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JAMESON
19 Years Old
The thought of physically hurting Hanna makes me sick. When I woke up three nights ago with my hands wrapped around her throat, I wanted to die. I felt like I didn't deserve to live. I certainly don't deserve her.
I'm terrified to be around her, and I'm losing sleep because I'm afraid of what will happen when I close my eyes. She just blows it off like it's no big deal, but I could hurt her.
I couldn't live with myself if I did.
I roll over on Logan's couch, an all too familiar sight lately, and sit up, smoothing my hands down my face. The stubble scratching my palms. I've let it go. I've let everything go.
"Logan?" I call out, walking to his room, his bed perfectly made. After searching all the drawers for my keys, I find them under the bathroom sink, a place I never would've looked last night, smart.
I figure Logan must've had an early class, so I start up my truck and head to the apartment. I'm going to explain to Hanna that I need help and it's going to have to be away from her. I just don't know what that means yet.
It's still early, and I'm confused when I see Logan's car in my parking spot. Is something wrong with Hanna?
I run up the stairs, pushing my key frantically in the hole.
"Hanna?" I yell, looking to the floor at the pieces of broken glass from a frame. I pick it up, dumping the glass onto the floor. The picture of us at homecoming staring back at me, her in a ridiculous homemade shirt with my name on it. I pull the image out and shove it in my pocket.
I turn the corner, our bedroom door wide open and Logan in my bed.
I don't see red this time. I go blind. I haul him up by his throat, waking him instantly. His arms flailing around, trying to figure out what is happening.
Hanna's eyes shoot open, and she shuffles around, standing quickly. She is fully-clothed, in the same clothes as last night if I remember correctly.
"It's not…" she stammers, "It's not what you think."
Logan slams a right hook to my jaw, causing my grip to loosen around his neck, and he uses his body weight to slam us to the ground.
"Guys, stop. Please!" Hanna's voice is urgent.
Her begging doesn't work like it usually does, and Logan lands a couple more hits before I can switch it up, rolling him off me. My tears are falling unconsciously, "You fucking piece of shit! You were supposed to be my best friend!"
He uses his entire body to lift me off of him, hobbling quickly to his feet, Hanna jumping between us.
"Jameson, stop! It's not what it looks like!"
"It's exactly what it looks like!" I growl, backing away as Hanna tries to move close to me.
I want to beat Logan to a bloody pulp, but I need to get out here because I'm afraid I'll kill him.
I back out of the room with my hands up, letting her have her wish. I'll leave.
"Why do you have tattoos?" Ellie asks, tracing them with her tiny pink-painted fingernails.
"Because I like them."
She smiles, "Me too. What's that one?"
Her hand stops at the one above my wrist. My sleeve is a collage of several things. This one maybe being the most important to me. If you don't look hard enough, you don't even see it. It blends in with everything else.
"Magnolias."
Hanna's face is buried in her phone in the seat next to Ellie, reading probably, but Ellie's giggle brings Hanna's gaze in my direction.
"Why do you have flowers?" Ellie asks, pulling my wrist closer to her eyes to inspect.
