Surviving Faith (The JackholeS, #2)

by Joy Eileen

  “I’m not, nor have I ever been, suicidal. And I had no clue my dad was looking into Jason. I don’t care if you believe me or not. I had no intention of letting my dad find out anything about my relationship with Jason,” I countered.

  Mr. Hutchingson rolled his eyes again at my response. His reaction made the anger boil closer to the surface.

  “Please. My son told me about your little suicide attempt. He even showed me the pictures,” he scoffed.

  I could feel my face pale as the blood drained out of it. Once again seeing another facet of Jason’s delusions. “I'm not going to argue with you. Like your son, you seem content with living inside your own world, but I will stop my dad from investigating any further.”

  I started to get up, sick to my stomach from the conversation, but he stopped me before I could stand.

  “I have a proposition for you.” He smiled and my skin crawled.

  “I assure you; I don’t want anything from you,” I said, making a move to leave again.

  He grabbed my hand. “I heard you’re singing with the JackholeS.”

  I tensed, hating that he had insight into my life, and the boys. “That is none of your business,” I spat out. I needed to leave. My body begged me to rip free of his grasp and walk out, but I forced myself to stay to make sure my family was safe.

  “I have a lot of connections, Faith. It would only take a couple of phone calls to get them on a headlining tour that would put them on the road to being signed.”

  I faltered, knowing this could be the opportunity the boys had been working so hard toward.

  He regarded me, most likely thinking I would shut him down again. “I’m sure Killian, Donovan, Jetson, and Daniel wouldn’t appreciate your blowing away their shot at stardom because of your pride.”

  That pulled me back to reality. His use of their real names, reminded me he had no idea who the boys were, or the talent they possessed. This made the anger surge back with a vengeance.

  “I’ll talk to my dad and tell him to stop asking questions about Jason, but only because I don't want him to know what your son did to me. And I assure you, the JackholeS will make it big without you.” I wrenched my arm out of his grasp, and stood, utterly finished with the evil man sitting in front of me.

  “I appreciate you getting your dad to back off," he answered, ignoring my statement. "I’ll let you think over my offer; call me when you want to talk.”

  I resisted the need to tell him he shouldn’t hold his breath. Most of the customers were watching us, and I didn’t want to cause any more of a scene. So, I left with my head held high. Even after slamming my car door, the anger didn't ebb. Gripping the door handle with one hand I took deep calming breaths while I reached frantically into my purse for my bottle of Tums with the other.

  In my rush my phone fell out and landed on my passenger seat. My search for my Tums stopped as I saw the massive amount of missed calls. Every one of them were from Trent.

  My heart rushed into my throat as I pressed redial. As it rang, I sent out positive thoughts that nothing was wrong. I couldn’t think of any other reason why anyone would call so many times, unless there had been an emergency.

  “Faith,” Trent answered.

  The panic I tried to hold back flooded through me. The emotion choked me, making my voice sound strangled. “Trent, what’s wrong?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, picturing all the horrible things he was about to tell me.

  “What? Nothing is wrong,” he said, finally hearing the panic in my voice.

  “What the hell do you mean nothing is wrong? You called me close to twenty times in a forty-five minute period. Of course, I’d think something was wrong.”

  Jason’s dad exited the coffee shop. I hunched down, which turned out to be in vain, because he didn’t even glance toward the parking lot. He walked across the street and back into his office, an air of importance surrounding him.

  “I’m sorry, Faith. I didn’t mean to worry you. It’s just when you left I felt horrible I had let you go alone. I was trying to find out where you went so I could be there for backup.” He sounded sheepish, and some of my anger melted away.

  “Well, I'm finished with my meeting, and I appreciate your concern, but this was something I needed to do on my own.” I flipped my wrist over and stared at the tiny silver line running down the vein.

  “What did he want?” His voice was tight.

