“And when did you decide to do something about it?”
He traces the pad of his thumb across my cheek, watching as my breathing hitches. “The first time I had to hit you.”
It's not a romantic thing to say, but it has the same effect. I shouldn't be smiling from a guy talking about hitting me, but apparently I'm just as messed up as Jameson, because it comforts me.
“What makes you so certain that I won't tell them what you're doing? How are you sure they haven't gotten to me?” I laugh, because it's obviously a joke, but he doesn't. He's still serious.
“You won't say a word.”
“You're right, I won't, but there's no way for you to know that.”
“Other than the fact that you just told me?” He finally cracks a smile.
“Yes, other than that, you have no proof.”
Playing with Jameson has quickly become the highlight of my day. I'm relieved he's finally opened up, but it's also put us in so much more danger.
“I don't need proof. I have something better.”
“Oh yeah, what's that?”
He swallows nervously but moves closer, taking my waist in his hands.
“The look on your face when I walked into the room. You were waiting for me. You were happy to see me.”
“Cocky little guy, aren't ya?” I tease.
He smiles as his eyes roam back and forth between my eyes and my lips.
“Not cocky. Just right.”
Turning away to smile, I let my argument die on my tongue. He is right. Once I realized he was trustworthy, I let go of all previous qualms.
Reaching around him, I turn the water off myself. This conversation is the deepest I've had in years. This is where it needs to end tonight.
Jameson surprises me by grabbing my hand as I turn to leave the room and something in the vicinity of my heart begins to tingle. It catches me off guard, but in a very, very good way.
“I was happy to see you too.”
He's had thirty years of people telling him that love and monogamy are useless, and yet he still manages to say the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Tuesday flies by, mostly because Jameson decides to stay in, and we decide to act like immature freshmen and play twenty questions. He says he'll be gone through the night but won't tell me why. Something tells me that he's doing it for my benefit, but under our playful banter, I'm still worried.
“You're taking all the fun out of this,” I say after he still can't answer the most basic of questions.
He doesn't listen to music, so he doesn't have a favorite song or band. He hasn't read anything I've ever heard of, so I don't recognize his favorite book. He's never had a girlfriend, he didn't attend a normal school, and he's never done anything even remotely resembling fun.
“I can't help that I'm sheltered,” he laughs.
“No, Jameson, teenagers who aren't allowed to watch rated R movies are sheltered. You are a whole other level beyond them.”
We're both sprawled across the bed, wearing the most comfortable clothes we own and snacking on apples and peanut butter he managed to steal from the kitchen. It's relaxed, but also borderline intimate.
“You're bland,” I tease. “You have the potential to be interesting, but like this lame-ass snack, you just lack substance.”
He laughs at the absurdity of my suggestion as he shoves an entire apple slice in his mouth, acting like it's the most delicious thing he's ever eaten.
“Substance, huh?”
“Substance, culture, whatever you wanna call it.”
“You mean I have no life? Is that what you're saying? I'm dull and boring and the least interesting person you've ever met.”
“That's exactly what I'm saying!”
His laughter dies away and he retreats back into his shell for a moment, absentmindedly dipping the last apple slice into the peanut butter.
“Maybe someday I'll get to be an actual person,” he mumbles to himself. “Someone who jokes and smiles and isn't so afraid.”
Nudging him with my shoulder, I smile reassuringly.
“There's no maybe about it. Someday, you'll have more than what these people can offer you.”
After a moment, he shakes his head. “As exciting as that sounds, it also scares me. Isn't that ridiculous?”
“Not at all,” I answer honestly. “Anything new is scary. Doesn't mean it's not worth doing.”
His brow furrows before he takes a deep breath. Holding it in, he reaches out for my hand.
“You'll help me, right?”
The moment is so genuine, the man so sincere, that I can't help but move closer. Pushing his arm off the bed, I snuggle into his side, letting my cheek rest on his shoulder as I'm enveloped in his warmth. This is all I can offer him right now, but when he relaxes against me, I know it's enough.
“Of course I'll help you. Just promise me you'll get us out of here.”
Hesitantly, he tightens his arm around my back, pulling me closer. He doesn't look away as he presses his forehead against mine. I take a mental snapshot of the forbidden moment of connection. In a place so potentially dangerous, I've managed to find the softest, most gentle man I've ever met. Beyond the front of his biting words and stinging hands, I've found the person the Children of Neutrality tried to kill, the person with spirit.
“I promise.”
“Good,” I say, taking his face in my hands. “Because I can't wait to witness your first drink, or your first cigarette, or to dance with you to inappropriate music.”
“Aren't those all bad things?”
“Eh,” I shrug. “Depends on who you ask. In my opinion, some of the worst things are also the best.”
“I see,” he whispers, his lips inches from my cheek.
My heart beats against my ribs as I notice 'the look'. His gaze dances over my lips, unsure of his next move. He wants to kiss me, but isn't assertive enough to just do it.
“A word of advice, Jameson, don't wait too long to kiss someone, or you might lose your chance.”
He gulps in nervousness, which I didn't expect to be a turn on, but it prompts me to lick my lips. As if that's the cue he's been waiting for, he presses his mouth to mine.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Jameson, get ready! It's time to go!”
