by Serena Grey
I climb the two steps into the small space, and freeze when I see Jackson lying inside, his long frame taking up at least four of the seats that line the walls. He’s facing towards the ceiling, his eyes closed, and as I stand there frozen, unsure whether to walk in or go back, he turns towards me.
His eyes are cold, looking through me, almost as if he doesn’t recognize me. From his expression, I may well be a piece of furniture, or some rubbish the wind blew in to disturb his solitude.
I can’t bear his contempt. On one hand, I want to go in and explain what really happened last night, but what if he doesn’t believe me, what if he calls me a liar.
I start to turn around, suddenly eager to leave, to escape the accusation in his silence, but as I start to move, he springs up from his lying position.
“Olivia.”
Just my name, but it starts such a torrent of emotions inside me. I pause, waiting for him to say something, to ask me what really happened, but he doesn’t. He just keeps looking at me, his face impassive, leaving me to wonder what he’s thinking.
I take a step inside the small space. “Jackson...” I begin.
He doesn’t let me finish. He moves fast, reaching me in only two quick strides, and suddenly his fingers are lacing through my hair, lifting my face up to his as he crushes my lips with his.
There’s no gentleness in his kiss. It’s deep and demanding, but all I can feel is relief and happiness to be so close to him again.
He wouldn’t kiss me like this if he didn’t think Carter was lying, I think blissfully, as I surrender myself to him. His tongue pushes into my mouth, stroking mine, while his free hand grips my waist, pressing my body against his. I kiss him back, reveling in the feel of his chest against my breasts, desperate to show him that it’s him that I want. Just him, and no one else.
Without breaking the kiss, he moves his hands to my breasts, squeezing them both as he runs a thumb over my swollen nipples. A moan escapes me, as I lose myself in pleasure.
Suddenly, he pulls his lips from mine. I look up into his face, wondering why he’s stopped. His breathing is heavy and ragged, and his eyes are unfocused with arousal. He wants me, I think jubilantly, nothing has changed between us.
“What were you playing at?” His voice is like cold water on my skin. “Wasn’t it enough to have one guy crazy over you, you had to go for Carter too? Was it just him, Olivia? How many more were there?”
I close my eyes, tears welling up as pain rises like a flood through my veins. “Jackson...”
He’s not listening. He lowers his head and takes my lips again, mercilessly burying all my desperate explanations beneath the pleasurable assault of his lips. I find myself getting lost in what he is doing. Somewhere inside, I’m afraid that if I try to explain, that he'll stop, and I don’t want that.
He pulls me further into the gazebo, towards the seats, taking off my blouse and unhooking my bra, impatiently tossing them on the floor before he takes possession of my breasts with his lips and his hands. I cry out in pleasure, surrendering the insane pleasurable pulsing between my legs, and unwilling to acknowledge the dark cloud hanging over everything we’re doing.
His lips move up from my breasts over my collarbone, licking a trail of pleasure back to my lips, gently pushing me unto the seats while he works open the button of my jeans, his hand slipping inside to stroke me through my panties, making my body convulse.
“Oh Jackson,” I moan against his lips, writhing against his hand, and feeling my body tighten as pleasure builds up. When I’m almost certain that I'm going to explode, he stops stroking me, leaving me in desperate need for him.
I wait impatiently as he pulls down my jeans, and then his mouth is on me, his lips nuzzling me and sending tingles all over my body. His tongue strokes between my folds, and it’s warm and oh so sweet. He licks me until I’m blind, deaf, and screaming with helpless pleasure.
Then he turns me around, bending me over the seats, and spreading my legs with his knee. I wait impatiently while he undoes his trousers, and before long, I can feel his arousal probing me from behind, and slowly pushing inside to fill me completely.
I moan and grip the edge of the seat, feeling pleasure suffuse my body from my head to my toes. Almost immediately he’s moving, sliding smoothly in and out of me, each stroke so unbelievably sweet that I can almost feel myself going insane. His hands are around my breasts, gripping and squeezing as he thrusts into me from behind. My whole body fills with heat. It spreads from between my legs until it consumes me, until I lose control, my nails digging into the fabric of the seats as I surrender to my climax.
