by S. H. Kolee
When Mason Jennings' character turned out to be a traitor working for the corrupt government, I couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at Jackson's betrayal, even if it was his fictional character that was duped. I watched the movie multiple times, drinking in the sight of Jackson, knowing that I was being self-destructive.
I felt pathetic when I jumped every time my phone rang, but Jackson never called. Days blended into weeks and by the time the crisp autumn air descended on New York, I was back in a routine and not checking my phone compulsively. I had stopped looking up Jackson online and studiously avoided any entertainment news shows, but I couldn't help catching glances of him on magazine covers. There were reports that there was trouble in Jackson's relationship with Candace with rumors that they had split.
It was a gusty autumn morning when I passed by a newsstand on my way to work and saw a picture of Jackson on the front cover of a gossip magazine, his head down and his hands in his pockets with the headline Jackson Reynard depressed and heartbroken? emblazoned on the front.
I couldn't resist picking up the magazine, jolted by the fact that the picture looked as if it were taken in New York. I wondered if he was back, not knowing how recent the picture had been taken. I flipped through the pages until I got to the article about Jackson. Apparently, he had been spotted in various locations throughout New York, looking forlorn and depressed. It fueled the gossip that he and Candace Stile had broken up, although their publicists had denied them ever having been together. According to the magazine, the pictures of Jackson had been taken recently and my pulse quickened at the thought of Jackson in New York.
I sighed, dismayed that I was still fixated on Jackson. I forced myself to put the magazine down, dodging the censorious glance of the newsstand owner when I didn't buy the magazine.
Work was a welcome distraction, as was Drew's invitation to lunch. We had grown even closer over the last few weeks and I was grateful for his friendship.
We decided to take a leisurely lunch instead of a quick bite since we both had open afternoons. Celeste booked a table for us at an upscale seafood restaurant nearby and I breathed a sigh of relief when we settled in at our table, the murmurings of business lunches around us filling the large space.
"It feels nice to actually catch my breath and eat a decent meal," I said wryly after we had ordered. "Much better than downing a sandwich while looking over market reports."
"It's good to get away from the office sometimes," Drew agreed. "Especially with Celeste breathing down my neck all the time. The floodgates seemed to have opened ever since I asked her about you, and now she thinks she has a right to know about my personal life." Drew grinned wryly. "Just yesterday she was asking me if I got enough fiber in my diet."
I burst out laughing, shaking my head at Celeste's typical behavior. Drew was right about Celeste invading his private life. She had previously respected the boundaries Drew had drawn in their professional relationship, but even I had noticed the change in him since we had first met. He was much more laid back and less intense, willing to let little things go with an indulgent smile. Celeste insisted she had never seen Drew like this, and she was convinced that I had something to do with the change, but I believed it had more to do with Celeste barreling into his life. Now that the nature of their relationship had changed, Celeste was able to breathe life into his somewhat stolid lifestyle.
I felt a shadow pass over us and I looked up, expecting to see the waiter with our food. My smile disappeared when I saw Jackson staring at me, looking unamused. Despite my shock, I drank in the sight of him greedily. He was wearing dark grey pants that were tailored perfectly for his body and a black belt showing off his flat stomach. His crisp white oxford shirt displayed his broad shoulders, a contrast to his tanned skin. A lock of dark brown hair fell on his forehead, above piercing green eyes that pinned me to my seat.
"Emma," he bit out, a muscle twitching in his cheek. "This is a surprise."
"Jackson," I said, trying to gain control of my emotions. "I...didn't expect to see you again."
Jackson glanced at Drew, whose eyebrows were raised in surprise. It was obvious that Drew recognized Jackson. Actually, it was glaringly obvious that everyone around us recognized Jackson. The tables around us had quieted as people leaned in eagerly to overhear our conversation. Jackson was right about New Yorkers. They didn't flock to celebrities but they couldn't hide their avid interest.
"That's apparent," Jackson said flatly, as his gaze settled back on me.
"Well...it was good seeing you," I stammered, wanting Jackson to leave our table as quickly as possible.
Jackson cocked an eyebrow in challenge. "Aren't you going to introduce us?"
Drew cleared his throat and stood, drawing both of our gazes to him. His surprise over recognizing Jackson had disappeared, replaced with a look of speculation.
"I'm Drew Stephens," he said as he held out his hand, looking at Jackson with a less than approving look. It was hard to miss Jackson's antagonistic tone.
"We work together," I chimed in quickly as I watched Jackson stiffly take Drew's hand. I couldn't help comparing the two as they stood across from each other. Jackson was taller but Drew was wider, as brawny as Jackson was leanly muscled. Drew looked decidedly masculine with broad features that conveyed a sense of power and control. Jackson was pure male beauty, his straight nose and firm full lips gracing a face that radiated intelligence and intensity. They were polar opposites and were now staring each other down.
"Jackson Reynard," he said shortly, looking back down at me when their hands dropped. "Emma and I are...old friends."
He said the last two words suggestively and I felt my temper rise. We had said our goodbyes last month and I didn't want him here now, making my emotions tilt out of control. He had no right to invade my life and embarrass me in front of Drew.
