by Laine Watson
I got out the car.
“Jack?” I called to him, and he waved with my phone in his hand.
“Are you gonna be alright?” Becs asked. There was just a weird feeling surrounding us.
“Yeah, he found my phone.” I smiled, leaning down in the window.
“Alright, bitch. Go get fucked!” Becs yelled, driving off. I laughed.
I walked over to Jack. I was both relieved and terrified to see him. I didn’t know who he was. He looked really bad. His eyes were glossy, his hair was wet looking, and his clothes were dirty.
“I found your phone,” he said, handing it to me. I took it and clicked the screen on. It said I had fifty text messages and thirty missed calls.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I left it,” I said.
“Yeah, it’s no big deal.” Jack replied as if it was a huge deal, but he was trying to mask it.
I looked at him, trying to hide my fear. I still couldn’t figure out who he was. I could exclude homeboy Jack, though. He definitely wasn’t him. I smiled and gulped.
“I have a surprise for you,” I told him, opening the door to the house. He stood up behind me and followed me inside. I closed the door, and walked down the stairs, through the random room, and into my bed room, Jack still following me as I turned the light on. I gulped when I turned around to him as he closed my bedroom door. In the dim light, he looked even more frightening and discombobulated. His skin looked like it was badly painted on, his eyes were bloodshot. I didn’t care. I needed his dick, and I needed it real soon.
“Look.” I smiled, letting his jacket fall off my shoulders. I tossed it on my bed, showing him my forearm.
He looked at it, studied it. Read it. A smirk came across his sored lips.
“You got my name tattooed on you?”
“Yeah,” I said sexily, moving daintily and seductively. I stopped, his smile let me know that Jack was at least present in some form, and I wasn’t as afraid.
“I missed you,” I told him.
“You did?”
“Yeah, did you miss me?”
“Nah, I was just calling you all those times just cuz.” He smiled, walking over to me. I avoided kissing him and turned my ass around to his dick.
“Jack, I missed you so much today,” I said, leaning into him. He bowed his head.
“You did?” he asked, kissing my neck with his crackly lips. It was gross, but it still felt better than anything else, cuz he was who I wanted.
“Jack?” I called.
“What, baby?” he asked.
“Can you fuck me? Please?” I asked innocently, turning around to him.
“Hell, yeah.” He smiled, pushing me on my bed.
It was thrilling and frightening, so much so that I didn’t even know how to feel. His eyes didn’t look like his eyes. I let it go cuz I wanted what he had.
He took my clothes off, and then he took his clothes off. I was wet already for like, hours. That’s all I did at the tattoo place was think about how Jack was going to fuck me.
And then even though he was totally gross, he still turned me on. And I let him fuck me…a lot. He was messy, and it took a while for him to cum and to give me a decent orgasm. Suddenly, he stopped and looked at me.
“Why didn’t you take your phone?” he asked. I was utterly confused. Like, we just finished fucking. What the hell are you talking about?
“Uhm, I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking,” I said, moving him off of me. I pulled on a cottony cami dress. I was hoping if we were about to argue, it would turn into some good-ass sex. He put his clothes on and sat down at the end of the bed. I sat on his lap.
“You been gone all fucking day,” he said, anger seeping into his voice.
I tried to shrug it off. He seemed upset. I didn’t understand how he could just be having sex with me, and then be so upset with me.
“Jack, I just…” I tried to say.
“What, you needed to get away from me?” he asked, sniffing.
“No, I…” I tried to explain.
“Yes, you did. You was tryna leave this morning. I’m not stupid.” He sniffed.
“I-I…” I paused, “I just needed to think.”
“About what?” he asked.
“Jack, I already told you. I didn’t want you doing that stuff. And as soon as you fucking wake up, you’re doing it,” I said, letting all of the words come out in a rush.
“I told you, it calms me down.” He swallowed. There was silence. “So, what if I don’t stop? You gonna leave me or something?” I thought for a second only.
The best way to say this so he will take me serious is to say yes. This will help him be motivated.
“Yeah…” I said, looking at him.
“So, you was trying to leave me?” he asked, calmly rising to his feet.
