by Beck, J. L.
I’m trembling now, but I don’t want to give away how scared I am. He’ll latch onto that fear, use it against me, wrap it around my neck like a noose.
Sighing, his hot breath fans against my face. “Are you scared of me, bug?”
“No,” I murmur, only half lying. I’m not scared, not of him hurting me physically, at least. I’d welcome that… welcome the pain with open arms. What I don’t want is to be reminded of the past, and that’s all I can see when I look at him. I don’t want those emotions to come back to the surface, not after I spent the last two years trying to drown them out.
“You should be,” he growls like a dog, his teeth almost nipping the tip of my nose, and in the blink of an eye, his hand is at my throat.
His fingers wrap around it, squeezing, cutting off my air supply, making me gasp for air that will never come. Instinctively, I lift my hands and take hold of his wrist, trying to pull his arm away. Digging my fingernails into his skin, I can see the crescent-shaped indentations I leave behind. My lungs burn, and I struggle beneath his grasp.
Moving him is like trying to move a house. He is impenetrable and is only going to stop if he wants to. It doesn’t take much to know that he’s stronger than me, and he knows that.
Taking in the satisfying grin on his face, I would say he more than knows it, and he enjoys it as well. Enjoys the power he has over me. Even more shocking, I find that some twisted part of me enjoys it too. Being at his mercy, it… it does something to me.
“It would be so easy for me to end your life right now. I could strangle you with one hand. Stop your breathing and watch the life bleed from your eyes.” His hold eases a fraction, and I part my lips, letting a frantic breath into my lungs.
I don’t know why, maybe it’s the lack of oxygen to the brain or the fact that I deserve his cruelty, that makes me say what I do next, but it puts into perspective just how dangerous Jackson is. Just how much he’s changed and how far he’s willing to go for revenge.
“Then do it. End me. We both know I deserve it,” I croak, the words coming out labored.
The look on his face tells me I’ve just given him the ammunition he needs to end my life, and like a bull that’s had a red flag waved in front of it, he charges. The hand at my throat tightens to the point of pain. My lungs shrivel, and the evilness in his eyes becomes terrifying. Instantly, I realize he will do this. He will end me, and I’ve put the thought in his head.
Squeezing tighter, my head starts to swim. I’m gasping for air that never comes, trying to push against him, to get him to release me. I’m only given a cruel smile in return and a harder squeeze. He’s going to kill me. My vision blurs, and fear kicks in, but it’s too late. I can’t save myself just like I couldn’t save Jillian that night.
I try to keep my eyes open, but it’s hard, so hard… and then as if there is someone watching out for me, he releases me. I sag against the wall and bring a hand to my throbbing throat as air filters into my lungs again.
Tears slip down my cheeks, and fear slithers up my spine.
Jackson stands before me, his body shaking, his eyes gleaming with hate. He wants me dead, but more than anything, he wants me to suffer.
“Strangling you, though tempting, isn’t enough for me. It’s too sweet. Watching you suffer at my hand, watching you squirm and look over your shoulder in fear every day, wondering when I’ll strike next. That will be worth it. Remember, I know where you live. I know where you sleep, and I hold all the power. If I want you dead, you will be.”
His gaze roams over my body one last time, and then like a thief in the night, he turns and disappears out the front door. As soon as he’s gone, I sink to the floor and let out a painful sob. The boy I once knew is dead, and in his place stands a cruel, sinister monster. I should’ve died that night. It should’ve been me, and because it wasn’t, I’ll pay the price.
70
Jackson
I’ve become obsessed with Kennedy. I know her routine, where she goes for lunch, how much time she spends studying. I know she has no friends, which is only a little weird to me since she used to be surrounded by her peers.
Back in high school, she was popular, every girl wanted to be her friend, and every guy wanted to get into her panties… including me. Of course, I never acted on it, her being my sister’s best friend, one of the many reasons. I didn’t want to come between them, knowing how important Kennedy was to Jillian. Now I wish I had. Maybe my sister would still be alive if I did.
As I watch her more, I come to the conclusion that she lives a pretty shitty life, but she’s still living, and that’s half the problem. Lucky for her, she stuck to her word and stopped wearing makeup. I enjoy people staring at her face even though she doesn’t seem bothered by it, which pisses me off. I was hoping she would be embarrassed, worried, that she would freak out when I poured her makeup into the toilet and told her she couldn’t wear it anymore, but she surprised me when she agreed without a fight.
Shoving my hands into my pockets, I stalk after Kennedy. I don’t think she notices me as I follow her to the library after her morning class. She’s completely oblivious to her surroundings. One would think that you would watch your back more if you knew someone was after you, but she must not take me seriously. She must not believe that I plan to ruin her. Jokes on her because I’m going to drive the knife of pain deep inside her still-beating heart. She won’t be able to do anything without knowing I’m watching, waiting to sink my claws into her again.
She walks through the double doors, bypassing the circular desk, heading straight to the English literature section, where she drops her backpack onto the floor and starts rummaging through the shelves.
Taking a seat at the other end of the spacious library, though still within view of her, I watch her from afar, getting a thrill out of knowing that she hasn’t noticed me yet.
