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I wake up in a cold sweat, my t-shirt stuck to my sopping chest. The sun peeks between my drapes, brightening the space around me. The mirror across from me vibrates my reflection as my mom’s heavy footsteps slap down the hall. A soft knock rattles my door. “Tessa?”
“Yes?”
She tries to open my door, but it’s locked. Locking my bedroom door won’t keep the devil from getting to me, but it does give me a sense of security, no matter how false it may be.
“I made breakfast. Are you coming down?”
I gaze down at my soaking wet clothes and sheets. “Yeah, let me take a quick shower,” I yell.
Her footsteps grow quiet as she walks away and descends the stairs. I’ve been home for just over two weeks, and my leg still hurts like a bitch when I step down. The doctor said it’s becausepart of the muscle was damaged, and it will take time to fully heal. Until then, I saunter from one room to the next like a decrepit old woman.
I peel off my soaked clothes and toss them in the hamper before dropping onto the toilet seat. My ability to maintain my independence despite my injury surprises my parents, but the last thing I wanted when I came home was my mom helping me in the shower.
My dad installed a grab bar just outside the shower for me to hold on to when I climb in and out. He wanted to put one on the shower wall too, but I found it unnecessary. I wipe quickly, flush the toilet, wash my hands and close the toilet lid, resting my towel on top.
The shower water shrieks on with a quick turn of my wrist, and steam fills the bathroom quickly. One of the things I love about my parents’ house is that it’s enormous, so I get my own private bath. Well, at least, now I do, now that my brother Jessie has moved out. This was his room before it was mine. Before that, I used the bathroom down the hall.
I step under the pounding stream and let the warmth coat my aching neck. Ever since I’ve been home, I’ve been plagued by aches and pains. The doctors wanted to give me pain medication, but I refused. I’ve seen too many family members become addicted to that shit and worse. Besides, I deserve to feel this for however long it takes, even if it’s an eternity.
After my shower, I dry off, put on gym shorts and a half-tank, then hobble downstairs. My dad sits at the table beside my mom, giving me a disapproving glare. I peer down at my outfit. “What? I’m not going anywhere.”
His eyes drift down to this month’s edition ofGuns and Ammo.
The first time Jayce came to our house, my dad made a point of cleaning his Glock in plain view. He never liked Jayce, andnow he blames him for everything that has happened to me up until this point, but I think Jayce has received sufficient punishment. The burn on his arm left deep, permanent scars. He’ll never play football or any other sport requiring the use of his right arm again.
A plate of bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast with jelly drops on the table in front of me as I sit down. “Want orange juice?” Mom asks, turning toward the fridge.
“Yes. Please.”
Dad glances at his plate and frowns—egg whites piled on a slice of wheat toast. His doctor says his cholesterol is bad and he needs to change his diet. Mom’s all gung-ho about it, and he plays along, but I know he secretly swings by the local diner and grabs a special on his way to work a few mornings a week.
The doorbell echoes through the house, and we all stare at each other, no one wanting to leave the table and let their food get cold. Dad clears his throat and gestures with his head for me to get it. I roll my eyes and limp through the living room and swing the front door open.
I gasp at the sight of Jayce standing on my porch, his arm still wrapped in bandages. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
He drops his head and stares at his black Vans sneakers. “Wow, still mad, I guess.”
“Are you kidding me? Jayce, I thought I made it clear that I wanted nothing more to do with you.” I go to shut the door in his face, but he slaps his palm on it, pushing it back open. “Come on, Tessa, I really need to talk to you.”
I roll my eyes, push his arm off the door, step onto the porch and cross my arms. “About what?” My foot taps impatiently on the floor.
His eyes drift from my lips, down to my bare midsection, and stop at the gnarly, still-healing wound on my thigh. “Does it still hurt?”
“Are you dumb?” I uncross my arms and grab his bandaged arm. “Does this fucking hurt?”
He yelps and pulls away from me. “Ouch, Tessa! Yeah, that fucking hurts.”
“Good. Now stop asking dumb questions and get to the reason you’re ruining my Saturday.”
His foot scrapes against the porch as he averts his eyes from mine. “I want to talk about us.”
I rub the tension building in my forehead. “For fuck’s sake, Jayce, there is no us. We are done. Over. Kaput. Finished. Do I need to say it in another language or put it in writing?”
His eyes search mine for a glimmer of hope he’ll never find. “Tessa, we made a mistake. I said I was sorry.” He grabs my arm and strokes it softly with his thumb, a crooked smile curving on his lips. “You know we were always meant to be together.”
He thinks I’m stupid. This is what he does. He pisses me off and tries to Rico Suave his way back into my good graces with smooth moves and even smoother words. Not this time. This time is different. He not only cheated, but I have a demon who’s made it clear to me that I am his. The thought of what it could do to me—to Jayce, raises the hair on the back of my neck. I may not want to be with Jayce, but I don’t want him dragged to hell either. A tremor builds inside me, and I cover my stomach with my palm, holding it steady.
