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I adjust the straps on the tank I was never able to change out of. Suddenly, I feel heavy eyes on me and glance up. Easton and Logan are in conversation, not paying a lick of attention to me.
When I look over, my eyes go wide. Jackson’s eyes are dead centered on me. But not on my eyes, no. His eyes are lasered in on my chest.
I glance down, and my hands slap over my chest when I see what he was looking at. Purple fingerprints mar my chest, the big ovals telling the ordeal of what I’ve been through within the last twenty-four hours.
As quickly as possible, I pull the lighter sweatshirt back over my head, hiding the evidence of my home life.
Jackson stares at the spot, even though it’s still covered. I almost wonder if he saw them at all, or maybe he was just zoned out like he usually is.
But the clenching of his jaw and death in his gaze says otherwise.
He looks ready to kill.
* * *
That evening,I’m back where I started.
Holed up in my room, living my worst life.
The moment I arrived home, my sloppy mother opened up the door and barked at me for scaring her half to death. Ha, yeah right. She wanted to show face and hope people would feel bad for her. Get as much attention as she could because all she is, is one fat drama queen.
After yelling at me for well over an hour, Jed standing behind her giving me the look, I was finally able to escape to my room. The don’t you say a fucking word look creeped me the hell out. After that, life went back to normal. My mom called the cops off, and her and Jed went over to the couch and pretended like the last day never happened.
I’ve been sitting in my room since. Wishing for a different life, a different family. Maybe a few friends to hang out with. Anything to get me out of this house and not feel so trapped.
I swap out the clothes I’ve been in for well over a day to some comfy pajamas. Might as well, not like I have much of a life, anyway.
Laying down in bed, I curl into a ball and think about tearing my ears off when I hear my mom start giggling. Giggling from the other room like a fucking teenager.
“Fucking hell.”
Then I hear a noise outside, and curiosity gets the best of me. I get up off my bed and go over to the window. It’s pitch black out, almost midnight, so it's difficult to see, but my eyes go wide when I see a figure walking around in front of my house.
I press my face against the window, attempting to make out the lean lines of the stranger’s body.
It’s when I see the familiar knife in his hand that I realize who it is.
“Jackson?” I whisper to myself.
Although he couldn’t have heard me, he still looks up, locking eyes with mine. I stare at him, giving him a questioning look on what the hell he’s doing in front of my house. He stares for a few seconds, just a beat too long, then walks off, disappearing into the night.
The next morning, I wake up to the sound of Jed yelling. I scramble out of bed, terrified that he's going to come after me for something. I throw on as many clothes as I can find and stumble out of the house. My mouth falls open when I see Jed. Throwing a tantrum, his face is beat red as he stands in front of his car. I slowly back up, making my way back into the house. I'm shocked.
Every. Single. One of Jed’s tires were slashed.
Who would have done that?
There was only person that I knew was in that area last night.
That was Jackson.
But why would it have been him?
Why would it have been Jackson?