It’s like a cat and mouse game we’re playing. Right now, she is a carefree mouse, scurrying about without realizing that the cat is on the prowl.
Anticipating the moment she sees me, I rub my palms over my jean-clad thighs. I look forward to the shock in her face when she sees me, knowing that I will scare her, or at the very least, make her uncomfortable. Her eyes lift, and she looks away from the bookshelf.
I’m certain any minute now, she is going to look right at me but instead, she looks elsewhere, at a guy that’s approaching her.
He’s an athlete, wearing his Blackthorn Elite football jacket with pride. He smiles at her, and I can see his beady eyes moving over the length of her body. His lips are moving, but I can’t make out what he’s saying to her.
This strange, unwanted bubble of emotion rises within me. Jealousy? Rage? Why would I be jealous of this guy? If I really wanted Kennedy, I could have her. I could take from her and she wouldn’t even tell me no, and yet, I can’t shake the unwanted feelings away.
My hands ball into tight fists, and the carefree feeling I had moments ago swirls down the drain. Kennedy shakes her head, the blonde strands of hair catching in the morning sunlight that filters through the window, making them appear as if they’re spun gold. I’m reminded of her sweet scent from the other night. Floral with a light dusting of something else.
She’s a temptation. So beautiful, perfect, but a tempting poison that will kill you if you take a sip. The jock’s face falls when Kennedy turns, picks up her bag, and walks away. Her shoulders are curled in, and she looks uncomfortable even though the guy didn’t do anything but talk to her.
What the hell?
My brows pinch together with confusion. This is the kind of thing she likes, attention, guys falling over their own feet to get to her, so why is she walking away from him? It has to be a front. She’s playing a game, being shy, pretending to be someone she isn’t in hopes I’ll get off her back, but that’s not going to happen.
I can’t and won’t be fooled by some fake-ass mask that she wears. Does she forget that I know her? Really know her. My jaw aches as I clench it. The fact
that she’s turning this into a game pisses me the fuck off.
Pushing up out of the chair, I walk in the direction she went. Who does she think she is? Pretending that she doesn’t want attention, that she isn’t outgoing or a ball of fucking sunshine. As long as I’ve known her, all she’s ever done is talk to people. She loved being the center of attention, both her and Jillian thrived from it, like goddamn plants in the summer sun.
There’s no way she’s changed that much. I might not see the whole picture when it comes to Kennedy, but I’m not stupid. She wants me to think she’s changed. Well, it’s time I show her which one of us actually has.
Speed walking, I catch up to her just as she passes the door that heads up to the stacks. An idea pops into my head, and I decide to go with it. Let’s see how far I can push her before she breaks. She’s basically jogging through the place as if she can outrun me. Not today, princess. Reaching out, I grab her by the shoulder, stopping her from taking another step.
A gasp slips past her pink parted lips as she comes to a halt and turns to face her assailant. Pain lances across her features as if struck at the sight of me.
“Jackson,” she says my name in a hushed whisper, and I hate that it still has the same effect on me as it did the day before my sister died.
I wish every good memory I had with Kennedy would die. Every thought, every feeling. I wish it would all wilt away and become dirt beneath my feet.
“Don’t say my fucking name,” I grit out, reacting with venom as I release her shoulder and snake my hand around her wrist. Tugging her toward me and back to the door that leads up the stairs, I can feel the resistance she puts up, attempting to dig her feet into the ground and tug her arm out of my grasp.
“Where are we going? I don’t want to go anywhere with you.” The underlining panic in her voice only encourages me more.
Twisting the doorknob, I open the door and tug us up the first couple of steps.
“I don’t really give a fuck what you want to do. I have a lesson to teach you.”
“Can we not do this today?” Fear trickles into her nonchalant response as I pull the door closed, and darkness blankets us. “And how did you even know I was here? Are you watching me?”
A smile curves my lips, but I don’t respond. Practically dragging her up the steps and across the expanse space, I stop when we’re hidden behind a set of bookcases. Little slivers of sunlight filter through the dust-covered cases, but aside from that light, the entire room is dark.
Releasing Kennedy’s wrist like it’s fire, I reach for the button on my jeans.
“What…what are you doing?” Fear. It rushes off of her in waves. It’s suffocating. Intoxicating.
Good.
I want her fear.
I want to taste it.
Feast on it.
“Downstairs, I realized something…” I trail off, flicking the button on my jeans. The sound ripples through the space between us, and though it’s hard to see, there is no way I could miss the trembling in Kennedy’s little body.
I try not to pay attention to how small and vulnerable she looks, or how wrong this is. I can have any girl I want, willingly, and I’m sure I could have Kennedy too, but right now, I don’t want her willing. I want to take from her. Drink up her fear. Watch her break, and piece herself back together again.
“P-p-please, Jackson.” Her pink lips quiver, and she lifts her hands as if she could fight me off. What does she think is going to happen here?
“I think it’s time you drop the act. If you’re trying to prove you’ve changed, that you aren’t anything like the girl you used to be, you’re doing a shit job at showing it. I can see right through it, and since you think this is a game, I’ll show you how much it isn’t by proving how much I’ve changed. How much I truly don’t give a fuck about you.”
