Regretting You

by Beck, J. L.

  I keep my eyes firmly on the door and whistle a tune to stop myself from becoming impatient. A second later, I can hear the lock disengaging and the door opens, Kennedy’s tiny frame comes into view, her face full of sleep. I let my gaze wander for half a second over her body, which is hidden beneath sleep pants, and a T-shirt that says “Book Nerd” in big, bold letters and hangs off one shoulder.

  She looks adorable, but that doesn’t change what I came here to do. Kennedy is going to pay, and the fun has just begun.

  4

  Kennedy

  I must still be asleep because there is no way that Jackson is standing on my threshold right now. And yet, there is no way this is a dream because if it was how could I smell him so vividly, see him.

  My nose wrinkles at the assault of scents that greet it. Sweat, alcohol, aftershave, and… blood?

  Peering up into his face, his glassy eyes meet mine. He’s been drinking, and yet his movements are precise and without hesitation. I notice there is a small gash on his forehead, and his bottom lip is swollen and partially split open. Was he in a fight? My heart rate spikes at the thought. What happened to him? When I lower my gaze, my eyes find his hands, and I see that his knuckles are bruised, confirming my suspicions. Just another reason why he doesn’t need to be here right now. Drinking and fighting. Yeah, I don’t have time to deal with that.

  “You need to leave,” I tell him, my voice still laced with sleep.

  His eyes pinch together. “I’ll leave when I’m ready, thank you.” Pushing the door open a little wider, he continues, “Why did you open the door in the first place?” He looks around my small apartment, which looks even smaller with his large body filling up the space.

  “I didn’t want you to wake up the neighbors,” I say, a half-lie. That’s part of it. The other part is I know it wouldn’t matter. If he wanted to get in, he would.

  “Sure, whatever you have to tell yourself, bug.” I cringe at the nickname.

  He used to call me Junebug when we were little as a pet name, but the way he says it now is filled with vengeful hate. It sounds more like an insult and not like an endearment that it was once upon a time.

  Dropping my hand from the door, I take a step back. “What do you want, Jackson?”

  “I want my sister back, but since I can’t have that, I’ll do with watching you suffer.”

  All you have to do is open your eyes.

  How does he not see how much I’m already suffering? Have I become that good at hiding it? Or maybe whatever he sees isn’t enough.

  “Where is your bathroom?” he asks, scanning the room. I point in the direction of my bathroom, afraid that if I don’t, he’ll start opening and closing every door. Pushing past me, he waltzes through my apartment like he owns the place.

  He flips on the light like he’s always known where it is but doesn’t close the door behind him. Instead, he starts opening the cabinets and drawers rifling through everything.

  What the hell?

  “What are you looking for?” I ask, my voice small. Does he need something? Pain meds? A band-aid, maybe?

  He doesn’t answer and continues rifling through my belongings like a madman. When he finds my pink makeup bag, he briefly stops and smirks at me over his shoulder before unzipping it and dumping its entire content out in the open toilet.

  What the actual fuck? My mouth falls open, and for a while, I just stand there in shock. Why… Why would he do that? Dropping the now empty bag on the floor, he takes a few steps toward me. I’m intimidated by his presence, by his size. I don’t know what to make of this situation. How did he even know where I was living?

  Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he leans against the doorframe. It’s a casual look for someone so menacing.

  “You don’t get to cover up your scar. Everybody needs to see what you’ve done. How ugly you are inside and out.” His words are like a slap to the face, and even though there are many feet between us, I shrink back like he actually hit me.

  “Fine, I won’t wear makeup,” I tell him after I compose myself.

  If that makes him happy, then so be it. I owe it to him to at least do whatever he wants or do whatever eases some of the pain that I caused. I don’t really care what other people think of me anyway. The only reason I cover it up is so I can blend in better and stay off of people’s radar. I don’t want to draw any attention to myself, and I don’t want anyone’s pity.

  Right after the accident, when my scar was still bright red and very visible to the world, everyone kept asking me if I was okay. Asking what happened and saying how sorry they were. I don’t want to experience that again. I just want to be left alone.

  “You’ve made your point. I won’t cover my scar up anymore. Can you please leave now?” I ask, gesturing toward the door.

  He cocks his head to the side and inspects me, his gaze roaming up and down the length of my body, and only then do I become aware of what I’m wearing.

  The pajama bottoms cover every inch of my legs, but the T-shirt I’m wearing hangs off one shoulder and is tight across my chest, doing very little to hide my breasts. As soon as the thought enters my mind, my cheeks heat, and my nipples tighten. I’m sure he is well aware since his gaze falls to my chest, where the thin material of the fabric is showcasing my tits.

  Wrapping my arms around myself, I cover up my boobs as much as I can, which only makes him smirk and draws more attention to myself. Embarrassed and completely defeated, I look down at the floor. Anywhere besides his stupidly handsome face will do right now.

  “You know I turned down fucking two chicks earlier so I could come here. Maybe I should fuck you instead?” Shocked by his words, I look up again.

  Our gazes collide, and he starts walking toward me. A low heat forms in my belly. I don’t want to react to his nearness, but I can’t help it. Everything about him reminds me of a past, of a life I no longer live in.

  Closing the distance between us, he comes to a stop mere inches away from me. I can feel the heat of his body rolling off of him and slamming into me. I want to tell him to leave, to go away but the words won’t come.

  I watch cautiously as he reaches out and tugs at a piece of my blonde hair, rubbing the strand between two fingers as if he’s testing its durability. It reminds me of a time when we were kids, and he’d always pull on my pigtails. Today that seems as if it was an eternity ago. What he just said finally hits me, and my response rolls right off the tip of my tongue.

  “Why would you do that? You hate me.” I don’t know why I ask that question because once I say it out loud, I realize how bad it sounds. How much it sounds like I want that to happen.

  “I don’t have to like you to get off,” he says, snickering, his eyes appearing darker.

  “Well… I-I don’t want to do that.” I take a step back, desperate to put some distance between us, but he takes that as an invitation and instead moves forward, continuing to crowd me.

  “I didn’t want my sister to get in the car with you that night, but she did. Sometimes we don’t get what we want…” His voice trails off, and I become increasingly aware of the fact that I’m alone with him in my apartment. He could easily overpower me, easily take whatever he wants from me. Would he really do that? Go that far? Would I even fight back? I’m not sure. I deserve everything coming my way, don’t I?

  Those vibrant green eyes of his twinkle with an unreadable emotion, and when my back hits the wall, panic starts to claw up my spine. I can’t tell if he’s trying to scare me or if he’s serious when he moves even closer until there isn’t even an inch of space between us. My chest rises and falls rapidly. Can he hear the thump of my heartbeat?

  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 ph
ysically, 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.

  5

  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?”