Chapter 14
Safe in the room I grew up in, I snuggled down under my doona and tried to reclaim the sleepy feeling I'd had before I'd eavesdropped outside Matt's room. Alas, it wasn't to be, even though what had been said hadn't been for my ears, I couldn't stop thinking over the implications of the short, semi-argument I'd overheard.
So Jack was avoiding his dad? It was news to me, but not exactly surprising. I remember when Matt and Jack used to hide in my dad's shed or under the house when Mr Whitby came to fetch Jack home in the afternoons. Sometimes my parents would convince him to let Jack stay the night, but more often than not, the boys would be called out of their hiding spot and Jack was sent home. Still, he was always back first thing in the morning, with the twins, to collect Matt and I for the walk to school. Sometimes it seemed that he only ever went home to put the twins to bed and to sleep himself.
The twins had pretty much been his responsibility as his mother had never been the particularly maternal type. In fact, when Jack was ten and the twins only three she had disappeared for an entire month, reappearing after that time and refusing to tell anyone where she'd been or what she'd done. Not long after that her drinking had become less of a family secret, and more like common knowledge. Not that Jack's dad would ever admit it, and he angrily turned away any offers of help from my parents or anyone else in the community.
I'd always hated Jack's dad and I don't think he was particularly keen on me either. He's the strictest man I've ever met and seems to think that Jack has turned out as a bad kid, constantly remarking how he'll amount to nothing and he'd do better to stay at home and help train horses rather than go off to some poncy university.
Staring up at the familiar ceiling, which I had plastered with glow in the dark stickers as a kid, I thought angrily of how many opportunities Jack's dad had held him back from. After everything that Jack has been through, how dare his dad be so hard on him?
From what I can tell, Mr Whitby simply clammed up about his wife and children's deaths, never talking about it to Jack, never offering any support to help him through his grief. I do understand that, as Matt said, he had a hard time of it as well, but surely he must have realised that doing nothing but criticising his one surviving child was not the best way to cope with his loss?
As I tried to force these thoughts out of my head so I could finally get some sleep, I heard a door being stealthily opened and closed and then the sounds of someone moving very quietly along the landing. Glancing over to where my door was opened a crack I saw someone move past my room and then their silhouette steal down the stairs. A moment later the screen door creaked and, getting out of bed and crossing to the window, I saw, through a gap in the curtains, Jack's form cross the lawn and disappear into the shed.
Clearly I hadn't been the only one unable to sleep.
I got back into bed, determined to quash my curiosity for once and let Jack have the time to himself that he so obviously craved. Squeezing my eyes tightly shut, I began counting backwards from 100 in that time honoured sleep bringing tactic. I had just got into the 50's, and was still feeling wide awake, when I heard a very soft thump thumping noise start up from out in the shed. I knew what it was immediately, Jack had got the boxing gloves out.
The month after the accident, when we had all been so worried that Jack would sink so far into his misery we would never be able to get him out again, my dad had bought a pair of boxing gloves and a red leather punching bag which he had hung up in the shed. Without saying a word he had handed Jack the gloves and walked off.
Apparently when all else fails, give a boy something to beat the crap out of and leave him to it.
It had worked too, Jack had begun taking all his frustration out on the stuffed piece of leather, developing a brutal pounding routine which he could keep up for hours on end. Sometimes Matt would go in with him, but more often than not, it would be Jack alone striding towards the shed, gloves in hand and I soon became used to the thump, thump noise of his fists hitting the punching bag.
Listening to it now, after so many years without it, I felt tears spring to my eyes. I'd become so accustomed to thinking of ‘strong, capable Jack’ that I'd almost forgotten about the ‘angry, confused adolescent Jack’ who had always looked like a tightly coiled spring about to release. Over the years that scared, lost look had retreated from his eyes, but the familiar beat of fists on leather reminded me that he hadn't stopped grieving for his family, but rather, pushed it down and learnt to control it.
It was no use, the image of Jack out in the cold shed trying to punch out his demons drove me out of the warm sanctuary of my bed and towards the door. I realised, however, that I couldn't go outside wearing only my thin blue pyjama pants and a white tank top, I'd freeze to death. I grabbed my sandshoes and the thin jacket I'd been wearing earlier and made my way out onto the landing and down the stairs. At the back door I slipped my feet into the shoes and shrugged on my jacket before opening the door slowly to reduce the creaking noise and stepping out onto the veranda. I wished immediately that I’d brought my warmer pyjamas with me or grabbed a thicker jacket as dew had already started to form on the grass and my breath showed up as a little white cloud in front of me.
