Falling Away
Page 50
And she stopped. I knew I had her.
The woman didn’t like unsavory attention, and even though I would never talk about her, my sister, or my father, she thought that I might. And that was enough.
She kept her back to me. “Get out.”
“So you can be alone?” I asked quietly.
She didn’t turn around.
She didn’t look at me.
She just stood there, waiting for me to disappear, so she could sink back into her delusions as if none of this ever happened.
I looked to Fallon and Shane, their arms loaded down with my black-and-white composition books, staring at me wide-eyed.
“Let’s go,” I urged.
As we left the house and walked to the car, Shane sped up next to me. “Are you okay?”
“No.” But I smiled. “Not in the least.”
CHAPTER 11
JAXON
“Dad?” I call, coming into the living room. “Do you want to go to the park?” I hold in my breath and hope I sound nice and quiet. Please, please, please, I pray. I want to go to the park and play someplace pretty.
“No,” he grumbles, not even looking at me. “Not today.”
I stand in the doorway, watching him and a girl play with sugar on the table. They slice it with something sharp, and then they laugh right before they suck it into their noses. They don’t see me, and I don’t know what they’re doing, but I know that I don’t like it. There’s something wrong.
Music comes out of the radio, and it bounces off the walls, hitting me. The blaring sunlight blasts through the windows and warms the garbage in the kitchen, making it stink really bad.
And I know that my dad and the girl will be like this for a while, and I will be alone for the rest of the day.
I don’t like it here, and I want to go home. To my foster family. I lived with them all five years since I was a baby, and I don’t like my dad.
I inch toward them. “What are you doing?” I ask in a quiet voice.
“Nothing.” My father’s voice turns hard. “Go play.”
I don’t know where to play. We don’t have any toys, and there’s no yard. Only a dirty old street outside.
The girl stands up and starts dancing, and my dad smiles at her before sniffling more of the powder.
My eyes ache and burn with tears. I want to scream that I don’t like it here. That I want to go home, but my dad says he’ll hit me again if I say anything bad. I thought I wanted to live with him when he came for me. I thought I’d meet my mom.
But I’m alone, and I’m sad all the time. It’s dirty here, and I don’t like the people that come around. No one cooks. No one plays with me. I cry every day I wake up and remember where I am.
Tears drip down my face, and I try to whisper. “Dad, I’m hungry.”
He looks at me mean, and I back up, my face hurting, because I can’t stop crying. More tears fall, and my shoulders shake.
“Aw, go get the kid some food,” the girl says in a nice voice. “I’ll stay with him.”
“Kid can wait,” my dad grumbles, coming up behind her and putting his hands on her privates. “Show me how good you suck first.”
I stood in the shower, my head bowed and my forearm propped up on the wall. Running my hand over the top of my head, I exhaled breath after breath, releasing shit memories I’d spent day after day trying to forget.
This was why I stayed busy.
School. The Loop. Lacrosse. The club. My computers. My friends. There was hardly any time when I stayed at home—especially alone—and this was why I didn’t get close to people.
Especially women.
I rubbed my hands down my face, feeling the familiar comfort of my hair resting against my back.
To hell with K. C. Carter. She just had to go and get all bitchy again, and why was I even surprised? Jared had warned me, saying she was uptight and whiny, but I still wanted her.
And why? What made her so damn special? I didn’t indulge in nearly as many girls as she probably thought I did, but I could. I could have anyone. Hell, Cameron and I were always on call for each other, so why did I crave K.C.’s piss and vinegar all the time?
Every one of her looks was worth a thousand words. Why did it fill me up so good when she smiled at me or looked at me as if she needed me?
And then last night when I looked into her scared eyes and saw, for once, all the feelings she was so desperate to have but afraid to experience, I knew without a doubt that there was a hell of a lot more to her than what she let people see.
And I knew she’d bring me past the edges of my control.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and shut off the water. Stepping out of the shower, I grabbed a towel, wrapped it around my waist, and walked to the vanity. I wiped off the condensation and leaned in, trying to see what I wanted others to see.
