Infinite Fear

by Jacqueline Abrahams

  “That’s cool,” he says with a nod.

  “You’re not pissed?” I ask with disbelief.

  “What am I gonna do?” he scoffs. “Handcuff you to me so that you don’t go anywhere? Man, I know you’ll be here if I need you. I’m happy for you.”

  “Okay,” I nod, a huge wave of relief washing over me.

  Emmanuel drops me off at my father’s shop, asking me to come out for drinks later. I tell him I’ll get back to him and he takes off. Presumably to check if Eva has bothered to wait a year for him to get out. My money’s on not.

  “Jackson!” Dad calls as I walk in the door.

  “Yeah,” I say flinging my jacket onto the chair in the office as I walk by. “Where are you?”

  “Out back!” he yells.

  I walk out to the back of the workshop. My father is standing next to his prized possession, besides my mother of course: his restored black Mustang. He bought it the year I was born, and reworked the engine, fixed up the body. It’s a beautiful car.

  “Your mother wants us to come home for lunch. I thought you could drive,” he says, tossing me the keys.

  “Okay,” I say slowly. “But you never let me drive the Mustang.”

  “Get used to it kid,” he says with a smile.

  “No shit!” I exclaim. “You’re giving me your car?”

  “No,” he says quickly. “I’m loaning it to you. We’re so proud of you, Jackson. It’s still mine until you follow through with this college thing.” My father has always been a man of few words and little emotional display. He blinks furiously, as though he may just cry at the fact that I finally decided to man up.

  I walk over and give him a strong hug. “Why are we going home for lunch?” I ask.

  My father shrugs his shoulders. “I just do what I’m told.”

  As my parents and I sit on the front porch eating fajitas, I think about where I’ve been, and where I am now. It’s a cliché, I know. The boy from the bad neighborhood that finally makes it out. And he makes it out of here alive, without a prison record. For once, I truly have no problem with being that cliché. I have my doubts about ever getting into an Ivy League University; I’m not that lucky. But I’m okay with that. Wherever I go, it will be progress.

  Epilogue

  Another year later…

  I try her number once more. Jade is still terrible at answering her phone; some things never change. This time though, she does actually answer.

  “Hello,” she whispers, obviously irritated.

  “Guess who?” I say with a smile.

  “Oh my gosh, hi!” she yells. I hear a muffling sound over the mouthpiece, along with Jade apologizing profusely to someone.

  I wait for a few seconds, hearing more shuffling and a few more small apologies on her end.

  “Hello?” I ask questioningly.

  “I’m here. Sorry, I was in a lecture,” Jade replies.

  “Oh, sorry ‘bout that,” I say. I’m not really sorry. I’ve missed her voice. But why the hell is she answering her phone in the middle of class? “Just checking in to see how you’re doing.”

  “I’m great. I miss you though,” she says sadly.

  “Maybe I’ll pop by and see you sometime soon,” I say.

  “I’d love that, but hey, can I call you back a little later? I have to get back to this lecture,” Jade asks.

  “Sure,” I say, before ending the call.

  I stand and stare up at the red brick building looming before me. How soon is soon, Jade? I had no idea that when Jade sat me down and made me fill out those hundreds of college applications that something would actually come of it. A few somethings, actually. Not that the choice was hugely difficult, when one of the acceptance letters was from Brown, and they even offered me a scholarship. I breathed a huge sigh of relief when I pulled the Mustang into the parking lot, very concerned for my baby after the fifteen-hour drive from Georgia.

  Jade is going to freak the hell out!

  I walk up the stairs and ask the depressed-looking RA where her room is. Surprisingly, she immediately offers up the room number. So much for student privacy. I expect the door to be locked, since she is in class. But when I try the knob, it turns easily in my hand. This shit would never happen in my neighborhood.

  I step inside and can immediately tell which side of the room belongs to Jade. The bed is made without a single, solitary crease in sight. The pencil tin on the bedside table is filled with sharpened pencils, not a nib out of place. I hope that Jade doesn’t have classes all day. Waiting in this room alone for the next six hours could get really boring, really fucking fast.

  I take out my phone and open it to the camera’s images. The little girl’s smiling face greets me. Jade may not be as excited when I tell her about Shana. It has been horrible, keeping this from her for a whole year. Playing dumb when she mentions Shana. I’m done with the female species. I have to focus on myself for a change, and not worry about finding the next overnight accommodation for my dick.