Trying to ignore the cold, I set off across the lawn towards the shed where I could see thin slivers of light showing in the gaps between the corrugated iron. The door to the shed was slightly ajar and, through the crack, I could see Jack, with his back to me, the muscles in his arms and back, obvious in his thin T-shirt, tightly bunched. He wore only loose track pants and the T-shirt, no jacket and his feet were bare. I shivered just seeing them exposed to the cold air and even colder concrete floor. The fluorescent light of the shed gave the scene an almost unearthly look and tinged Jack’s skin an unhealthy grey colour. Then again, I doubt his pallor had been that fantastic to start off with.
"You should go back to bed," Jack said suddenly, his voice echoing in the large shed and making me start.
How had he known I was there? I was sure I hadn't made a sound. Still, I suppose we all know when we're being watched and, if you know someone well enough, you can sometimes know who it is without actually seeing them.
"So should you," I replied, entering the shed. "Why are you out here?"
He hadn't altered his punching rhythm at all at my entrance; he was still tattooing a quick one, two motion out on the bag, his punches perfectly timed and coming as regularly as if he was a machine. In fact, in the weird light, that's kind of what he looked like, hardly human at all.
"I couldn't sleep," he answered me tersely.
"And so, naturally, you left your lovely warm bed and came out to the freezing, spidery shed in hopes that you'd have a better chance of getting to sleep out here?" I asked sarcastically.
He didn't reply and I moved round the punching bag until I was facing him. As I caught sight of his face I almost wished I had stayed where I was. His face was taut and expressionless, his eyes red rimmed and sunken showing hardly any of their beautiful blue colour. His mouth was drawn in a thin line and his brow was creased with the concentration of maintaining his intensely fast pace.
"You look like crap," I told him frankly.
"Thanks," he bit back, his eyes remaining fixed on the swinging punching bag before him.
"Seriously, though," I added, moving closer, although still out of range of the jerking bag, "is this because of your fight with Matt?"
He completely ignored me. It was as if I hadn't spoken, as if I didn't exist even.
With a sigh I walked over to the side of the shed and took a seat on one of the old trunks my parents store camping equipment in. Pulling my thin jacket closer around me and crossing my arms I proceeded to stare at Jack.
As I had hoped, this seemed to unnerve him, and I saw his eyes slide over to me as if wondering what I was doing.
"Go back to bed, Natalia," he repeated, his voice hoarse and cracked, his one two rhythm finally faltering.
"Only when you do, James," I re
plied cattily. Honestly, there was nothing I hated more than people using my full name to patronise me. OK, maybe I hate one or two things more than that: racists, homophobes, terminal illnesses, that kind of thing, but it's certainly high up on the list.
There was silence between us again as Jack picked up speed on the bag once more. When the cold really started to bother me I chafed my hands together, stamped my feet and distracted myself by enquiring, "So this helps then does it?" I crossed my arms and tucked my hands in against my body. "Getting up in the middle of the night, coming out to a freezing shed and beating the crap out of an inanimate object?"
"As opposed to what?" He asked almost immediately, showing that he had been waiting for me to break the silence. "Getting up in the middle of the night, coming out to a freezing shed and beating the crap out of an animate object?"
"You saying you want to hit me, Jack?" I countered quickly and was perversely satisfied to see him hesitate in his punch.
"It's getting to be an increasingly attractive prospect," he muttered, though I could tell I had thrown him with the suggestion that he would strike me. Still, he didn't let up his punching, in fact I think he started to get more furious. He was like one of those Vikings that used to do that berserk thing where they were out of control. It was scary as hell.
Restraining myself through great force of will from getting up and touching him as, in his state, I doubt he would even have noticed, I searched through my brain for some way of getting him to calm down. I know usually you're just supposed to let people get things out, but he looked like he was going to do himself some serious damage unless I did something. Suddenly I realised what it was I needed to do.
"Jack," I called out to him in a clear, commanding voice. "Jack, calm down, please just take a breath and calm down." Like before, I don't think he could hear me. Time to bring in the cavalry or, as we liked to call them, sheep. My voice rising, and allowing some of the fear I felt to creep into it, I tried again. "I'm calling in rule 5, do you hear me? I'm not comfortable, I don't want you doing this anymore. I'm serious, that's enough. Sheep, Godammit, sheep!"
