“Can I use your phone?” I ask. “I want to email the girls and catch them up with everything.”
“Sure.” Jackson grabs his phone off the counter. He doesn’t bother with his crutches and instead limps it over to me. When he pauses, looking down at me, his expression softens.
“You okay?” he asks, holding out the phone. When I take it, he reaches to gently run the back of his fingers over the bruise on my jaw. His touch is comforting, so simply loving that I close my eyes and lean into his hand.
We stay like that a moment, and then I smile up at him, thanking him for the phone. I disconnect the Wi-Fi, using thephone’s connection to get online and find our shared mailbox. Weeks ago, Annalise and Marcella set up the account for us to keep in contact no matter what. Which is important when we’re constantly having to dump our phones to avoid tracking.
Sure enough, there’s a message from Brynn.
We’re okay. More soon.
I hit reply, but I can’t bring myself to tell her everything. Not like this. The news about Valentine is too big. In fact, it’s too big for a phone call, but there isn’t another choice. Tomorrow we’ll get phones and exchange numbers. For now, I send a simple message:
Miss you and love you.
I wait a moment, making sure the email got delivered. Once it’s gone from the outbox, I sign out and set the phone on the table between mine and Jackson’s beds. I walk over to my duffel bag and pull out a pair of flannel-patterned pajama pants and a black tank top.
“Be right back,” I tell Jackson as he grabs his bag and begins to sort through his things.
I go into the bathroom and close the door. I catch my reflection in the mirror for the first time tonight. The bruise on my jaw isn’t prominent, not unless you’re looking for it. Instead, it’s a subtle hard lump, a bit of blue shading. This makes it all the more insidious—the way it distorts my face in such a small way and yet completely changes how I look at myself. A gaslight injury.
I flick my gaze up to my eyes and watch as they fill.
The girls and I are constantly in motion with so little time to process the horrors inflicted on us. But right now, without distraction, everything crashes down around me. I cover my mouth to smother my cry, my knees going weak as I grip the edge of the counter. I squat down, my eyes closed tightly.
Garrett’s fist swinging at my face.
Leandra’s tire iron crashing down on his head.
A dead body in the flowers. A dead body on the floor.
Me, without the other girls. Alone and scared in a hotel room bathroom.
Only a few moments pass, but I welcome the pain until it washes itself away in my tears. I needed to acknowledge what happened in order to begin to process it. When I’m steady, I stand up, splash cool water on my face, and change into my pajamas.
When I walk out, I toss my clothes on top of my bag. Jackson is on the far side of the room in his boxers, attempting to pull up a pair of pajama pants while balancing on one leg. He’s not wearing a shirt at all, and I feel myself flush a little.
“Do you need help?” I ask, startling him. He looks over at me and laughs.
“I think I can figure it out, but thank you. Unbelievable how helpless I am, right? I should be used to this by now.” He finally hikes up the pants and ties the string around his waist in a big loop.
“You’re doing all right,” I assure him. “I think most people rest while recovering from emergency leg surgery, but here you are, running around the country and driving a car.”
“Overachiever,” he remarks.
I make my way to the left side of the bed, and sprawl out before dragging myself to the pillow. I curl up on my side. Across the room, Jackson hops around his bed, neatly pulling back his sheets before sliding under the them. He gets on his side, facing me, and tucks his hands under his cheek.
“I’ll get the light,” I say. I reach over and click off the lamp on the nightstand between us, but even with it out, a glow filters through the curtains from the lights in the parking lot outside the window.
At first, we’re silent, but then Jackson’s eyes start to shine in the dim light.
“Mena,” he whispers. “Would you… Would you lay with me for a little while?” His voice is sad and vulnerable. Lonely, even though I’m right here.
I get up from my bed, the air cold on my bare arms. Jackson lifts the edges of his blankets, and I slide in next to him, the heat from his body having warmed the sheets. Once I’m next to him, Jackson wraps his arms around me and rests his face in my hair.
And then, he begins to cry. I adjust my position so I can hold him, letting him grieve for the mother he lost and the father he never truly knew.
I understand. I felt this kind of pain when my parents betrayed me. Of course, they were never really my parents, but I did believe they were. I believed it completely, so I can relate to Jackson in a certain way. They broke my heart. They abandoned me too.