“N…” I couldn’t answer because he pulled me back by my hair and onto the floor. It all happened in slow motion, and I didn’t even know it was happening.
I screamed out.
He wasn’t Jack anymore.
“I knew you were! Fucking bitch!” he screamed in my face.
“Jack…stop it,” I begged, frightened. He grabbed me by the arms and threw me on the bed as I struggled to get away from him.
“I’m not fucking stupid. Got me calling you all day long. You knew what you did. You didn’t wanna talk to me?” he snarled, rage in his eyes, pulling me nearer to him and taking heavy breaths. He grabbed my hair again and swung me on the floor, knocking my guitar down. He knocked my phone across the floor and I scrambled to picked it up. He tried to swing at me, but I kicked him. He fell to the side and onto the bed.
I ran past him, and he almost grabbed the hem of my dress. I shut the door behind me; he was coming for me. I ran out of the random room door and shut that, too. He opened it.
“COME HERE!” he yelled as I slammed the bathroom door and locked it. The light was off, and I hid in between the sink cabinet and the toilet. I sobbed. I couldn’t think. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to get Jack back. And there was nowhere to go. I didn’t to talk to him because I didn’t want him to hit me. I didn’t want him to grab me, or put any more bruises on me, or pull me by my hair and throw me into things.
He hit the door with so much force. I didn’t want him to hit me with those hands. I cried quietly, frantically, trying to think of a way out.
“HOT ROD!” he screamed like demons were in his throat, “STOP FUCKING PLAYING WITH ME!”
“Leave me alone, Jack. Just leave. I don’t wanna be with you!” I cried.
“You don’t have choice,” he growled at me. “Now open the fucking door!”
“No…” I whimpered.
“Open THE DOOR, Hot Rod!” he screamed again, sending terror through my whole body. I cried more. It hurt me like I could feel him hitting me when he banged his fists against the door. I jumped. He continued to scream.
I scrambled to grab my phone as soon as I was aware that I even had it. He beat on the door and screamed at me.
“Open the fucking door! Open the fucking door!” he hollered as I called Trey. The phone rang once. I cried. The phone rang twice. I cried. The phone almost rang a third time…
“Hell—”
“Trey?” I cried. He was driving down the main street, just cruising in Jiggs’s mom’s BMW, I imagine. He was sitting back, arm out the window, cool. I know this because that’s how he always drove. Just like Jack. I also imagine, that after hearing my tone of voice and the desperation in it, he sat up and lost his cool.
“Katie,” Trey said.
“Trey, please come get me,” I implored through sobs as quietly as I could, “I don’t know what’s wrong with Jack.” I cried, sniffing and snotting, scared out of my mind. I thought if Jack got that door open, he was gonna kill me, and he wasn’t even gonna remember doing it.
“Ah shit,” Trey hissed, “Where you at?”
“I’m at home.” I sobbed, “In the bathroom, I’m scared...”
&n
bsp; Trey didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t end the call. He, I’m sure, recklessly drove as fast as he could to my house.
“Hot Rod!” Jack yelled, “Open the fucking door. Please. You don’t get to fucking leave me!”
“Look at you, Jack!” I screamed back at him, “All you do is hurt me!” I cried, sobbing back into my corner. “I hate this stupid tattoo. I shouldn’t have ever got it.” I cried.
He stopped banging on the door.
“No…” he grunted, “You got that tattoo to remind you. That you…don’t…get…to fucking…say…YOU’RE…LEAVING!” He hammered his fists on the door again. I covered my head. It felt like the door was coming off its hinges, “OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR HOT ROD!” he wailed, and the. the door unlocked.
It was silent for one…lasting…second; no knocking, no banging, no cursing, no yelling. I looked up. I didn’t know what to do. He was going to come in there and do whatever he wanted to do to me. Before he could open the door, I scooted quickly in front of the sink by the wall, so he wouldn’t see me when he came in. The door swung open, and he grunted. I pushed the door back and locked it. I scooted back into the corner between the sink and toilet.
“OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!” he screamed.
