with a washcloth. She watched the blood ooze from the sliced skin then remembered she had a half glass of vodka in her room. She hurriedly returned to get it and closed the door to the bathroom. Her heart racing, she sat on the edge of the tub and slowly poured the alcohol onto her cuts as she clenched her teeth.
The electric slap of pain shuddered her muscles and restored the emptiness in her head.
She walked slowly back to her room and slipped under her covers, her brain asleep before her head collapsed into her pillow.
Hunter pressed his fists into his eyes, trying to staunch his tears. He knew what scenes were coming, and he did not want to see them.
Jazz opened her eyes as if from a dream. The corners of her mouth quivered into a partial smile. “Just a little more, Hunter. Can you stand it?”
His voice was just a whisper. “Barely.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“I want you to feel whole again. Just hold me when you’re done.”
“I’ll never let you go.”
Jazz closed her eyes, and Hunter heard her mother screaming.
“Micah! Please don’t.”
Jazz was standing in the hall when she heard the slap and her mother crying.
Someone To Kiss My Scars: A Teen Thriller Page 18