You have got to be kidding me...
Jameson abruptly ends the kiss, startled by Bradley's interruption.
“Dammit.”
“Yeah,” I agree, breathless but not as breathless as I want to be. “Dammit.”
Popping off the bed, Jameson pulls his jeans on over his athletic shorts and replaces his white shirt with a charcoal gray one.
“Not sure when I'll be back,” he says as he slides on his leather jacket. “I'll be with Bradley and Bobby, so if you want to go stay with one of the girls, that's fine.”
“Oh, okay.”
A bundle of nerves builds in my chest but I try not to let it affect my demeanor. I know there's a damn good reason why Jameson hasn't told me where he's going. He thinks it will upset me. I want to know, I feel like I need to, but after all the horrible things I've learned about this place, I'm reluctant to even ask, so I don't.
“Um, be careful, okay?”
Shooting me a concerned look before pressing our room key into the palm of my hand, he nods. “You too.”
Bradley pounds on the door again before Jameson can lean in for a goodbye kiss.
“Let's go!” He yells.
“I'm coming, dammit!” Jameson retorts.
“You better go before he beats the door down.”
I can't help the bitter tinge to my voice. I don't like secrets, even those that are for my own good.
“See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, see ya.”
Hearing the door click shut behind him fills me with something akin to dread. I don't know if it's just my fear or woman’s intuition, or what, but something tells me tonight isn't going to be easy.
>
Opening my eyes, I see the glowing numbers of my alarm clock and idly wonder why I'm awake at two in the morning. The soft breathing of someone next to me catches my attention and I roll over, wrapping my arms around my twelve year old hound dog.
“Percy, what are you doing in my bed? You know better.”
As I scratch behind his ears, he starts to pant, sensing the presence of someone else in the room the same time I do.
“Relax, Percy, it's just me.”
I turn to see Jameson enter the room, clad only in a low-hanging pair of boxer shorts.
“Where've you been?” I ask through a yawn.
“Just making sure the door was locked. Wouldn't want the boogeyman to come in here and grab ya!”
I squeal as Jameson curls his hands in front of his face like menacing claws and comes after me. He's going to tickle me, I know it. And there's nothing I hate more than being tickled.
“Stop it!” I laugh. “I'm gonna kick you in the face if you don't quit! It's too early for this!”
Percy jumps off the bed and starts to bark at the two of us as we roll each other around the bed, trying to get the upper hand.
“Percy! Get him! Bite him! Make him stop!”
Jameson laughs. “That dog doesn't have any teeth left in his mouth. How's he gonna bite me?”
“Gum him to death, Percy!” I say, breathless with laughter.
AARK!
We immediately separate at the pained noise and I look around the floor for Percy, but he's nowhere to be found.
“Percy? Where'd you go?”
My heart stutters in my chest, confused at how quickly he's left my sight.
“He's fine,” a cold voice answers.
Jameson and I both whip our heads around to find her sitting in a chair in the corner, with Percy curled on her lap.
“What are you doing here?” Jameson demands, pulling me into his chest. “What do you want?”
“The same thing I've always wanted. The one thing you promised me.”
Jameson begins to tremble under me and I raise my head so I can see him. Tears are streaming down his face, his teeth are bared, and his skin is as red as our satin pillowcases.
“You can't have it,” he grows.
Joan throws her head back in laughter, causing Percy to cower and shake. I don't why or how she's here, but I know it's not right. I know it's not... no. It's not real. She's not here. I'm not even here...
My vision blurs until all I can make out is the flash of her red hair and the promise in her voice.
“You can't stop me.”
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
“Tess! Tess, it's Lyla! Wake up!”
I startle awake to the sound of Lyla's shrill voice as she tries to hammer down the door.
“I'm coming!”
Trying not to strangle myself with the sheet I'm cocooned in, I kick the bedding to the foot of the bed before leaping toward the door. My adrenaline is still spiked from my nightmare, but I try to take in one solid breath to calm myself before opening the door.
Lyla is so on edge she's practically vibrating. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I try to get a read on her emotion but she's moving around too fast for my eyes to follow.
“What the hell? It's like...” I look back at the alarm clock beside the bed. “three in the morning.”
“I don't know what's going on, but Bobby sent me to get you.”
“Bobby? You mean they're back already?”
“I guess. I don't know, I was just sent to get you. Something bad happened, but they won't tell us anything! I'm just supposed to take you to see Omar.”
The strong version of Lyla from the stairwell, the woman who was so determined to do whatever it took to survive- that girl's gone. In her place stands exactly what I expected her to be the first time I laid eyes on her. A scared, confused, sixteen-year-old girl.
“Why Omar?”
“I don't know,” she says, shaking her head so fast her face blurs. “Just get dressed.”
I find my clothes quickly and try not to let my hands tremble too much as I shove my legs into jeans and throw a hoodie over my head.
Something's happened, something bad. I'm assuming that since Bobby is back, that means so is Jameson. Maybe he slipped up. Maybe we got outed and Joan and the others found out about our plan. I could be walking to meet my death right now.