  Just as I’m about to walk over to the window, I hear a shuffle in the hallway, followed closely by a muffled, yet angry-sounding female voice. Shortly afterwards, the doorknob turns. I smile in anticipation of Jade’s familiar face.

  Only it’s not Jade’s familiar face. In walks the roommate, the girl I remember from the picture Jade showed me last year. I see that she still hasn’t discovered her smile. But then there are those eyes. For a brief moment, all I can do is look directly into them. For a few more moments, I am absolutely transfixed, lost in them. A few seconds later though, I right myself and examine her, wrapped in a robe with a towel turban wrapped haphazardly around her hair. She glares at me with a look that could freeze whole countries in fucking summer.

  I want to say hi, or something witty, or clever, but all that comes out is, “You’re not Jade.”

  “Well, obviously not,” she spits. “What the hell are you doing in here, and why?”

  I think that’s my cue to get the hell out of dodge, before someone yells assault. I stand and smooth out the creases on Jade’s bed, just the way her OCD likes it. As I turn to walk towards the door, I catch the angry girl’s eyes leisurely examining my body, eyes sweeping approvingly across my chest, trailing down to my jeans and beyond. I said I was done with women, but this is an opportunity I can’t pass up. I look up and the steely gaze returns immediately to her face. Her eyebrows return to their angled and angry positions.

  “Well?” she asks, looking at me expectantly.

  “Name’s Jackson,” I reply, holding out my hand, and unceremoniously pulling it away when she looks at it like it carries a life threatening disease. I clear my throat and continue. “I’m an old friend of Jade’s, so I decided to drop by and surprise her. This is my first week at Brown. Glad to see the welcome committee is so friendly.” The statement comes out which much more sarcasm than intended. I’m truly amused by how hard this girl is trying to be unaffected by this situation.

  “Jade’s in class, she’ll be back later. Usually people who drop by, call first to figure that out,” she says, trying to sound bored.

  I study her. Drink her in, more like it. I can’t drag my eyes away from hers. It’s fucking insane. I feel so damn captivated. But gawking like an idiot is not exactly flattering. I’m pretty sure I have her rattled. But what I can’t do is let this seemingly crazy woman know that the feeling is so mutual.

  “Did you miss the part where I said surprise?” I say cockily. “Don’t you think a phone call may have defeated the purpose slightly?”

  In attempt to display some sass, she puts a hand on her hip. “So I’m sure you can come back when she’s here. And you can leave now. Some of us need to get dressed and get to classes. I hear the hallway is a nice place to loiter,” she quips.

  I don’t want to leave yet. A wise and very hot undercover cop once told me that one day, I’ll meet someone, and one look will make me forget that anyone ever came before her. And standing here in this dorm room, for the first tim
e in my life, my reaction to a woman is not relegated to my groin. For the first time ever, it’s my heart that’s pounding…

  Scared of Beautiful – available on Amazon

  and in paperback – keep reading for a preview…

  http://amzn.com/B00LJAYYJS

  An excerpt from Scared of Beautiful (Scared Series #1)

  Maia…

  The sunlight filters through my dorm room window. I squint, adjusting my eyes to the bright glare. It’s a typical Providence spring morning. I know I’m late because my roommate’s bed is empty, made to hotel standards with impossibly perfect corners. “Shit,” I mutter to myself and fling my legs over the side of the bed. That dream, that damn dream. It haunts my subconscious and screws up my days. I dream it so often that I casually refer to its aftereffects as my dream hangover. When I wake up, I feel like I’ve been slamming back tequila shots all night. The time on my alarm clock reads 9.30am, which means that I am half an hour late for Comparative Literature. Still, I decide against rushing, since there’s only thirty minutes left of the lecture anyway, and make my way to the bathroom at the end of the hallway.

  My shower wakes me up sufficiently to decide against crawling back into bed and continuing the day there. Wrapping my hair in a makeshift towel turban and donning my bathrobe, my shower caddy and I make our way out of the communal bathroom. Halfway down the corridor a shout breaks me out of my daze. “Watch out!” Without thinking, I press my body against the hallway wall and my arms automatically fly up to protect my face, still clutching my caddy. My heart is racing and an all too familiar knot of anxiety has formed in my stomach. When I eventually muster the courage to open my eyes, I’m greeted by a stocky dude carrying a football. “Are you okay?” he asks with obviously feigned concern.

