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This night couldn’t have ended any better.
The more we shared our memories, the stronger our connection grew. I noticed Jessa scratch her forearms a couple of times. No doubt her sweater must be getting itchy, so I offer her one of my shirts to sleep in.
I’m not going to lie, seeing her in my tee is going to be the highlight of my day, right beside dancing with her earlier.
She turns away from me, tugging her sweater off, and I grab a shirt of my own, then spin around to put it on.
I’m ripped out of the moment when I see it.
Not it—them. Many of them.
Thin pale lines cover Jessa’s back like they were painted on with a dull brush.
These aren’t recent. She’s lived with these scars for a long time now, and they will forever be a permanent part of her.
“What the fuck are those?” The words are out before I can stifle my fury.
Someone did this to her.
Her expression drops instantly as she spins around to face me. My shirt is tangled in her arms as she rushes to cover herself, but I won’t let her hide.
I want to know who harmed her so I can kill them.
I close the distance between us before she can get the shirt over her head. Her wrists are tangled in the fabric and held against her upper body. I turn her to face the wall behind her and walk her into it, placing one hand on the back of her neck to hold her in place and another on her hip so she can’t turn around.
Her panic sets in. There’s a distant voice in my head telling me to stand down, but I’m not ready to release her.
Like a moth to a flame, my hand leaves her hip, and I reach out to touch the angry, pale lines across her back. When I trace along the worst one, I feel the ridges of the scar tissue under my fingertips.
“No, please, don’t look at them. Let me go.” She struggles, trying to push off from the wall as she pleads, but the ringing in my ears commands my attention.
As I trace each line one by one, the rage inside me continues to climb. Some scars are so faint I can barely see them. A few are so deep I wonder if they still hurt her.
“Who did this to you?” I’m clawing at every ounce of sanity I have left to maintain control over myself.
“Stop, Jack. STOP! I need you to let me go right now.”
That sinks in.
My heavy limbs go limp, and I step back, allowing her the space she is desperate for.
Tears flow freely down her flushed face, and she tries to take a step away from the wall but falls short. Tripping over her feet, she drops to the floor and fumbles with my shirt in a desperate attempt to hide herself away.
She looks lost, ashamed.
I watch in a daze as a scared little girl emerges from my strong Jessa. Then I spin on my heels to grab a blanket off the bed and wrap it around her shaking body.
Her pain crushes me, but I can’t let her hide from me. I know our deal is still in effect, but this is one thing I need to push.
“Was this Maxwell? Did he do this to you?” Deep down, I think I already know the answer.
“Yes.”
She offers nothing else.
I’ve made her feel unsafe.
Without another thought, I crouch down, wrap my arms around her, and help her up to sit beside me on the edge of my bed.