  For a moment, I wanted to lie and tell him nothing, but Trent had caught me at a vulnerable moment, and I needed to vent to someone. I decided to use him as a sounding board, wanting to purge all that had just happened so it couldn’t fester inside, but that also meant I would have to explain the scar on my wrist.

  “Can you meet me at the grocery store by my house in thirty minutes?” I asked. I hoped the extra time would give me a chance to get my story straight as to what I wanted to confess.

  “I'll be there."

  Meeting at the grocery store was a win-win for me. I’d have an alibi and could pick up the stuff I’d forgotten when I’d gone shopping the day before. The parking lot was busier than it had been with the upcoming holiday looming around the corner. I had to park some distance from the store.

  As the interior of my car cooled, I stroked the silver scar, on my right wrist and let the memories submerge into me. The scar was razorblade thin. Almost indiscernible unless you were looking for it. I rubbed my finger over it as I remembered the day it became a part of me.

  Jason had been having a hard time in one of his classes. He couldn’t understand how someone as perfect as he was could fail at something. His definition of failing meant he was getting a C in a class. He’d been sick over his grade, mumbling about how he needed to fix it, and how badly a C would stand out on his transcript. He became obsessed.

  I tried to explain to him how there were just some classes that, no matter how hard you tried, you weren't going to win. My words infuriated him, sending him into a rage. I remember the fear I felt as his face turned red. He screamed, telling me how stupid I was and how I could never understand.

  His degrading comments made me want to remind him we went to the same school, and I had never earned any grade lower than an A. I kept my mouth shut, though, not wanting to escalate the situation. My bruises from our last encounter were still coloring my skin.

  Jason had decided he would talk to his professor the next day and convince him with his charm he needed to raise his grade. The smug look on his face made my insides crawl as he told me his plan. Once again, I kept my mouth closed, not wanting to have his wrath focused on me.

  The next day when I came home from work, the house was eerily quiet. Jason’s car was in his parking spot, so I knew he was home. Fear thickened my blood, allowing panic to lodge into my soul. The urge to walk out of the apartment and never return had throbbed within me, but then I heard Jason sniffling in the bathroom.

  My sluggish legs shook as they took me to the bathroom. The door was partially open. Jason was sitting on the rim of the bathtub, head down. I bumped the door, making it swing open further, revealing the razor blade in Jason's hand.

  My gaze was captured by the deadly silver edge glinting in the light. Jason’s hand was shaking, causing the razor blade to flicker against the harsh lighting. I slowly lifted my eyes away from the instrument of pain until they connected with his. A gasp ripped through me as I searched his face. Jason's eyes were devoid of any emotion, and a chill skittered up my spine.

  “Jason, what are you doing?” I’d whispered, stepping into the bathroom and creeping closer to him as I tried to keep from startling him.

  He blinked as if he just noticed I was in the room.

  “Jason,” I repeated, louder. I took another step closer, then another, until I was right in front of him, crouching down so I could gain his full attention.

  “Faith, I couldn’t talk him into changing my grade.” His face held a perplexed look as if he never considered his plan would fail.

  “It’s
okay, Jason. You can do some extra credit or maybe take the class again with another teacher. One that will get you, but you need to give me the razor blade."

  “Faith, you are so stupid. You think life is so simple,” he sneered.

  I bit my tongue to keep from telling him I knew a lot more about life than he did. Especially since he rarely lived in reality. “Jason, I just don’t want you to do something to hurt yourself.”

  He glanced down at the razor blade in his hand and rotated it back and forth. Expelling a bitter laugh, he pressed the blade to his wrist. Not hard enough to break the skin but enough to indent it.

  “No!” I cried in horror as I reached out to pull it from his hand.

  It happened in slow motion. With a lift of the blade the sharp corner sliced into my wrist. I jerked my hand away, which made the blade cut further into my skin.

  We stared as a thin line of red snaked over my wrist. Within seconds blood welled up and dripped onto the floor. I wrapped my other hand tightly around my wrist trying to staunch the flow of blood.