“Hurry up!” Lyla demands as she flies down the stairs.
I'm in no particular hurry to die in some long, drawn-out way designed by an elderly pseudo-doctor. I consider slowing my pace so I can sort out my sleep-addled thoughts, and that's when I hear it. The scream.
Pushing Lyla aside, I sprint past her, sliding around the corner leading to Omar's office. I had planned to keep running until I reached his voice, but that's not happening. Everyone I've ever seen walking down the halls or eating in the cafeteria is here, all crowded around Omar's door.
Get to him. I have to get to him. Now.
I make my way through the crowd, shoving, pushing, stomping on feet; whatever I have to do. I have to see him.
Finally, I push the last person aside. Tripping over their uncooperative feet, I lose my balance and practically fall through the door.
Standing stone still, apart from my labored breathing and rapid-fire heart, I'm able to take in the severity of the situation. There he is, bathed in the harsh glow of Dr. Omar's fluorescent lighting.
“Jameson?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
At first, I'm not sure what to think. Bobby and Bradley have each of his arms, pinning him down to the exam table. Jameson's eyes are screwed shut and even though I expect tears, there are none. His chest rises and falls with short, stuttered breaths. Tears form in my own eyes at his pain and I look him over to better understand his discomfort.
That's when I see the arrow.
“Oh, my God! What happened?”
I quickly run to his side, careful to lay my hands on him. His face, as well as any other exposed skin, is flushed white. Sweat beads on his forehead and it looks like he's concentrating so hard on not losing his composure.
“No one was supposed to be hunting in those woods,” Bobby explains, his face just as white as Jameson's. “We thought it was a campground, there shouldn't have been hunters there.”
“Someone shot him?” I cry.
“No, he just found the damn arrow on the ground and decided to shove it into his stomach.” On any other day, Bradley's smartass remark would have me curling my hands into fists, but today, I just brush him off.
“Shut up, Brad,” Bobby snarls. “You're not helping.”
Bradley retorts with a hateful comment, but I tune them both out, focusing only on the man lying on the table. I've never really seen anyone truly injured, unless you count television of course. I have no idea what I should do. Would it be better if I left? If everyone left? Or does Jameson want me to stay here? Should I reach out and take his hand, comfort him when he can't comfort himself?
As if reading my mind, Jameson's eyes flutter open and he uncurls his fingers. Still ignoring the boys, I push past Bobby and take Jameson's hand in my own, squeezing gently.
“It's okay,” I comfort. “You're gonna be okay. It's... it's so not a big deal. It's only an arrow.”
Jameson wheezes out a painful laugh.
“Only an arrow,” he rasps. “That's like saying a decapitation is only a cut.”
Smiling at his ability to keep his sense of humor even in the most dire of times, I affectionately brush his hair back from his forehead, glancing away when he returns my smile.
“What happened?” I demand, ignoring the looks of disapproval cast my way.
Bobby looks to Bradley. Once he realizes his brother doesn't plan to explain a damn thing, he sighs and shakes his head.
“There were two of them. Two men. I don't know why, I don't know what they were thinking, but once we were in range they shot at us. One guy wasn't that great of a shot,” he says, gesturing to the graze o
n his shoulder. “But the other was. We were able to drag Jameson out before they could reload their bows.”
My head doesn't know what to do. Between the heightened tension, the loud rumble of the crowd, and the coppery smell of bloody, my brain is on overload. My eyes can't decide where to land as they skirt over the room, the people, the window; anywhere to keep from looking at the arrow protruding from Jameson's stomach.
“Is he going to...” I have to stop, force my lungs to inhale, and steady myself so I don't pass out.
“Is he going to die?” Bobby says, shaking his head. “Hell no! He's my partner in crime, right man? You're too thickheaded to be brought down by something like a flying stick with a pointy end.”
Jameson tries to chuckle, more for our sake than his own, but only a strangled cough emerges from his throat.
“Shut your mouth,” Bradley growls.
I can hear jealousy a mile away, and Bradley is definitely green.
“If the arrow doesn't kill him, your shitty jokes will.”
That must be tough. Twins are supposed to have some kind of supernatural connection, yet these two seem to be on opposite ends of the spectrum. Every spectrum. I can imagine how Bradley would be envious of Jameson and Bobby's friendship, but the sad truth is that Bradley doesn't have the one thing that ties the two men together, the thing that's created a stronger bond than a shared placenta.
Compassion.
“Well,” Omar finally says, looking up from the wound. “I don't think it pierced anything major. We should be able to take it out and stitch him up without any problems.”
“Should be? What do you mean you should be?”
For a second, everyone falls silent, surprised at the woman's shrieking question. Looking around, heat floods my face as I realize I'm the shrieking woman.
Suddenly, my body jerks to the side and I'm pushed against the wall. I reach for Jameson's hand frantically, but I've lost my grip. His knuckles make a dull thud as his hand falls to the table, mimicking the sound of air being forced from my lungs as my back is thrown against the wall.
Bradley's face dominates my line of sight. His nostrils flare as undiluted anger fills his eyes. I fleetingly wonder if he's going to be the one to punish me, the one to put an end to Jameson and I.
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