"Yes, Jackson and I knew each other a long time ago," I said in a sickly sweet voice. "I was friends with his girlfriend, Claire."
Jackson drew in a sharp breath, looking thunderous as he grabbed my wrist. "We need to talk."
Drew stepped forward, but I shook my head, pleading with my eyes for him to not make the situation worse. I shifted my gaze back to Jackson, glaring at him.
"You're making a scene," I hissed, painfully aware of the growing stares. I even saw a waiter stop in his tracks, blatantly watching us.
"It's up to you," Jackson said grimly. "We can do this here or we can do this in private."
Jackson's ruthless expression made me believe him. He would make a scene in public regardless of the repercussions. I stood resignedly, looking apologetically at Drew.
"I'm sorry, Drew. I need to take a rain check on lunch." I glared at Jackson before continuing. "I need to settle some things with Jackson."
"Are you sure, Emma?" Drew asked, looking concerned and ignoring Jackson's darkening face. "You don't have to go anywhere you don't want to."
I mustered up a smile for Drew, wanting to get out of the restaurant as fast as possible. I could feel the heavy stares on us. "It's fine, Drew. Jackson and I just had a disagreement that we need to discuss. I'll see you at work later."
Drew nodded, not looking convinced, as Jackson drew me away, his hand still manacled around my wrist.
"Slow down!" I hissed, having to run to keep up with Jackson's pace. "You're drawing attention to us!"
I was aware of a man appearing out of nowhere with a camera as Jackson hailed a cab, my wrist still trapped in his grasp. I turned my face quickly as I heard the shutter of a camera, relieved when Jackson opened the door of the cab, pushing me inside. He climbed in after me, seemingly oblivious to the cameras beside the cab as he muttered an address to the driver that I didn't hear. I was too busy burying my face in my hands as cameras clicked on the other side of the window, the lone paparazzi having been joined by others.
"Why are you doing this to me?" I whispered, not looking up. "Haven't you already done enough? Can't you leave me in peace?"
I finally found my voice when the cab stopped in front of Jackson's old building and the driver sped away after Jackson paid him.
"What are we doing here?"
"We need somewhere private to talk where everyone's not fucking staring at us," he answered harshly. I could feel his rage simmering beneath the surface but I didn't understand its cause.
He had never released my wrist and I let him pull me into the building. I didn't think Jackson had kept his old apartment, but then it was probably nothing to someone like Jackson to have empty apartments sitting around.
My lips parted in surprise when I saw Sam at the front desk, looking exactly the same as he did five years ago. He greeted Jackson as if seeing him was a usual occurrence, but his eyebrows rose when he saw me.
"Emma!" he exclaimed warmly. "What a nice surprise to see you!"
"It's good to see you too, Sam," I responded with a genuine smile. I was surprised that he remembered me. "It's been a long time."
I wasn't able to hear his response as Jackson dragged me to the elevator, furiously punching the button as if it had done him some personal harm. When we stepped inside the elevator, I wrenched my hand away, rubbing my wrist where Jackson had squeezed so tightly.
"What is wrong with you!" I yelled, looking at Jackson as if he had lost his mind. "Are you possessed? You're acting crazy!"
My bravado disappeared as Jackson crowded me into the corner of the elevator. "Are you fucking him?"
I stared up at Jackson, shocked by his question and the ferocity of his tone. Jackson reached up, grabbing my arm and shaking me roughly. There was no gentleness in his touch or expression. "Answer me!"
I shook my head, my momentary fear replaced with anger. "You are crazy. Or is this how you think you're allowed to behave because you're rich and famous? Other people might put up with your sense of entitlement, but not me. Get the hell away from me."
I pushed against his chest but Jackson was an unmovable force. He sneered at my attempt to push him away and opened his mouth to speak, but the chime of the elevator indicating we had reached the sixteenth floor interrupted him. He grabbed my wrist again and I let him lead me to his apartment. I was going to have to let this play out for Jackson to leave me alone and it was better to do it in the privacy of his apartment. Even though I could feel the violence of Jackson's anger, I knew that he would never hurt my physically. The emotional pain was what I was frightened about.
My mind blanked when I stepped inside the apartment after Jackson had unlocked the door. Goosebumps raised on my arms as I gazed around the apartment, feeling as if I had been transported back in time. The apartment looked exactly the same as it had five years ago. All the furniture we had picked out together was still arranged in the same way, but it was more than that. It looked as if Jackson and I were still living here, as if we had just left to run some errands and were returning any minute. My blue sweater that I always draped over the back of the couch in case I got cold was there, as well as my barrette that I routinely left on the coffee table in case I wanted to clip my bangs out of my face while watching TV. Next to the barrette was a copy of The Way We Were, the case ajar as if it had just been watched. I remembered the countless times I made Jackson watch the sappy movie, tearing up at the end and then laughing as he kissed my tears away.
I picked up a framed picture of us on a side table. We had asked a bystander to take a picture of us by the John Lennon memorial in Central Park and I had lovingly placed it on the table, feeling as if my father was in the picture with us.
