Page 39 of Jameson’s Salvation

“Yes.”

Well, that fucking hurt.

Perhaps I’d made the wrong choice insisting on going with him. Jameson didn’t mince words and sometimes honesty stung. Maybe I should tell him to let me out at the next stop sign and I could walk home.

“I told you I’d call the next day.” That was a weird statement and I wasn’t sure why he was bringing it up. “Told you I wouldn’t walk away.”

He looked pissed and he sounded it, too. Normally my first thought would’ve been he was going to break up with me, but there was nothing to break. We’d had sex, we kissed, we had a few meals together, we talked about our days while sitting on my couch, and we had slept in my bed. But we weren’t together in the traditional sense. He could leave at any time and owed me no explanation.

But I’d be lying if I said it wouldn’t have hurt.

“I don’t understand why you’re mad about that.”

“I’m not mad. I’m confused. I needed a minute and I was taking it.”

Now I was confused.

“You don’t have to stay at my house, you know. I’ll be fine by myself.”

“I want to stay at your house. I want to sleep next to you. I can’t stop thinking about the next time I get to see you. Hell, I just plain can’t stop thinking about you.”

My belly started feeling funny at his admission. I liked hearing he felt the same way about me as I felt about him. I couldn’t wait until Jameson came home from work. I loved hearing him walk in my front door. Maybe I should’ve been more cautious. Maybe I should’ve kept my feelings in check, but that wasn’t my style. I didn’t want to deny I liked him and I wanted to spend time with him. I wore my heart on my sleeve and it’d gotten me into trouble on more than one occasion but I wouldn’t change who I was. And if this ended badly and Jameson left me brokenhearted, I’d pick myself up, and move on. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

“But if you need some time alone—”

“That’s the thing. I don’t want to be alone. That’s the fuck of it. I don’t think you understand, I’m always alone. I prefer it, I crave it, I need it. My whole life I’ve held myself away from everyone—even my closest friends. But, now, with you…” He trailed off, his statement hanging thick in the cab of his truck and I held my breath. “You’ve changed everything and I don’t understand why. I’ve known you just over a week. A fucking week, Kennedy, and I can’t stand being alone anymore.”

I didn’t say anything mainly because I couldn’t breathe and my heart was pounding in my chest.

“You don’t have to be alone if you don’t wanna be,” I whispered.

“Are you sure about that? You don’t know me, Kennedy, not really. The things I’ve done, the things I can’t tell you, they’ve marked me. Tainted me. Are you really willing to take the chance that a man like me won’t ruin you? I’m fucked-up, babe. I like the silence because I can get lost in my head and not think about what I’ve seen. Silence means no one is around to see how screwed-up I am. I thought I was confused about how I felt about you. But I’m not. I’m struggling with what to do with those feelings because I’m afraid I’m going to snuff out your goodness, and I’d rather die than see you lose the shine in your pretty eyes. I don’t want my bad attitude and judgment to rub off on you. After all you’ve been through, it’s a fucking miracle you’re still so giving and bright. I can’t live with the thought of crushing that spirit.”

I needed to get a few things straight with Jameson. He seemed to have the wrong impression about me.

“If you keep putting me up on a pedestal, you’re gonna be disappointed,” I told him. “You seem to have painted this perfect picture of me that’s not real. I like that you think those things about me, but you have it all wrong. I am the way I am, because the alternative isn’t acceptable. I watched my dad die, Jameson.” I watched as he flinched, but as unpleasant and heartbreaking as the topic was, it had to be talked about.

I’d long ago dealt with the tragedy of losing my dad. The horror of watching him gunned down in front of me.

“The anger bottled up so tight in my chest I wanted to explode. I lashed out at everyone. I hated the man that killed my dad. I hated God for taking him. I hated my mom for falling to pieces instead of taking care of me. I hated the town, the police, the court system who would allow a mentally unstable man on the streets and that man shot my dad. In. Front. Of. Me. I was seventeen, out of control, and using alcohol to numb the pain. For six months I failed myself and I failed my father. I hated that I froze when I saw the gun. I hated that I didn’t die that day instead of my dad.

“I went off the rails. Completely. My grades went in the toilet. My attitude sucked. And again, I was going out and drinking whenever I could. I lost my virginity at a party drunk out of my head. I don’t remember anything about it other than it hurt. And not a physical pain. My soul hurt and I found I liked that feeling. So I got drunk again and did it some more.

“I hit rock bottom when I came on to Nixon. I was tore up, I think I’d had a bottle of vodka to myself and I tried to talk him around to having sex with me.” I knew this was going to piss Jameson off and it made me look like a total whore, but he had to know so he could understand.

The only sign of anger coming from Jameson was his white knuckles on the steering wheel. Other than that he stayed quiet and I appreciated it. I wouldn’t have been able to get this all out if he spoke.

“I can’t remember much of what I said or did, I just know I was pressin’ him hard to take me home. After a bit he put me in his truck and off to the Swagger Farm we went. He parked next to the pond and walked me into the woods. Everyone knew about the famous Swagger Shack. No disrespect to McKenna, but he’d nailed a lot of girls in there. He was young and good-looking and playing the field. So we went into the shack and I quickly sobered up.

“He did not take me there to have sex with me, he took me there to lay into me. We had a huge fight. Rip roaring, yelling match. That night he told me I was someone he didn’t want to know. I was embarrassing myself and if my dad could see me, he’d be disappointed in me. Coming from Nixon, someone who was a close friend, it hurt.”

Even now, all these years later my heart twisted thinking about how mad Nix was at me. How he’d looked at me with disgust. If I’d been sober at the time, I would’ve known Nix would’ve never taken advantage of a girl while she was drunk. Hell, he never would’ve touched me in the first place. We were friends—only friends.

“That night, Nixon told me exactly what I needed to hear at the exact right time. When I’d hit the bottom of a very dark pit. I wasn’t only hurting myself, I was hurting everyone around me, too. When we first met and you scowled at me for telling you about my personal problems because you were a stranger and I explained it was only because you were a friend of Nixon’s, can you understand now? Nixon changed my life that night. He saved me from myself. He could’ve done whatever he wanted to me that night, I was so drunk I wouldn’t’ve stopped him. But instead he proved to be the friend I knew he was. A friend I could trust with my life.”

“Sounds like Nix,” Jameson mumbled.

“I had a choice in that moment. Continue to be hateful and self-destruct or find the person I was before my dad was taken. I chose peace. I chose to live my life the best way I could and that was by not being angry at everyone. I didn’t like myself, Jameson. I wanted to die and I didn’t care how long it took. I was selfish and mean and half the time I couldn’t breathe because all I wanted to do was feel pain.