  “Fine!” I snap. “But consider playing with your shit outdoors!” I turn on my heel and walk towards my dorm room. I soldier forward indifferently, but my hands shake uncontrollably, ever so slightly, and I swallow repeatedly to quell the nausea that my anxiety has spawned.

  Clearly after my disturbed sleep last night, this day is not going to improve at all. I reach my door and strongly consider climbing back into my pajamas and reading Jane Austen until the sun comes up tomorrow. Turning the handle, I realize that I had forgotten to lock the door before my shower. Just as well, because I also forgot to take my key. “Oh shit!” I yelp as I’m greeted by the sight of an unknown male seated on my roommate, Jade’s previously crease-free bed. The male’s face is a mixture of shock and amusement, although the glare I give him should shake him out of his reverie and should send the strongest of men running for the nearest hills.

  “You’re not Jade.” That’s all he says. No sorry for scaring the shit out of you or you may be curious as to why I’m in your room.

  “Well obviously not,” I retort. I’m well beyond the ability to fake pleasantries today. I haven’t had my morning coffee yet. “What the hell are you doing in here, and why?” I snap.

  The guy stands, and I notice the crease he leaves on Jade’s bed. Little Miss OCD is going to be slightly pissed about that, but to my surprise, before answering me he turns to spread out the offending wrinkles with his hands. He obviously knows Jade well. In the four months that Jade and I have known each other, I’ve never seen a guy on her side of the room. I’ve never actually seen a guy with her at all. This may well be her new man. As he is perfecting the bedding, my eyes can’t help but do a once over of his body. He’s tall, maybe about six foot two, with skin the color of perfectly cooked caramel, and his dark hair is cut in a neat crew cut with impeccable lines. As he angles his body to skim the bed’s edge back to its earlier neatness, I notice that his arms flex tightly under his white t-shirt. His frame is lean and athletic, and I can just make out a tattoo on his left bicep, and another of a musical note on his neck. His ass looks equally impressive in his distressed blue jeans. I’m careful to avert my eyes back to his face and resume my steely gaze before he turns back to face me.

  “Well?” I ask impatiently.

  “Name’s Jackson,” he answers, raising his hand politely. I leer down at his outstretched upper appendage as if he has leprosy. He pulls it back, a quizzical look on his face. “I’m an old friend of Jade’s so I decided to drop by and surprise her. This is my first week at Brown. Glad to see the welcoming committee is so friendly,” he retorts sarcastically, but as I meet his eyes, I notice a glint of amusement there.

  “Jade’s in class, she’ll be back later. Usually people who drop by call first, to figure that out,” I answer with as much feigned boredom as I can manage. He is very distracting, and for some reason unbeknownst to me, I am very intrigued. He has the most amazing full lips and what I thought were dark brown eyes. But now, as I see them catch the sunlight from the window, I notice that they are a kaleidoscope of light and dark brown, with an ever so slight hint of green.

  “Did you miss the part where I said surprise? Don’t you think a phone call may have defeated the purpose slightly?” he answers cockily.

  “So I’m sure you can come back when she’s here. And you can leave now. Some of us need to get dressed and get to classes. I hear the hallway is a nice place to loiter,” I reply sarcastically, annoyed by his arrogance.

  His face lights up with mischief. “Oh there’s no need for you to put clothing on, on account of me. I don’t have a problem with what you’re wearing. Just saying.” He smiles and allows his eyes to scan up and down my body. This guy is incorrigible! Even with my robe, I suddenly feel extremely naked and exposed. Then I notice the cheeky dimple that has formed on his left cheek, and I realize he’s being a smart ass.

  Coming soon: Scared of Forever (Scared Series #2)

  About the Author

  Jacqueline Abrahams is the author alter ego for an ordinary mum to three children (two human and one canine) and wife to one husband. Born in South Africa, she now calls Sydney, Australia her home.

  A collector all things books and bookish, she in an avid reader and has a tiny obsession with filling bookshelves. When she's not preoccupied wearing her aspiring author or mummy hat, she is working her way towards completing a degree in Primary and Secondary Teaching (with an English major of course!)

  Scared of Beautiful is her debut novel, the first in The Scared Series, a standalone New Adult Romance series.