by Beck, J. L.
I move so fast, he doesn’t even see the kidney punch coming. I hit him so hard it knocks the wind out of him, and he crumbles to the floor with a groan.
Franco starts to count down, but only gets to three. To everyone’s surprise, Ty gets back up. I shake my head at him. He should have just stayed down.
“I don’t even know what you like about her,” he slurs, ready to pass out. I must have really rattled his brain because his next words make no sense at all. “She can’t even suck a dick right. Terrible gag reflex.”
“Just tap out, Ty, you’re done. You’re talking gibberish.”
“I know what I’m saying, asshole! I said Kennedy can’t suck a dick. I had to hold her down and show her how to do it right that night at the party.” He lunges for me, and this time I can’t move. His fist connects with my jaw, making my head snap to the side before I can recover, he gets me again in the side of the head, and again in my ribs when I try to turn away.
I know I need to concentrate on the fight, drown everything else out like I always do, but his fucking words are messing with my mind. Did he just say what I think he said? He did what to Kennedy?
His words take hold slowly, almost like I have to digest them one by one. With each of his words reaching my mind, a picture of Kennedy flashes in front of my eyes. Her huddling on the floor when I told her to suck me off. Her choosing sex over a blow job at my place. Her telling me she just can’t do it even after I made her come.
The fear in her eyes. The tremble in her voice.
No. Tylor wouldn’t have…
I just can’t believe my friend would do that.
Ty is raining down punches on me, but I can’t feel anything right now. With my fists covering my face, I let him shower me with body shots just so I can think. When I’ve had enough, I shove him off and drop my arms long enough to look at his face.
And then I see it. The smug grin on his face. The darkness in his eyes.
“You know she turned me down because of you?” He chuckles, and the heavy fog on my mind is lifted. The puzzle pieces lock together, forming a very vivid painting right before my eyes. He… he hurt her. My body starts shaking with violence. Every fiber of my being ready to attack, ready to kill. He hurt her…and now I’m going to hurt him.
The next few minutes happen in a blur. One moment I’m looking at Tylor’s evil grin, the next, he is passed out, and I’m on top of him. It’s like I’m watching myself move outside my body. My fists are coated in blood. I can barely recognize his face when some unknown arms pull me away from his unmoving body. I want him to keep moving, want him to fight back, but all he does is lie there.
When I try to struggle free, I realize that there are three guys with their arms wrapped around me, tugging me backward. I Try to look over them and to the fucker’s body. I want to make sure he’s unmoving.
“What the fuck was that?” Talon’s voice cuts through, even over the crowd cheering me on. “I think you killed him, dude.”
Good. I hope I did. Fuck the consequences. I’ll gladly live the rest of my life behind bars if he’s dead.
Franco rushes to Ty’s side and checks his pulse. “He’s alive,” he announces. “I’ll have someone come and check him out. You get him out of here,” he tells Talon, but I’m already rushing out.
It feels like an elephant is sat on my chest. I need to get to Kennedy. I need to tell her that I was wrong, that I’m sorry. It all makes sense, everything. Talon yells my name over and over again, but I ignore him, I need to get to her.
Climbing into my SUV, I race out of the parking lot. My hands are slippery as I grip the steering wheel, and I look down to see my hands are covered in blood. I can’t seem to be bothered by it, though, because all I can think about is getting to Kennedy and telling her that I fucked up.
My stomach churns, and acid burns up my esophagus at the thought of what he did to her. I want to punch myself in the face, to rip out my heart and put it on a platter, and give it to her. This whole time she’s been hurting, and for a multitude of reasons, not just because of Jillian’s death but because of the events of that night.
It seems to take forever for me to reach her apartment complex. I barely slam the car into park and turn it off before I’m out and racing inside. I know something is wrong before I even knock. I can feel it deep in my gut. Something is terribly wrong.
I knock once, screaming her name. When she doesn’t answer right away, I can’t wait another second. This bad feeling snakes through me, and I have to get inside, have to make sure she’s okay. Taking one step back, I lift my foot and ram it into the door. The wood easily gives way with the force.
Running into her apartment, I scan the living area quickly before making my way through the rest of the apartment. “Kennedy!”
Silence.
Bursting into the bedroom, I find it empty too, and the bad feeling in my gut expands. I turn to look into the bathroom, and then I see it. A few strands of her silky blonde hair are falling over the edge of the bathtub. The coppery tang of blood tickles my nostrils, it’s filling the air and making me sick to my stomach.
Walking into the room, my heart sinks to my feet, then stops beating all together when her entire body comes into view. Blood. There is so much blood. Her legs, her hands, her stomach, it’s all covered in blood. I don’t even know where it’s all coming from.
Dropping to my knees on the side of the tub, I call her name, praying she’ll wake up. Her face is pale, and her eyes are closed. My hands tremble as I find my phone. I try and type in the code, but my hands are too bloody, my finger slipping over the screen, but nothing happens. The blood on my hands, making it impossible for me to call for help.
Looking down at Kennedy one more time, I decide I don’t care about anything but getting her help. Plucking her up out of the tub, I try not to be bothered by the warmth that covers my hands and belly.