I heard a new voice and rustling. Something, or someone hit the door. And then there was nothing, and then seconds later, a thud and another door swinging open. I didn’t move. I was paralyzed a bit. What had happened? I gulped. Minutes went by and there was nothing, no sound whatsoever. I listened hard. I swallowed.
“J-Jack?” I called, almost quietly, fear trembling through my body. He didn’t answer.
The silence was haunting.
I stood up.
“Jack?” I called again. He must have passed out, I thought, Oh no…well, I guess that’s okay, maybe. Cuz if he did, When Trey gets here we can just take him to the hospital. That’s probably what he needs anyway. Maybe he will wake as Jack, my Jack and I can talk to him. I took a breath, Yeah, everything’ll be okay.
I opened the door, suspecting that he had fallen right outside of it. But there was no Jack. I stepped out of the bathroom and into the living room, still terrified.
“Jack?” I looked up and out of the opened doors at the landing. Outside, Trey was fighting Jack off.
I gulped and started slowly up the stairs. When I got to the landing, I quietly pushed the door up. I left it open just enough to let my eye watch through the cracks.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Trey said, punching Jack to the ground. “That’s my fucking susta.”
“I didn’t do anything. She won’t talk to me,” Jack mumbled, beating himself in the head. “She won’t listen to me.”
“Nah, you fucked up. That shit you on, gonna get you killed. If you touch my susta, I’mma kill you myself,” Trey threatened.
“I do-don’t w-wanna hurt her,” he struggled to say as if he might be having cognitive and developmental issues.
“Well, what the fuck is this, Money?! She callin’ me from the fucking bathroom, crying, talking about you gone kill her,” Trey said.
“She was just scared, she was just scared…she doesn’t…doesn’t…does…She was…” he struggled. His lip was bleeding from the punch Trey had given him. He put his hands around the temples of his head, trying to calm down, trying to find some clarity.
Oh my gawd, what’s wrong with him, I said tears falling down my face, I covered my mouth so he wouldn’t hear my sorrow.
“I-I just asked her a question,” Jack said, slurring his words.
“Money, it look like you was asking more than a question. You my bro. You know that. But this ain’t cool. You need to go. You need to leave. Get the fuck outta here.”
“NO! …you don’t understand,” he insisted, looking up at Trey from beneath his eyebrows, “I can’t leave. She…She…” he breathed heavily, “She has to come with me. She can’t stay here.”
“Money, you tweakin’. You really need to leave or shit gone pop off,” Trey said.
“I don…don’t…I don…I don’t…” he said, stammering. “I don’t…I can’t. Trey? Trey? Trey? You gotta understand. She can’t go, she can’t leave me.”
“Money, what the fuck is wrong with you? You tweakin’ again. Mu’fucka’s can’t keep going through this shit!” Trey said, disappointed. He paused and closed his eyes in regret. “Man, I knew this shit was gonna happen,” Trey said under his breath.
“I lov—I lov—I love her. I love her. I-I love her,” Jack struggled to say.
My dear brother. I could see it hurt him to see Jack that way just as much as it hurt me, trying to find himself outside of what he had done to himself. Trying to get it together enough for his feelings to be understood. And believe it or not, it hurt me, too. I opened the door more. I wanted to, I had planned to tell Trey it was okay. To just stay there while we talked, just in case. But Jack heard the door creak. He looked back. The look in his eyes. He didn’t take a moment. He took off running into the yard, headed right for me. And out of fear, I let the door swing open, and I ran up the stairs.
“Shit!” Trey said. Time was almost paralyzed as I could feel the weight of each leg as I pressed my one foot on one step and the other on the step that was in front of it. I feared that Jack was closer than he was.
In my clouded head, Jack’s voice rang out.
“HOT ROD!”
I didn’t know that Trey was behind him, maybe if I had a second to think, I could have deduced that. I passed through the living room and into the kitchen, each step rippling my skin. I felt Jack getting closer to me. I could hear his grunts. I could smell the smoke on his skin. I could almost feel his sweat beads as they ran down his face. The warmth of his body, the shadow from the back. I could feel it, I could see it. But I kept running. I was almost out the sliding doors. If I wouldn’t have panicked, I would of have ran toward Trey. But I did panic, and so my spur of the moment plan was to run out the back door, and onto the balcony, and down the back stairs to Trey.
