by J.M. Cagle
Chapter 3
“There are no words, Jackson.”
Joey stared into her meager bowl of soup where it sat in front of her beside a pile of apple quarters, tears burning the back of her throat even as she thought about the scene she had just described to Jackson. The hand on her wrist, the feeling of pressure against her ribs . . .
“There was nothing there.”
“I believe you,” he said, reaching over to touch her hand with his own.
She looked up, a soft smile showing him just how deeply grateful she was. Jackson, with his caramel skin and his chocolate brown eyes, was more familiar to her than her own face in the mirror. They had only known each other a short time, just the two years she had worked as an English teacher at William B. Travis High School. But he had become deeply important to her in that short time. She referred to him as her work husband even though there was nothing sexual in their relationship. He was the closest thing she had ever had to a best friend.
She ran her fingers through her hair, the memory still too real. “Then I wake up, and there’s this guy in my room.”
“What did he look like?”
She shrugged even though the memory of Sam standing in her kitchen was so vivid she could feel heat rising in her cheeks. “Tall, good-looking,” she said. “He had dirty blond hair, the kind that is almost brown but not quite. And blues eyes that were so pale, it was like he was looking right through me every time . . .”
“Sounds hot.”
Joey slapped Jackson’s hand. “Watch it. I might have to tell Ronan you said that.”
Jackson gestured at her, his hand waving slightly in the air between them. “Tell him. He’s been a real bore lately, anyway.”
“You always say that, but you always work it out.”
He smiled. “Maybe.” He snatched a piece of apple from her lunch bag and again gestured. “Go on. Tell me more about dream-boy.”
Joey shook her head. “There’s not much more.”
“What did he say? How did he happen to come to your rescue?”
“He never said.” Joey shoved the rest of her lunch at Jackson, carefully putting the lid on the soup first. “But he knew my name, knew about my mom. It was kind of freaky.”
“Kind of?”
“And I found this later.” Joey glanced around the room before she swung her legs around, moving closer to Jackson. She carefully tugged up the edges of her blouse, untucking it from her linen skirt until her ribs were exposed.
“Oh, my God!”
Jackson leaned forward until his nose was practically against her skin. “That’s one hell of a bruise.”
Joey looked down and ran her fingers over the spreading red and blue bruise she discovered not long after Sam left her apartment Saturday afternoon. It was like an irregular band that spread from her left side around her ribs and onto her back. Exactly where she had felt the pressure of someone holding her in the shower that morning.
Jackson’s sat back, his eyes never leaving the marks. “Tell me again what happened.”
Joey dropped her blouse as a couple of teachers came into the room. “I told you,” she said, “it felt like a man, but his body was shapeless and his clothes, or his skin, or whatever, felt like it had thorns or something all over it.”
Jackson shook his head as he sat back. He muttered to himself, something Jackson was apt to do. She thought she heard him say something about felons, but she wasn’t sure. Before she could get him to refocus on her, one of the teachers came to their table.
“There was an earthquake in San Francisco a few minutes ago.”
Joey twisted in her seat, glancing at the television on the wall behind her. Someone had turned on the news and pictures of rubble filled the screen as the newscaster talked. “An earthquake that registered 7.4 on the Richter scale hit the Russian Hill neighborhood of San Francisco today. Early reports suggest the death toll could be as high as one thousand. At this time more than two thousand people have been reported missing in the area.”
“That’s too bad,” Joey said.
“Not good,” Jackson said behind her.
Joey watched the coverage for a few minutes before sighing and standing. “I should get to class. I have a group of honor students in ten minutes.”
Jackson grabbed her arm, pulling her around so quickly that she dropped her lunch bag. “Sorry,” he mumbled, stooping to pick it up. As he handed it to her, he stared into her eyes. “Don’t leave this afternoon without me.”
A warm shiver ran the length of Joey’s spine. “I won’t,” she said without thinking about it.
It was a surreal moment. Jackson towered over her, his super-skinny body suddenly appearing thicker, heavier, as though he had suddenly grown a substantial layer of muscle. He stared into her eyes with an intensity that should have been unnerving, but it was almost relaxing. Like staring into the eyes of a hypnotist. Then he ran his hand along her ribs, touching her in a more intimate way than he had ever done before, running his fingers along the band of bruises. When he pulled back, the subtle throb that had bothered her off and on all weekend was suddenly gone.
“Don’t leave your classroom without texting me,” he said as he let her go.
Joey watched him walk out of the room, still unsure what had just happened.