And finally - finally! - he seemed to hear me.
With a great 'whoosh' of released air, he collapsed against the punching bag, his forehead and fists pressed hard against the leather. The muscles in his arms, legs and back visibly unclenched, and he froze so that the only sign of movement was from the little rivulets of sweat which ran down his forehead and neck.
I waited until it was clear he wasn't about to start up again and then said, in a small voice, "Come and sit with me."
He stayed frozen for a moment longer, but then let out a long, controlled breath and began stripping off his gloves. Throwing them to the side he ran his fingers through his hair, spiked with sweat, and then made his way over to me, throwing himself down on the trunk. Tipping his head back against the wall, he closed his eyes. As his breathing calmed I reached out and entwined my hand through his. His fingers tightened around mine and I felt him release the last of his tension through that connection.
For a long while we listened to the sounds of the night filtering through the gaps in the shed, the croaking of the frogs, the rustlings of the possums and the thumpings as wallabies and kangaroos jumped about feasting on my dad's lawn.
"So you lied to me, you know," I murmured when I felt it was safe to talk again.
"I did?" Jack asked, his voice husky as if the punching bag had stolen even his voice.
"Yeah, you let me think it was Matt who attacked Brad, but it was you."
Jack shrugged, his head still tilted back, his eyes still closed. "I didn't lie then, I just let you continue believing something that wasn't true."
"Same difference."
He opened his eyes then and looked down at me just as a gust of wind blew outside making the shed door swing shut with a bang and sending a draft whipping past our legs. I shivered slightly and pressed myself closer against Jack's side to protect myself from any other cold gusts. The next moment, however, Jack had released my hand and with a soft, "Come here," he tugged me up onto his lap. He was slightly sweaty from the boxing, but also decidedly warm, and I snuggled up against his chest happily.
"I should have just kept walking," Jack said, after a couple of seconds. "Letting Brad rile me up like that was stupid. It was just that the things he was saying-" He tightened his arms around me as if trying to protect me from the awful things Brad had presumably said. "Well he's lucky I didn't break his bloody neck, that's all."
I tilted my head and looked at him for a long moment before reaching up and gently cupping his face. "You can be a little scary sometimes Jack, you know that right?" He looked surprised at that, but I continued, "I mean you can be so intense and you're so strong, I think sometimes you don't know what you're capable of."
His expression darkened and he pulled his cheek away from my hand. "And you think I'm going to hurt somebody one day?" He asked, his tone incredulous and a little bit hurt. "You think I'm going to lose it and, what? Put somebody in hospital or something? Listen, I can't think of many guys who would have been able to just walk away from Brad if he'd been talking about their…friend like that. I only gave him a scare."
I noted the hesitation before he said 'friend' and briefly wondered if he'd meant to say best friend's sister, but then thought better of it. Still, I had more important things to think about at that moment because Jack looked like he was considering dumping my arse on the cold concrete and storming off.
Wishing I hadn't said anything, but unable to back off once I'd started, I shook my head and tried to think of how I could explain my fears to him. "It's not that I think you're going to hurt somebody else exactly," I said cautiously, "but rather that one day you're going to hurt yourself."
He narrowed his eyes at this but didn't interrupt so I continued, "For example, when I came into the shed just now you seemed like you were out of control and I was proper scared that you were going to…oh I don't know, injure yourself I guess. And that was scary, Jack, much scarier than I imagine you were with Brad. You're so much harder on yourself than you are on other people."
Sighing, he gave a little shrug. "I learnt a long time ago that you don't have control over other people, the only person you can direct to do the right thing is yourself. So, yeah, I am hard on myself, I reckon most people are."
Realising that it was too late at night and I was too exhausted for us to get into this discussion I nodded slightly. "Fine, just please don't be too hard on yourself, alright? Sometimes it's even harder to control yourself than it is to try and control other people."
He realised that I was relenting on him for the time being and I felt him relax again. "OK," he murmured, kissing my temple and resting his head against mine briefly, "I'll try and remember."
There was another lull during which I tucked my head up under Jack's chin and nuzzled closer in against him to keep the crisp air at bay.
"You still cold?" He asked, his hand resting on the bare skin where my top had ridden up, and presumably feeling the goose bumps that had sprung up all over. I made a noncommittal 'mmm' noise because I didn't want him to try and send me back to bed again.