“I’ve got you. I’m going to take you to the hospital. Don’t die on me, Junebug. Do not die on me,” I croak, and it feels like I’m losing Jillian all over again. I did this. I pushed her, and I have to save her. I have to be the one to make sure she is okay.
Carrying her out of the apartment, I can hear each drop of blood as it hits the floor. When I reach my SUV, I open the back door and put her in the seat, laying her across them. Then I climb in and drive. Speeding the entire way there, I don’t even think I breathe until I’m outside the ER, climbing out and carrying her inside.
“Dear lord,” the nurse says when she spots me. Doctors and nurses rush over and take Kennedy from me, and suddenly everything is moving in slow motion. Sinking to the floor, I place my hand against the cool ground. The tears rush in, and like a dam, I release every ounce of emotion I’ve been holding back.
Pain. Hate. Anger. Regret. Shame.
I lost Jillian, and now I’m losing her too.
I’m sorry I never told you I loved you…
26
Kennedy
Peace… I’m finally at peace. No pain or heartache, no disappointment or guilt. My body is numb, and so is my mind. Darkness surrounds me, wrapping me up in a blanket.
I feel as if my body is floating on a cloud, somewhere in between being awake and asleep. Alive but not quite living. I try to think of where I am and how I got here, but every time I form a thought, it slips away.
For a long time, there is nothing but silence. Only me and my friend, the darkness.
“Yes, she is stable now…” A voice suddenly breaks through to me. It seems far away as if I’m standing in one corner of a large room, and someone is in the other, across from me. Something draws me to that voice. I try to move, but my body and mind don’t seem to be connected at the moment.
“No, I won’t leave her side, I promise…” The same voice speaks again, a little bit louder now as if he took a few steps toward me. I strain to hear him again, hoping he comes a little bit closer still. His voice is a beacon of light in the dark.
“Okay, I’ll see you soon…”
He stops talking after that, but the sound of heavy footsteps echo in my ears. I think he’s coming closer. When a large warm hand covers mine a moment later, that thought is confirmed.
Part of me wants to pull away from his touch, while some other part of me craves it. I’m confused by the notion until I hear him say his next words.
“Junebug, please, wake up. Please, be okay… I just need you to be okay.”
There is only one person in the world who calls me Junebug… Jackson.
Why is he here? I drag myself out of the heavy fog, fighting with all my might to open my eyes. Cinder blocks weigh them down, but somehow, I blink my lids open. Light blinds me, and I release a groan at the burning of my retinas.
Like paint seeping into paper and spreading in large splotches, the events that got me here unfold in my mind. The cutting. All the blood.
I flinch when Jackson squeezes my hand gently, reminding me that he’s here now.
Cut yourself a little deeper next time…
My entire body is one big ache, and my head is heavy, swimming with thoughts.
“Thank fuck you’re okay!” Jackson says, sighing as if he’s been sitting here watching me for hours.
Tugging my hand from his, I scowl at him. “Don’t touch me!” The words come out so raspy and distorted, I’m not sure if he even understood them.
Anguish contorts his features.
Why is he here?
“I’m sorry, Kennedy. I’m so fucking sorry. This is all my fault. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this better. Whatever you want. Tell me, and I’ll do it.”
“Leave,” I croak, trying to scoot away, but my limbs are still too heavy.
“Anything but that. I won’t leave you and not only because I promised your mom. I’m not leaving because I love you.”
Love? Is he serious?
All I can do is shake my head at him. How can he be talking about love right now? After what he did to me… what he said? I can’t wrap my head around it all. It’s too much. Too many emotions and thoughts rushing to the surface all at once.
“Please, go…”
“I can’t, bug. I can’t leave you. Not after I almost lost you forever.”
Closing my eyes, I turn my head away from him. I don’t want to see him right now, because every time I look at his face, I see him yelling at me. Telling me to cut myself while Tylor is standing next to him, grabbing his crotch. This is worse than my worst nightmare because it’s my reality.
“I won’t touch you or even talk to you if that’s what you want, but I’ll be staying here so I can watch over you.” I hear him retreating from me and taking a seat in the corner of the room. The tension eases from my body only slightly.
I try to go back to sleep, but my head hurts, and the skin on my legs burns too much to find any rest. When I attempt to move again to get comfortable in another position, I yelp out in pain as I tug on something connected to my arm.
“Hold on, don’t move. Let me get the nurse.” Jackson jumps up and rushes to my side. He grabs something behind me, and a moment later, a female voice comes through a speaker.
“Nurses station.”
“She’s awake and needs some more pain meds.”
“I’ll be right there.” The line goes dead, and Jackson takes a step back.
I can only manage to look at him briefly before I turn my head away from him again. Seeing his face hurts too much right now. It’s nothing but a reminder of what he said to me. How he treated me. I trusted him, and he betrayed that fragile trust. He believed Tylor’s lie about me without even asking my side of the story. How could he believe what he told him? Does he think so little of me? I thought we were getting somewhere, letting go of the past. My chest aches at the thoughts rushing through my brain.