But before I could cross the threshold, Jack had a hold of my dress, enough to throw me up against the side fencing and bring the boiling fear that had once overtaken me back to the surface.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked, leaning on me.
“Stop, Jack. Please,” I cried. He pushed himself on me. Trey appeared in the door, ready to do whatever bodily harm to Jack that he thought possible for him to get through his head that he couldn’t treat me the way he was treating me. I pushed Jack off of me with all my might, so Trey couldn’t get to him. I pushed him straight forward into the fencing that was furthest from the sliding door fencing. He lost his balance, and Trey grabbed me. Jack’s body slammed forcefully into the fence, causing those lasting pieces that were holding it together to loosen completely. The fencing was falling. There was nothing to hold on to. Jack looked at me. I looked at Jack as he reached out for my hand. I reached for his hand, but Trey wouldn’t let me go. I pulled away from him, but he grabbed me up around my waist. I kicked and screamed.
“NO!” I said, reaching out to Jack, trying to loosen myself from Trey’s strong arms. It was slow. It was haunting. As he fell, so did my heart. Whatever he had done, whatever he had meant to do, it didn’t matter. It was all gone. The only thing I wanted to do was save him. There was a crash, a loud crash, and I couldn’t see Jack anymore.
“LET ME GO!” I screamed, wiggling my way away from Trey, hitting him a little and turning to face him. I stepped on his foot, and he let me loose.
“Katie!” he said, running after me.
I ran to the edge of the balcony. I fell to my knees.
“No…No…JACK!” I screamed and sobbed. Trey tried to comfort me, but I fought him.
“Don’t touch me!” I said hysterically, rising to my feet and running down the stairs, through the grass to Jack. I crashed down to my knees.
“JACK?!” I cried, touching his hands. Blood streamed from his mouth, “No, please…I’m sorry.” I sobbed, “Jack?!” I whis
pered, losing my voice a little.
Trey watched me as he slowly came down the steps.
“Is he okay?” he asked.
“Shut up, Trey!” I ordered, “Jack, please.” I sobbed and sniffled. “Jack?” There was silence in which I waited for Jack to move, to say anything.
I whimpered, I cried, I sobbed, whispering, “Jack…Jack…” Over and over, hoping that he would hear me calling his name at least once, and he’d have to come back because if I couldn’t leave, neither could he.
Trey called the ambulance. My mind was clouded, and as I laid down on Jack’s chest and tried to listen for his heart, anything, a breath. I cried harder. The sirens as they sounded were silent to me. I cried out only one thing,
“J-A-C-K!”
Chapter Twenty-Two: Listen to Your Heart
I was sitting in the white-walled hospital room where I had been sitting for weeks. I was still wearing Jack’s military jacket. He was lying in the bed, unconscious. He hadn’t moved, he hadn’t made a sound for weeks. I sat right next to his bed with my head on my bent knees, trying not to cry. I looked up at him.
He was still himself. His skin wasn’t desecrated, or deteriorating. His sores had cleared up. His skin was as pale and peachy and brilliant as it had been when he was just a boy. His tricolored blond hair had grown out from that almost-buzz cut that he’d been keeping it in.
“Jack?” I said in the silence of the room, “I need you to wake up, okay? I’m not mad at you.”
“How many times are you gonna tell him that?” His mom smiled, coming into the room with coffee.
“Till he does it,” I told her, wiping a stray tear from cheek. I sniffled.
“How you holding up?” she asked me.
“I’m okay.”
“I’m so sorry. I shoulda been a better mother,” she said.
“What? No.” I shook my head.
“Yeah, I let him do all this stuff. He shoulda been in school. I just…” she trailed off in regret.
“No, it’s okay. Jack…he’s gonna be fine. You don’t know. Maybe it had to be like this. Maybe he’ll stop this time,” I suggested, trying to convince myself, as well.
She looked disappointed.