His fingers continue to tease my nipples, as he keeps moving, prolonging my pleasure. It feels so good that I can feel the heat and the pleasure building up again. Waves upon waves of ecstasy washing over me as Jackson stiffens and slams into me one last time, groaning as he comes inside me.
I collapse on the seat, trying to catch my breath. Jackson pulls out of me, the movement sending aftershocks of pleasure flowing through me. He gets up, and immediately starts to adjust his clothes.
I lie there, half-naked, and feeling exposed, wondering what I should say, somehow knowing from the way he doesn’t look at me, that he’s rejecting me and what we just did.
“Jackson…” I venture, wanting at least to tell him how I feel, how desperate I am for him, how impossible it would be even for me to be remotely attracted to anyone else. Surely, he has to believe me. He has to know that he owns me, totally, completely.
He looks at me, and the expression I see in his face almost kills me. He looks angry and sad, with such an expression of self-loathing. I don’t want to believe that he feels that way because of what’s happened between us. I get up and start to put on my clothes. He's fully dressed before I am, and he watches me pull up my jeans his face, almost like a stranger’s.
I pick up my panties and put them my pocket, embarrassed, nervous, afraid, and hopeful. I’m such a jumble of confused emotions. I want him to tell me that I have somehow misunderstood, that he knows Carter was lying about what happened.
But he doesn’t say anything, and his expression doesn’t change from the look of slight disgust, whether at himself for still wanting me, or at me for being the slut that he thinks I am, I don’t know.
I watch as he turns and walks away, leaving me standing there alone.
I start to cry, thinking how differently I’d expected last night to end, where I’d thought our relationship was going, and I feel like a fool. I stay in the gazebo as long as I can. When I get back into the house, its silent, and Jackson's car is not in the driveway. I don’t need anyone to tell me that he has gone.
Chapter Eleven
Past
SOMEHOW, I manage to get through the next few weeks. It’s awful. In school, someone has spread the rumor that I tried to steal Blythe Lockewood’s boyfriend. Suddenly, I'm a slut, and where before, I’ve only ever been an object of mild curiosity as the girl who lives in the Lockewood mansion, now I’m a recipient of open scorn.
I spend most of my time studying, and sometimes taking pictures, using the camera Jackson gave me, even though each time, it reminds me of him, and with the memories come the unavoidable pain. I haven’t seen or heard from him since that day at the gazebo. He lives and works in the city now, and I’m sure all our plans to be together when I move to the city in the fall now mean nothing to him.
I haven’t seen Blythe either, and now I’m sure Aunt Constance was right when she said Blythe would never want to see my face again. Even Aunt Constance has been spending more time working away from the house, giving me a dreadful feeling of being shut out, unwanted, and sad... so incredibly sad.
If not for Chace and May, I’d have gone mad the last few weeks of high school, but they were there for me, but not anymore, Chace is spending the summer in New York, taking early college classes at Columbia, and May is vacationing in Spain with her family.
I hear the sound of a car from the house, and I st
raighten, leaving my camera to rest on my chest, hanging from the rope around my neck. The bird I’d been trying to capture chirps and flies up to land on a branch overhead. It’s late afternoon and around the gazebo and the lily pond, the shadows are already lengthening, adding a tranquil beauty to the scene.
Aunt Constance must have come back home. Ever since that night of Jackson’s graduation party, our relationship has lost the closeness it once had. She hasn’t changed, but I have. I can’t stop thinking about the fact that she never trusted me enough to ask me what really happened.
After a while, I start back towards the house. I don’t expect to see anyone when I go in, but I see Aunt Constance going up the grand staircase, phone held to her ear. She sees me at the door and waves, beckoning me to come up with her.
I follow her up the stairs, walking behind her while half-listening to her side of the conversation on the phone. In her bedroom, I go to stand by the window and look outside. I can see the gardens and the trees that border it, and through the trees, glimpses of the lily pond and the gazebo. I blush when I realize that if she’d been here that morning, she could have seen Jackson and me.