  “Faith, what did you do?” Jason asked, snatching a washcloth from the counter. He threw my hand away and pressed the white washcloth against my wound. I stared at him confounded. Was he really turning this on me? I should have been used to it by then.

  “What? You lifted the blade up,” I accused, unable to hold my anger in any longer.

  “Faith,” he said in a placating tone.

  I wished then my wrist had been uninjured, because I really wanted to rear back and slap the shit out of him.

  “Here, let me help you,” he said, reaching for me again.

  I jerked away.

  “Stop it, Faith. It's a really deep cut. I need to make sure you don’t need stitches.”

  I blanched, knowing that if I went to the hospital with my wrist sliced open, Jason would gain the upper hand.

  “I don’t want to go to the hospital.” My legs were rubbery as I slid down the wall. The adrenaline crashed down, leaving me in a shocked state.

  “Alright, no hospital, but I need you to let me bandage you up.”

  I nodded as tears slid down my cheek, diving deeper into the black hole of Jason's twisted reality. He kissed me on the cheek and began gathering supplies.

  I stared at the pristine cloth while it slowly turned a dark pink, as my blood seeped into it. I had a tiny glimmer of hope, thinking no one would believe I tried to commit suicide. My jumbled brain revolved around the cut being on my right wrist. Who would try to kill themselves by cutting their right wrist if they were right-handed?

  This was the thought I clung to as Jason had butterfly-bandaged the cut and placed a bigger Band-Aid on top of it before wrapping the whole thing tightly in gauze. He lifted me up and carried me to the bed, taking my shoes off and laying me down. My whole body had felt exhausted as the last of my adrenaline dripped away from me.

  Since Mr. Hutchingson had proof of this disaster. Jason must have come back into the room at some point and taken pictures of my wrist while I slept. Ever the opportunist, never knowing when something like that would come in handy. I wondered briefly if I would have stayed with him, what situation would have caused him to pull out those little gems.

  CHAPTER 19

  The memory evaporated when someone knocked on my window, causing me to jump back into the now. Trent stared at me with worry on his face, and a twinge of shame assaulted me.

  I wasn’t in my right mind when I called Trent after my meeting with Jason’s dad. Now that I had some time to calm down, I didn’t want to share what had happened with him. I allowed myself to get caught up in the drama, and I shouldn’t have called him back so hastily.

  Trent opened the door when I made no move to get out of the car. He extended his hand, and I reluctantly took it. I couldn't very well tell him never mind after asking to meet him here.

  “Are you okay?” he asked when I climbed out. He pulled me in for a tight hug. Annoyance resurfaced, making me feel like an awful person. I was using him, because he was the only one who knew about my meeting and the continued notes. The amount of relief I felt when he finally let me go embarrassed me further as my mind chastised me for being such a horrible friend.

  “I’m fine,” I answered.

  He stared at me as if he were trying to read my face. My sunglasses were firmly in place, hiding my conflicting thoughts.

  “What did he want?” Trent asked as we meandered through the store.

  I gathered my thoughts as I picked out the perfect pound of apples. Trying to figure out what I wanted to share with him, I kept coming to the same conclusion. I needed to stop using Trent, because I didn't trust him like a true friend.

  “Faith, please tell me,” he pleaded.

  “My dad has been investigating Jason’s background. He wanted me to ask him to stop,” I said, giving him as much truth as I wanted to share.

  Trent stared at me, and I mustered a pathetic smile. “Did you tell him about the notes?”

  I stopped pushing the cart so I could face him when I shook my head. Trent's body was tense, his eyes taking on a wild quality.

  “Why would I tell him about the notes? So he could find some way to turn it around and make me look like the bad guy? Hell no,” I said louder than I’d meant to.

  Two little old gray-haired ladies shot me the evil eye as they scurried off down the next aisle.

  “You're right; it would probably be a bad idea to tell him about them. Besides, they aren’t coming as often as they were before, right? Maybe Jason's giving up on getting you back.”