"Here, let me give this a try." Jack ran his hand down my right arm until his hand was holding my wrist.
"What are you doing?" I laughed as he rubbed his fingers over the skin on the inside of my wrist.
"You lose body heat through your hands, feet and nose primarily," he said conversationally. "However, you can best regain heat through places where the veins are close to the skin, pulse points. The best places are your wrists, your neck and your groin."
OK, I'll admit it, I did blush when he said groin. What am I? Ten years old?
"Therefore…" Jack smirked at my red face and then brought my wrist up to his mouth. Before I had time to ask what he was doing he breathed gently over my wrist, the warm air tickling the sensitive skin.
Warm.
Immediately I felt a warm glow roll up my arm and
spread across to settle in my chest, although how much of this was from the warming up technique, and how much came from the incredibly exciting feeling of his hot breath brushing against my skin, I couldn't say. He glanced sideways at me and smiled at my expression which, I would imagine, could only be described as dazed. Still looking at me he bent his head to my wrist again, but this time placed a soft kiss on the skin.
Warmer.
My free hand clenched the front of his t-shirt convulsively as if I was falling and I bit my lip to keep myself from making some sort of embarrassing noise, I really didn't want him laughing at me at that moment. He lifted his head again as if to check how well he was doing. My look must have told him the answer was very well indeed because the look he sent me in return was one of mixed pleasure and smugness. Before I had time to recover he lowered his head a third time, but this time laid his open mouth over my wrist.
Hot!
I think I might actually have glowed in that moment. It couldn't just have been blood coursing through my veins, it had to have been lava. Yeah, lava with a good sprinkle of chilli. I closed my eyes and released a little "Oh," noise despite my determination not to make myself sound like an idiot. I don't know what it was about the feeling of his mouth on that little patch of skin that made me react so much, maybe because the wrist is so sensitive, maybe because it reacts so strongly to heat, or maybe just because it was the single most sensual thing I had ever experienced.
Jack lifted his head once more and this time full on grinned at me. "Better?" He asked, his eyes alight with a look I had never seen before.
"Much," I said, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling his lips down onto mine.
There was an urgency to this kiss that hadn't been present the other times. This one had both time and passion on its side. Neither of us, it seemed, were prepared to faff around with the slow or the gentle, we had already done the warm up...literally!
The position we were in, me sitting side saddle upon him, was restrictive in terms of getting really close to one another. So, not breaking the kiss for one moment, I twisted myself about until I was straddling him, my knees resting on the trunk on either side of his thighs. His hands gripped my hips and pulled me close in against him so I could feel every ridge of his chest through the thin fabric separating us.
Well, I certainly wasn't cold anymore!
We continued this way for a period of time, his hands hot against my hips, holding me tight and my arms locked around his neck. I felt as I had when we had danced at the club, as if there was little distinction between where he ended and I began. It seemed that Jack was also feeling like he had on a previous occasion with me, specifically the Sunday when I had ended up lying on top of him. And, again, as on the Sunday, I found myself delighted with the intoxicating feeling arousing him gave me.
It was at about this time that rational thought obviously decided it was a bit too late at night for it to be functioning and sloped off to bed, leaving me in the not-so-capable hands of primal instinct. It was almost as if I could physically feel the change in my body as I went from perfectly happy to desperately wanting more.
Removing my arms from around Jack's neck I ran my hands down his chest until I reached the hem line of his t-shirt. And then, reluctantly breaking our kiss, I tugged the top over his head and threw it to one side. I caught his lips again almost immediately, feeling bereft for that one moment without them. I spread my palms flat over his chest and revelled in the feel of his bare skin. His chest was like Jack personified, hard yet soft, and incredibly, unbelievably hot.
Realising the inequality of our situation I shrugged off my jacket, but wasn't prepared to break the kiss again so soon to take my tank top off. Still Jack had, quite rightly, taken my bold moves as a signal that it was alright to touch me more intimately and his large, capable hands slid beneath my top.
For a while he simply ran his hands up and down the bare skin there, his thumbs moving in slow circles across my stomach, but then he drew his hands up until they rested just underneath my breasts. Tenderly he traced the undersides of the curves with his fingers and then took the full weight of them into his palms.
