Something that sounds like a car door slamming catches my attention even through the thunder, wind, and rain, and I stand up.
“What was that?”
Through the flashes of lightning from the storm, I see Jacob stand up as well.
“I'm not sure.”
When he moves toward the window, I follow behind him, and then we both peek through the curtain at opposite ends of the window. At first, I don't see anything outside, but then some more lightning lights up the area, and I notice a car parked out on the street. There's nothing else at the end of this road other than Jacob's house, so they're obviously not here for anything else.
“Were you expecting someone?”
I see the face he pulls at me right before he answers, “No.”
“Hmm, I didn't see anyone in the car. Where are they?” My question is answered in the next flash of lightning when we see a figure dressed in black standing next to Jacob's truck. It's so creepy and unexpected that I jump a little when I first see it. “What are they doing?”
I turn toward Jacob, and although I can't see him clearly, I see enough of his face in the flashes of light to know he doesn't look happy about whatever it is. His expression isn't one of anger or resentment, though, but rather, a look of resignation.
“Jacob?” His eyes meet mine, and they tell me that he knows exactly what the person might be doing, and it's notbeing a 'good Samaritan' and checking up on him during the storm. “What are they doing?”
He turns his attention back outside and answers in a flat, emotionless tone, “Most likely slashing my tires.”
“What?” I gasp out.
“Or maybe this time, they'll smash a window.”
“Are you serious?” I ask as Jacob continues to stare out the window. “We have to stop them.” He doesn't move an inch, doesn't even look away from the window. I can't let this happen. It isn't right. Maybe I can reason with the person? I can't see who it is out there, but I've most likely met and spoken with whoever it is. “I'm going out there to stop them.”
I start to walk away but am stopped by Jacob's hand wrapping around my arm. “No, Remi, you can't do that. Are you crazy?” I turn to look at him again, and with each flash of light, I see what appears to be distress on his face. “What do you think is going to happen if they see you here at my place and sticking up for me no less? You'd be fucked. Whatever life you've found here in this town would be over.”
He's right. I know he is.
And he already said this to me the other day, but I had thought at the time that he said it more so to be a jerk and push me away, whether it was true or not. But now, I don't think that was the case at all. I think he genuinely cares and doesn't want me to screw up my life.
The fight I had raring to go slowly drains out of me in my next exhale. And a moment later, in the softest tone, he adds, “I'm not worth it.”
It's said so quietly that I'm not sure I was meant to even hear it, but I did, and it hits me right in the chest, causing an ache that shouldn't really be there for a guy that I shouldn't really be hanging around.
All of a sudden, he's dropping his hand and taking a big step back like he didn't realize he was still holding onto my arm until just now. I notice his eyes flick up to something behind me, and then he takes another subtle step back.
“I'm not afraid of you, Jacob,”I say quietly.
“Why not?”
He should know by now that I'm not like the rest of the town. Doesn't he see that I'm different from the person outside doing who knows what to his truck?
It's true that I still have conflicting thoughts about him. My mind tries to constantly remind me of his badness while my heart looks for and sees his goodness. There's also the constant guilt that plagues me, telling me I shouldn't even be doing any of this. But I can't seem to stop.
Jacob is nothing like I thought he would be, and his behavior is contradictory to what anyone would expect from someone like him. It makes me more determined than ever not to give up on him.
Looking at Jacob, I can see him looking at the ground, doing that thing with his tongue where he pokes it in his cheek.
“I'm just not.” I shrug even though he's not looking at me. “I just don't think you'd hurt me.”
Another look flashes across his face, like my words meansomething to him, something important, but in a second, it's gone, and then he's stuffing his hands into his pockets and walking back toward the window, ending the conversation.
After the storm dies down, which is soon after the person doing something to his truck leaves, I follow him outside to see what has been done to it. The air is still thick with moisture, and the temperature has dropped, causing goosebumps to skate up my legs.
As we step onto his driveway, my stomach sinks when I see the dripping red paint along the side of his truck that reads 'RAPIST'. Jacob stares at it quietly, a gloominess surrounding us that wasn't present during the storm.