Jackson.
Even the thought of his name makes me want to cry.
“Jackson will be home for dinner tonight.” Aunt Constance says, unknowingly torturing me further. “He called and said he'll be in town, but just for tonight, and he’s coming with a friend.”
My throat catches as I wrestle with the surge of hope and despair that comes when I think of seeing him. Will he listen to me now? Is he coming to see me, or did I not even factor in his decision to come home?
“Are you all right Livvie? You look a little pale.” Aunt Constance frowns as she studies me.
“I’m fine,” I tell her, even though I’m actually feeling not only tired, but also extremely depressed. I want to lie down and wake up when I’ve forgotten everything that happened with Jackson and Carter and Blythe.
She tilts her head as she studies me. “Maybe you should see a doctor,” She says, more to herself than to me. “I’ll arrange it tomorrow, okay.” She settles on the couch by the window and pats the space next to her, inviting me to sit too. “I spoke with Blythe today.” She says softly. "It appears that Carter has been arrested.”
Did he try to rape someone else, I wonder, surprised by the amount of satisfaction I feel at the news. I never liked Carter, but now, I dislike him so much I have to resist the urge to throw up whenever I think of him and what he almost did to me.
Aunt Constance is looking at me, waiting for me to say something. When I don’t, she continues.
“He broke down and confessed a lot of things to Blythe. Apparently, he’s been doing drugs for a while. His parents found out and cut him off when he refused to go to rehab, but his sister has been funding his habit.”
“Lindsay?”
“Yes.” Aunt Constance sighs. “What did you do to her? It appears that she’d convinced Carter that you wanted him to sleep with him.” She looks uncomfortable, “She told him to wait for you in your room that night, and told him that it was your idea.”
I remember Carter’s smirks and winks, the way his eyes had often lingered on me as if we shared a secret. “Then she spilled her drink on my dress so I would go up to my room.”
Aunt Constance nods. “Blythe says Lindsay told her you needed her to help pick out another dress.”
Then she told Jackson she’s heard shouting upstairs, I remember, because it hadn’t been my friendship with Blythe that she’d wanted to ruin, but my relationship with Jackson.
“Carter was high, and he says he got carried away, and he doesn’t remember what happened, but when he saw Blythe he got scared and blamed it on you.”
He doesn’t remember. A bitter laugh hovers on my lips, almost escaping. He doesn’t remember, and I haven’t been able to forget.
“Did he hurt you?” Aunt Constance asks. She looks scared, as if the thought that something bad could have happened to me while in her care would be a failure on her part. I debate what to tell her. That he pushed me against the wall, ripped off the top of my dress? I don't even want to remember it.
“Not that much.” I say. “Blythe came before anything happened.”
Aunt Constance releases a long breath. “But why would Lindsay do something like that?” She muses.
I took Jackson from her, I say silently. She blamed me for breaking them up, enough to want to turn everyone I cared about against me.
Aunt Constance is still waiting for me to reply. “Nothing,” I reply. “I don’t even know her that well.”
“I assume she may have been jealous about how close you are to Blythe, or maybe something else.” She sighs. “Teenage girls can be very vindictive." She looks at me. “Blythe is pretty torn up. She says she was so angry she forgot to wonder why Lindsay had sent her up to your room in the first place. She says she’s sorry, but she's going to have to tell you herself, and Carter’s going to rehab, so maybe now she can occupy her mind with something other than him.” She pauses. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth Livvie?”
“You didn’t ask.” I suddenly want to cry, “and Blythe wouldn't listen, nor Jackson. I wanted to tell you, but you already…”
“…Decided,” She finishes for me. She closes her eyes. “I’m sorry... I just... You’re a teenager and I had no idea what to expect. When I was your age, I did a couple of crazy things…” She stops. “I'm sorry Livvie, I really am.”
When I don’t say anything, she pulls me to her, giving me one of her sweet, perfumed hugs. “I’m sorry okay? Am I forgiven?"