Crowding her, I place both hands on her trembling shoulders and press down. Her body crumbles to the floor, and her knees land harshly against the concrete floor.
“No...no… I won’t. I can’t.” She’s shaking her head, and I ignore the real fear in her voice now. I shut down my emotions, my feelings, my need to protect her, over my need to ruin her. It’s strange to feel two opposing emotions at the same time. Tugging my zipper down, I shove my jeans to my ankles and then my boxers, letting my hard, swollen cock spring free.
My emotions might be haywire when it comes to Kennedy, but my cock isn’t. My cock wants her body wrapped around it, her cunt full of my semen.
Kennedy scurries back at the sight, and the first cry of fear escapes her lips. It’s real and sounds more like a wounded animal.
“Come on, be a good fucking girl and suck me off. We both know you always wanted me to fuck you. You’ve wanted this since you were old enough to realize what it was, so let’s do this.” I take another step forward, and she lets out another cry, but this time, she rolls onto her side and pulls her body into a tight ball. Horrendous sobs fill the room, and I’m taken back by them. My entire body clamps up, and my cock deflates.
“Stop it! Stop this fucking show and get up,” I yell at her, but she doesn’t respond at all. For a few moments, I just stand there watching her fall apart at my feet.
What the fuck is wrong with her?
This isn’t just fear. This is something else. Something that I’m not sure I can comprehend right now. Fear, I can handle, begging me not to do something, I can handle, but a complete and utter breakdown, turning in on yourself. I can’t fucking do it.
Anger surges through my veins, and I’m confused about what I should do. Tugging my boxers back up and my pants, I button myself up before slamming my fist into the side of the bookcase. Fucking fuck. I can’t break something that’s already broken.
“You’ve been spared this time, but next time, I’m taking whatever the fuck I want from you. Tears or not, you’ll feel the pain I feel eventually.”
She sobs harder, and because the sound touches something inside of me, I walk away. The alternative is going to her and wrapping my arms around her, telling her that everything is going to be okay, but it isn’t.
It hasn’t been for a while, and it never will be.
Kennedy became the enemy the night she killed my sister.
71
Kennedy
It took me two days to return to a normal routine. I spent almost an hour in the library, trying to get myself to stop crying and calm down after the incident with Jackson. Then I dragged myself out of the building and went straight home, where I showered, scrubbing my body of the filth I felt before crawling into bed. Jackson couldn’t have known what he’d done. That he recreated my worst nightmare.
I never told him, or anyone, for that matter. I never got the chance. After Jillian’s death, my life became a blur of darkness. My own fears and the things that happened to me, no longer mattered.
It took months for me to stop wishing it was me who had died that day, and even now, I still think about how it never should’ve been her. Today is only the second day I’ve left the apartment since what happened in the library. I haven’t seen Jackson, and my emotions feel as if they’re balancing on a tightrope with shark-infested waters a few feet below.
Looking over my shoulder like a paranoid freak, I rush into one of the local coffee shops on campus, one because coffee is my weakness, and two because I needed to get off the street for a second before I had a mental breakdown.
I know it’s only a matter of time before Jackson pounces on me again. Yes, I had a breakdown in front of him, and he saw me shatter, but I doubt that’s going to hinder him from attacking again. I think my behavior surprised him more than anything, next time, he’ll be prepared.
He’s determined to make me feel the pain he feels. Even though I already do. I live in the pits of hell inside my mind. Nothing he does can be worse than what I already do to myself.
The Bean. That’s the name of the place I just escaped into. It’s quiet and has a warm, comfy feeling. There are small lounging couches, chairs,
and tables, on the far wall are some bookshelves. I decide to give the place a try and walk up to the ordering counter.
“Hey!” A young-looking guy–who is probably a student here–pops his head up from beneath the counter, damn near scaring the hell out of me.
This shit with Jackson has me freaking out over every little thing. With my heart beating out of my chest, I force the words past my lips, “Hi, can I get a vanilla latte iced.”
“Of course,” he says, smiling, and I can tell from the look on his face that he wants to say more, but I’m not about making conversation. The old me would’ve sat here all day and talked to him, but I’m not that girl anymore. Plucking a five-dollar bill out of my wallet, I hand it to him with a smile and start walking toward the other end of the counter, where it says pick up. I do my best not to look at him and instead pull my phone out and pretend like I’m talking to someone.
How pathetic is my life? I’d rather pretend to be talking to someone than talk to the person directly in front of me. As I scroll through my phone, I navigate over to my call list and realize that my mother had called me when I was in my last class.
“Iced vanilla latte,” the guy I tried to ignore calls. I step forward, claiming my drink while almost dropping my phone onto the counter.
“Thanks,” I reply. He gives me a tight-lipped smile and walks back over to the other side of the counter to help the people standing there. Once again, I’ve let the chance of a conversation, of reaching out, of being a typical college-aged girl, slip through my fingers.
It’s then that I’m reminded of something my therapist told me, “Jillian is dead, but you aren’t. You can’t change the outcome of what already happened. You can only go forward. You have to move on. Let go. The past is the past, but you aren’t going that way, are you?”