Thankfully, the nurse comes in, pulling a small cart behind her, sidetracking my thoughts.
“How are you feeling?” she asks, walking up to my side. She doesn’t smile, but her demeanor isn’t mean, just serious.
“Okay.” The lie rolls off my tongue so easily.
“On a scale from one to ten, what’s your pain at right now?”
One million. But that’s just the ache in my chest over the betrayal.
“Eight,” I tell her. “Maybe a nine. My head hurts.”
“You lost a lot of blood. And the doctor found a bump on the back of your head, you must have hit it on the bathtub.”
Or on a brick wall. I should say it out loud. Tell her that I want Jackson gone, that he is the reason I’m hurting, but some small part of me won’t let the words escape.
“I’m going to check your vitals and then give you some more pain meds through your IV.” She starts wrapping the blood pressure cuff around my arm and takes my pulse while the machine is working, squeezing my arm tightly almost to the point of pain.
“Blood pressure is good,” she tells me after she is done. Then she gets a syringe from her cart and injects something into my IV. It only takes a few seconds before I feel the effects. A warm fuzzy feeling spreads through my veins, covering me like a soft heavy blanket.
Exhaustion takes hold of me once more, and with the pain disappearing, I can finally close my eyes and escape the world again.
* * *
The next time I wake up, someone is holding my hand. I know instantly it’s not Jackson. These hands are smaller, softer, and less warm. Prying my eyes open, I come face to face with my mother.
“Hey, honey,” she coos, a sad smile on her lips.
“Hey, Mom. What are you doing here? You didn’t have to come all this way. I’m fine.”
“Oh, Kennedy, of course, I came. You’re my child. Why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you tell me…” She doesn’t finish the sentence, but I know what she is thinking. Why didn’t you tell me that you were hurting yourself… that you wanted to end your life?
The real question is, what would she have done? I’m pretty sure the answer to that is nothing. She would have brushed it off, told me to get out more, make friends, and be normal.
“I’m sorry.” I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for, but I feel the need to say the words. “It won’t happen again.”
“It better not,” I hear my father’s gruff voice from the other side of the room. Only then do I register the other two people in the room. My father is sitting in a chair in the corner, looking down at a newspaper. He doesn’t even look at me.
My gaze swings to Jackson, who is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in front of his chest, staring daggers at my father.
“Travis, now is not the time,” my mother warns, but there is not much conviction behind her statement, which eggs my father on even more.
“When is a good time, Claudia? After she kills herself? After she makes a mockery out of this family yet again?”
Instead of saying anything else, my mom just lowers her head and squeezes my hand.
“Get out,” Jackson’s voice booms through the room. Both mine and my mom’s head snaps up to find Jackson looking furious.
“What?” My father looks up from his paper like he can’t believe Jackson is brave enough to say something.
“You heard me, old man. Get the fuck out,” Jackson growl.
“How dare you––” My father starts but is cut off by Jackson’s hand, grabbing a fist full of his shirt to drag him from his chair.
“How dare I? How dare you talk to her like that? You’re her father. You’re supposed to care for her, not make her feel worse. You’re part of the problem, and I’m not standing by and letting her be hurt anymore.”
My father struggles, but Jackson is too strong. He easily shoves my father out of the room while my mother and I watch the scene unfold with our mouths hanging wide open. Jackson slams the door shut, and I jerk at the sound.
Without saying another word, Jackson walks back to the corner and sits down on the chair my father was in just moments ago.
“I’m going to check on your father,” Mom whispers, and I almost
roll my eyes. Of course, she worries more about him than me. I nod, and her hand slips away. She steps outside, leaving me alone with Jackson.
“It’s too late, Jackson. Standing up for me now doesn’t make up for what you did yesterday.”
“I know, but I won’t leave you. Even if you don’t want me right now. I know you need me. Your parents just proved that.”
“What I need is space, from you, from them, from everybody. I just want to be left alone.”
“I can’t do that. I’ll give you all the time in the world, I won’t expect anything from you, but I won’t leave your side.”
If he had said those words to me twenty-four hours ago, I would have been happy, ecstatic even. Now, it just drives the knife deeper. Because right now, everything he does is just a reminder of what he didn’t do yesterday… protect me.
27
Jackson
Every time I look at my hands, I see her blood on them. I see her pale face, her closed eyes, and pale pink lips. I almost lost her. Had I not got there when I did, she may not be here right now. Hell, what am I saying? She wouldn’t be in this hospital bed if it wasn’t for me.
Cut yourself a little deeper next time.
I want to rip my own tongue out for saying something so disgusting, so cruel, so horrendous. I knew she was suffering, but my own fragile state overshadowed that. I was selfish and believed someone else without stopping to ask her what really happened. She was the one hurting the most. Jillian died, and the loss of her crushed me, but Kennedy went through so much more than the loss of her best friend.
Had I been at the party that night and not thinking with my dick, maybe none of this would’ve happened. Maybe Kennedy wouldn’t have been assaulted, maybe Jillian would still be here.
I’ve been so busy piling the blame on Kennedy that I’ve never stopped to think about how I played into the situation.