I was in a complete daze, focussed on nothing but desire and the pleasure I was receiving. So much so that when he brushed his fingers across my nipples I had to bite back a scream as some far off recess in my brain was still functioning enough to point out that that would be a bad idea.
Riding a wave of daring that had sprung up from God knows where, I let my hands trail down Jack's chiselled chest, over his hips and down to the tie on his tracksuit bottoms. Pulling the knot loose I was about to dip my hand down beneath the waistline when suddenly I felt Jack's hands leave my breasts and grab my hands.
"What?" I asked, surprised out of the fog of lust I had sunk into. My face heated at once at the position of my hands and what I had been about to do and I pulled them away and crossed my arms.
"I don't have a condom,” Jack said.
"You what?" I exclaimed. "I thought boys kept whole packets constantly handy in the unlikely event that some woman gives them the go ahead."
He smiled his sweet lopsided smile and shook his head. "Not when they go out in the middle of the night to box in a friend's shed they don't."
"So," I unfolded my arms and rested them on his bare shoulders, kissing him again lightly, "go get one."
"I don't think that's such a good idea," he said, taking my hands off his shoulders and holding them tightly in his. "But it's not because I don't want to be with you," he continued, presumably seeing the ever darkening hue of my face. "Think about it seriously for a moment, perhaps it's a good thing that something stopped us."
"Yeah?" I asked, through swollen lips, trying to get to grips with the situation. "Why's that then?"
Jack was silent for a second and I could tell he was trying to think of the best way to put his next sentence. "OK, do you remember when I asked you back at the flat what you wanted to happen between us?"
I nodded.
"Well, what was it that you imagined that made you go about as red as you are now? What did you see?"
"You and me," I answered immediately, the picture conjured through the levels of my subconscious and exploding vividly in my mind’s eye.
"Well that's a good start," he chuckled. "But where were we?" As I looked at him in confusion he continued, "I mean were we, for instance, in your father's grimy, cold shed sneaking around in the middle of the night?"
I shook my head no, the image expanding until I could see quite clearly where I had pictured us. "We were in your room at the flat," I answered him, "clean, warm, and nobody was around to interrupt us."
My embarrassment at sharing my fantasy was instantly made worthwhile by the look of appreciation on Jack's face at my words. He dropped my hands and grabbed me around the waist and, before I knew what was happening, he was kissing me again. I was a bit surprised at his reaction, but loved that I could almost taste his approval and joy at my answer.
"There you are then," he said, pulling away with a chuckle. "You deserve better than a cold shed, Natalia Jane Davenport."
"That's all very well, Jack Morgan Whitby," I smiled back fondly, "but considering our situation, a cold shed may be all I'm going to get."
"See, now that's where you're wrong." Jack tapped the side of his nose and sent me a corny wink. "It'll work out, Tally, I promise."
Raising my eyebrows at his odd behaviour, I pushed his chest lightly and asked, "Right, so, what do you know that I don't?"
"You'll find out soon enough," he said, infuriatingly vaguely.
I attempted a pout, but annoyingly, it turned into a wide yawn. Seeing this Jack reached over and grabbed my jacket, draping it over my shoulders and signifying the end of our night time escapade.
"Look, and I'm not being patronising here, you really should go back to bed," he said, "you're freezing and you're tired."
I nodded reluctantly and slid off his lap onto the floor. He stood up beside
me and we both stretched. I slid my arms into the jacket sleeves while Jack retrieved his T-shirt and slipped it back on.
Yawning hugely again, I started for the shed door, but stopped when I realised that Jack wasn't following me. When I turned it was to see him collecting his boxing gloves and strapping them back on.
"Oh no, Jack," I groaned. "Haven't you done enough for tonight? Aren't you ready for bed now?"
Jack shook his head with a wry grin.
"Why not?" I demanded, crossing my arms and hoping that I wasn't going to have to calm him down again, I really was tired.
"Well, let me put it this way," he said, looking pretty uncomfortable, "as much as I logically know that you and me is not going to happen in this shed tonight my body is taking a little longer to come round to the idea, get my drift?"
I stared at him in incomprehension and shook my head no.
He sighed and gestured towards his nether regions, "I've got something to work off, Tally, you get me now?"
Yep, I got him then! I clapped a hand over my mouth to cover the giggles which had been surprised out of my throat.
"Right well, good luck with that then," I choked. "Night, Jack."
"Goodnight, Tally."
So Much to Learn Page 27