“Yes.” I whisper.
“I’m glad.” She holds me for a few more moments before releasing me. “I wonder when Jackson will be here with his friend.” She muses. “It’s a girl, thank heavens. At least it means Jackson isn't still interested in that Lindsay.”
“Or me.” I almost say, suddenly sad as the relief from being exonerated is replaced by the overwhelming cocktail of feelings that wanting Jackson always brings out in me.
“I should go down and tell Mrs. Shannon that we’re going to have a guest.” She starts to get up.
“I’ll do that.” I offer, getting up from the couch, wanting nothing more than to escape any further mention of Jackson.
After I give Mrs. Shannon the message, I remain with her in the kitchen. She’s the only one who never made me feel like an outcast, and in the past month, I’ve often found solace in her kitchen.
It’s already evening when I hear the voices that tell me Jackson has arrived. I stiffen when I first hear his voice making introductions, and the sweet feminine voice of his companion as she laughs about something someone has said.
I’m slicing some fruit for Mrs. Shannon. Involuntarily, my fingers tighten around the knife.
“Don’t cut off a finger in my kitchen because you have a crush.” Mrs. Shannon says with a chuckle, “You never know, you may need it for when you really fall in love.”
“I’ve fallen in love.” The words are inside my head, but they’re true, I’ve always belonged to Jackson, and regardless of whatever has happened, or what he thinks happened, he does belong to me. I may as well have spoken my thoughts aloud, as Mrs. Shannon shrugs and shakes her head. She goes back to her cooking, and I try to ignore the knowledge that Jackson is so close, and yet so far from me.
Maybe Blythe has told him what really happened, I think hopefully, or maybe Aunt Constance will. As for me, I can’t risk facing the blatant disdain I saw in his eyes the last time I saw him, the regret in his expression because his desire for me was stronger than what he thought of me.
“Why don’t you go out there and say hello, instead of hiding in here.” Mrs. Shannon says at some point.
“I’m not hiding.” I deny.
She snorts. “I know hiding when I see it.”
I’m watching her finish dessert when I feel the tingle in my spine that can only mean one thing. I know Jackson is in the room. I keep my eyes on M
rs. Shannon, determined not to look at him, knowing I won’t be able to bear the censure I'll see in his eyes.
“Mrs. S.”
I hear his voice, and immediately my chest tightens.
Mrs. Shannon looks up over my head. “Jackson!” She smiles widely, responding to him the way everyone else does. “How’s the big apple?”
“Big and crazy.” He laughs, the rich sound floating over me like a soft blanket.
Still I don’t turn to look at him, but I can feel his eyes on me, as they exchange a few words of greeting over my head. I start to wonder, no to hope, that he would say something to me. I wait, but he doesn’t even acknowledge me, after a few moments I hear him walk away.
“Now that was interesting.” Mrs. Shannon says, when he’s gone, leaving me reeling with the sorrow of his snub. “I feel as if I’m reading a new adult novel.” she gives me a look that’s full of compassion. “Why don’t you go upstairs and get ready for dinner.” She says. “You don’t look too good.”
“I’m fine.” I emphasize the fine, but she gives me one of her arch looks. “I just have a headache.” I sigh and get up from the kitchen stool I’m sitting on. “I’ll just go lay down.” I tell her. “In case anybody asks.”
“Do you want a sandwich?”
I lost my appetite the moment Jackson decided to ignore me as if I wasn’t even there. “No, I’m not hungry.”
I stay in my room all through dinnertime. I can’t hear what’s going on downstairs, but I wonder if they’ll miss me at the meal. Probably not, but I don't even care, nothing matters, not when Jackson hates me.
I lay on my back in my room with the lights off, staring at the ceiling in the dark. I find myself wondering about what will happen when I leave the house to go to college in the fall. Will Jackson totally forget about me? Will we become strangers? It makes me so sad. I hug my pillow and curl upon my side, closing my eyes tightly and trying my best not to cry. I’m still like that when the door opens, and the light comes on.