I looked up to see Jackson watching me, an unreadable expression on his face. I didn't want what to feel as I continued to explore the apartment, noticing all the little details that had been kept perfectly intact. It was eerie to see my belongings scattered about as if I still lived there. I half-expected to bump into myself when I rounded the corner and entered the bedroom. If the living room had shocked me, the bedroom rendered me speechless.
The bedroom looked exactly as it had five years ago with two exceptions. The first were the pictures of me crowded on top of the dresser, pictures Jackson had taken during our relationship years ago. I looked happy in some, somber in others, but there were dozens of them, filling the surface of the dresser.
The other exception was the filmy black skirt lying on the bed, the one I had worn when I had met Jackson for my first training session at the gym. When we had first slept together. Jackson had always joked that he was keeping it as a souvenir whenever I wondered aloud where it was, and I had eventually forgotten about it. It was now draped across the bed, an eerie reminder of what had happened long ago.
I heard a sound behind me and I turned around, finding Jackson standing at the doorway to the bedroom.
"We should talk in the living room," he said tightly, his voice thick with emotion. I wordlessly followed him and sat on the couch, not knowing what to say. He sat down on the couch too, but with enough distance between us to let me know that he was feeling discomfited as well.
"I should explain about the apartment," he started, staring down at his hands clasped before him. "I...I didn't know what to do with all your stuff when you didn't come to L.A. We had already shipped everything to California, but I couldn't stand the constant reminders of you. It was too painful. You never contacted me, wanting your stuff back. So I just had it shipped back here."
I hadn't dared contact Jackson again after the conversation with Claire. I hadn't cared about my belongings that I had sent over to L.A. since they were mostly impersonal things. I had taken the pictures of my father with me to Maryland when visiting Sean, and those were the only things I really cared about. That and the diamond pendant Jackson had given me.
"But," I said, finally finding my voice, "it's like we're still living here. It's not as if my things are in boxes. If I didn't know better, I would think we were in some time warp."
Jackson laughed humorlessly, finally looking up and making eye contact. He looked pained as he spoke. "I wasn't thinking when I dragged you here. I was too angry to think about what your reaction would be to this apartment. I was in a sick place when we broke up. I wasn't thinking straight. Negative Exposure was a godsend because it let me escape my mind while I was playing my character. But it wasn't enough of a distraction. I was going crazy and somehow replicating this apartment like it used to be helped me. And once I was finished...I just never changed it."
I breathed in deeply, Jackson's words impacting me acutely. Despite cheating on me with Claire, and her insistence that they were in love, Jackson seemed to have been in as much pain as I had been after our breakup. Maybe he had realized he had made a huge mistake by cheating on me, just like I had realized it had been a huge mistake to leave him.
"I didn't come here to talk about the apartment," Jackson said, his voice steely again. The man who had looked abashed while explaining the apartment had vanished. "I came here to find out if you're fucking that asshole you work with."
My pain at realizing that Jackson had suffered as much as I had dissipated into a haze of anger at his words. I was foolish being sucked into the regrets of the past. At present, I had a large angry man in front of me who had the audacity to believe he could demand answers from me.
"What right do you have to ask me that?" I asked with a sneer. "I don't owe you any explanations."
Jackson grabbed my shoulders, shaking me so hard that my teeth almost rattled. "You owe me everything!" he snarled. He clutched me closer to him, his eyes as hard as glass. "You're mine and no one else is going to fucking touch you."
He slammed his mouth again
st mine, pressing down painfully until I finally opened my mouth. He forcefully sucked my tongue into his mouth and I moaned when he bit down, not sure if it was from pleasure or pain. I pushed against his shoulders, trying to stop this before it got out of hand, but it was like pushing against a mountain and expecting it to move.
Jackson held my head in place with his hands, making a sound of frustration when I was finally able to close my mouth against his, pressing my lips together tightly.
"Open your mouth," he muttered, slanting his lips over mine, his hands in my hair fisting in impatience when I refused. His voice was both taunting and thick with desire when he spoke. "Fine. If that's the way you want to play it."
I was shocked when he reached under my skirt abruptly, grabbing the edges of my panties and ripping them down. He shoved my skirt up to bare me completely and he curled his lip in triumph when he stroked one finger down my cleft.
"You're dripping wet. I know your body wants me, no matter what you say."
I stared at him, not recognizing the man before me. He seemed more animal than human, intent on marking his territory.
"Jackson, don't. Not like this," I whispered.
His nostrils flared, his expression darkening even more. "Don't ever deny me, Emma. You belong to me."
He slid off the couch, kneeling in front of me, and slid my panties all the way down, throwing them to the floor. He placed each of my legs over his shoulders so that I was forced to keep them open. I clenched my lower body as he nuzzled the top of my thigh, dangerously close to my quivering center, betraying my desire.
"I love how you smell. I love how you taste. The way you tremble when I love you with my mouth." Jackson's voice was low and barely audible. "No one else will ever taste you except me. No one will ever fuck you except me." Jackson's hands on my hips tightened painfully when I just stared down at him. "Say it!"