  “How did you know the notes were being left less often?” I asked. He hadn’t been around since our last fight, and now my paranoia was getting the best of me.

  He put his arm around my shoulders making me cringe. “Even though we haven’t been talking to each other as much as I would like, I’ve still been keeping an eye on you, Faith. I care about you. I'll always take care of you.”

  His words should’ve made me feel secure, safe in the knowledge I had a friend. A friend who would stick around no matter how badly we fought, but I couldn’t stop my suspicions from reforming. Jason was already more than I could handle. I needed to stop this back and forth friendship I had with Trent. I knew deep down it wasn't healthy for either of us.

  “Thanks, Trent. Although...I'm a big girl and can take care of myself.” I kept my words light, but my brain was bogged down by the need to say them.

  “I know you are Faith. You're amazing, which is one of the reasons why I care about you so much.”

  I nudged him lightly before reaching for a can of pumpkin on the top shelf, successfully dislodging his arm. Even though I had five cans at home, I figured this was an easy way to get him off of me without hurting his feelings more than I was going to when I separated from him—and for good this time.

  We walked around a little longer, Trent trying to pump me for more information on what had happened at the coffee shop. I dodged his questions, but by the time we loaded up my car and he drove off, I was exhausted.

  Before I could shift my car into drive, my phone rang. Kill’s name flashed on the screen, and my mood lifted immediately.

  “Hey, Slick. Where have you been keeping your sexy ass?”

  "I fueled up on coffee before going to the store to get some things I forgot yesterday.”

  “Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve met you. You know how much I like squeezing your melons.”

  Kill had a way of fixing my mood with only a couple of sentences.

  “Trent met up with me, so I wasn’t alone, but don’t worry, Killer, there was no melon squeezing.”

  He remained quiet for a second. “So, are you coming home now?”

  I figured he would be upset that I was hanging out with Trent, but I didn't want to add another lie to what I had already been keeping from him.

  “Yep, I'm on my way now. I was going to pick up dinner. I don’t want to cook since cooking is all I’ll be doing in a couple of days.”

/>   “Don’t worry about it. We'll order Chinese. Just come home. I miss you”

  “So needy. Alright, see you in a couple of minutes, love you.”

  “Love you more, Slick. Now get that sexy ass home,” he said before hanging up.

  Kill came out to help me with the groceries as soon as I parked. He carried them all while I watched his muscles bulge, enjoying the free show. We were putting everything away when he started laughing. I looked over to see him holding the can of pumpkin I’d used as a distraction.

  “Damn, Slick. How many cans of pumpkin do you need?” he asked, putting it with the others.

  “Shut up, Killer. You can never have enough pumpkin.”

  I’d been caught and would now have to prepare a ton of pumpkin dishes just to prove my point. He came over and kissed me lightly, erasing the pumpkin from my mind. We became wrapped up in each other quickly. He pulled away just enough to lift me up and throw me over his shoulder.

  He yelled at Van and Jessie who were sitting on the couch. "The money for food's on the table by the door. Pay the man when he shows up."

  I finagled my way out of going to The Note by telling Kill I needed to start getting things ready for Thanksgiving. Ray had shut the bar down for the week, and I didn’t need to go back to work until Wednesday. I extended my time off by taking Saturday off as well, so I could spend time with my dad and Martha.

  When Kill and the boys left for their show, I grabbed my phone and called my dad. I’d been dreading this phone call. Throughout the night I’d gone over what I wanted to say to him, until I finally fell asleep, overcome by exhaustion.

  My insides churned while I chewed on a handful of Tums. My stomach had been getting increasingly worse since I talked to Jason’s dad. The pain actually made my back ache, no longer confined to where the boulder rolled around in my stomach. My hope was that, by getting my dad to back off on Jason, some of the tension would help ease the pain.

  Martha answered the phone, and we made small talk for a while. Most of it was me telling her again and again she didn’t need to cook anything. My dad was in the background telling her the flight info and I took it as my cue to get him on the phone.