Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
K: Promise.
Reading her single word text, I don’t trust that she really means it, so I send her another.
Me: On Jillian’s grave.
My phone dings, and I imagine she’s staring at her screen with the same conviction I am.
K: On Jillian’s grave.
Dropping the phone onto the mattress, I tip my head back into the pillows and let my mind wander. Maybe I can forgive Kennedy? Maybe I can let go of the pain? Or maybe I can’t? At the very least, I know Kennedy won’t be hurting herself anymore, and that’s the most important thing of all because if she ever killed herself because of me, I wouldn’t forgive myself. It’d be like losing Jillian all over again, and I doubt I could survive that.
20
Kennedy
Life seems to be headed in the right direction. For once, I feel like I’m not suffocating. Like I’m swimming back to the surface, instead of being dragged down deeper. The fact that Jackson isn’t doing everything in his power to make my life hell helps immensely.
We’ve come to this strange agreement that we aren’t quite friends, but we aren’t enemies either. Every day I see a little bit of the old Jackson returning. He smiles more, laughs, and seems as if he too is healing.
I still wait with bated breath for the other shoe to drop. How long is he going to keep up this act of caring before he snaps on me again? I keep hoping things will stay this way, and we can heal together, but I’m not stupid enough to believe that’ll happen.
As sad as it is, I’m wary of every little thing he does. I don’t understand how he flipped a switch, how he went from hating me so passionately to showing he cares in the blink of an eye. It’s not like he goes out of his way for me, but he also doesn’t actively try to make my life difficult anymore.
Descending the steps outside of my economics class, I find Jackson sitting casually against a bench. He looks ruggedly handsome in nothing more than jeans and a T-shirt. He’s surrounded by his friends, or at least, I assume they’re his friends. I stare at him for a second longer than necessary before turning to walk toward my apartment.
I’m not a part of his life in that way, and I’m okay with that. I’m okay with being alone because I’m used to it. I can’t say I don’t miss being his best friend, hearing his laugh, and watching him smile. His joy was once my joy. I used to think I loved him, and part of me still feels that way. I don’t think you can stop loving someone once you’ve started. Your love for them just changes.
Halfway home, I get this odd feeling that someone is following me. Shivering, I turn around to look over my shoulder and find that Jackson is behind me. I’m not sure if him being here is a good or a bad thing yet, but I’ll slow down anyway so he can catch up with me.
“Hey,” he greets, his hands shoved in his pockets.
“Hey,” I reply as he falls into step next to me.
In an awkward silence, we walk side by side the entire way home. When we get to my apartment complex, I wonder what his next move is? Is he going to leave? Come in? He answers my questions without even knowing it when he continues walking with me up to my door.
“I’m coming inside,” he tells me. I guess we’re still not on asking terms. “I want to check your thighs. Make sure you’ve kept your promise.”
“I did.”
“Then you won’t mind showing me, right?”
“Right,” I huff.
He follows me up the stairs and into my apartment. I drop my backpack on the ground and take off my sweater jacket while Jackson closes the door behind us, locking the deadbolt into place. Leaning against the door, he crosses his arms in front of his chest and looks down at my jeans, motioning for me to take them off. He doesn’t seem annoyed or even impatient, so I should be thankful for that. I know he’s already seen my scars, but the thought of showing him them again is frightening all the same.
“Show me,” he orders, pushing off the door, taking a step closer.
Insecurity takes hold of me as I start to unbutton my jeans with shaky hands. Careful not to drag my panties down too, I shimmy my jeans down my legs, exposing my thighs to him.
He closes the distance between us and gets down on one knee to inspect the scarred area even further. I close my eyes, unable to look at his face while he does this. I don’t want to see the disgust or pity in his eyes. I shiver at the contact, wondering what he’s thinking?