I was good enough. I was strong enough. I was powerful enough. And I was worthy enough. I was clean, and no one looked down on me.
I stood up straight and steeled my jaw. Screw her. Why the fuck did I even care?
Sure, last night was the best sex I’d ever had, and I didn’t even get to come. But then she’d looked at me when we stood outside like the dirty shit son of Thomas Trent, and for the first time in a long while, I felt as if I were back in his house. Unclean. Unsafe. And unworthy.
I didn’t let anyone make me feel like that. Not ever again.
Grabbing a rubber band off the sink, I tied back my hair and walked into the office, where the speakers droned on with Three Days Grace’s “The High Road.” Logging in to Skype, I called my boss, Fallon’s father, and after a few seconds, he picked up.
The woman didn’t like unsavory attention, and even though I would never talk about her, my sister, or my father, she thought that I might. And that was enough.
She kept her back to me. “Get out.”
“So you can be alone?” I asked quietly.
She didn’t turn around.
She didn’t look at me.
She just stood there, waiting for me to disappear, so she could sink back into her delusions as if none of this ever happened.
I looked to Fallon and Shane, their arms loaded down with my black-and-white composition books, staring at me wide-eyed.
“Let’s go,” I urged.
As we left the house and walked to the car, Shane sped up next to me. “Are you okay?”
“No.” But I smiled. “Not in the least.”
CHAPTER 11
JAXON
“Dad?” I call, coming into the living room. “Do you want to go to the park?” I hold in my breath and hope I sound nice and quiet. Please, please, please, I pray. I want to go to the park and play someplace pretty.
“No,” he grumbles, not even looking at me. “Not today.”
I stand in the doorway, watching him and a girl play with sugar on the table. They slice it with something sharp, and then they laugh right before they suck it into their noses. They don’t see me, and I don’t know what they’re doing, but I know that I don’t like it. There’s something wrong.
Music comes out of the radio, and it bounces off the walls, hitting me. The blaring sunlight blasts through the windows and warms the garbage in the kitchen, making it stink really bad.
And I know that my dad and the girl will be like this for a while, and I will be alone for the rest of the day.
I don’t like it here, and I want to go home. To my foster family. I lived with them all five years since I was a baby, and I don’t like my dad.
I inch toward them. “What are you doing?” I ask in a quiet voice.
“Nothing.” My father’s voice turns hard. “Go play.”
I don’t know where to play. We don’t have any toys, and there’s no yard. Only a dirty old street outside.
The girl stands up and starts dancing, and my dad smiles at her before sniffling more of the powder.
My eyes ache and burn with tears. I want to scream that I don’t like it here. That I want to go home, but my dad says he’ll hit me again if I say anything bad. I thought I wanted to live with him when he came for me. I thought I’d meet my mom.
But I’m alone, and I’m sad all the time. It’s dirty here, and I don’t like the people that come around. No one cooks. No one plays with me. I cry every day I wake up and remember where I am.
Tears drip down my face, and I try to whisper. “Dad, I’m hungry.”
He looks at me mean, and I back up, my face hurting, because I can’t stop crying. More tears fall, and my shoulders shake.
“Aw, go get the kid some food,” the girl says in a nice voice. “I’ll stay with him.”
“Kid can wait,” my dad grumbles, coming up behind her and putting his hands on her privates. “Show me how good you suck first.”
I stood in the shower, my head bowed and my forearm propped up on the wall. Running my hand over the top of my head, I exhaled breath after breath, releasing shit memories I’d spent day after day trying to forget.
This was why I stayed busy.
School. The Loop. Lacrosse. The club. My computers. My friends. There was hardly any time when I stayed at home—especially alone—and this was why I didn’t get close to people.
Especially women.
I rubbed my hands down my face, feeling the familiar comfort of my hair resting against my back.
To hell with K. C. Carter. She just had to go and get all bitchy again, and why was I even surprised? Jared had warned me, saying she was uptight and whiny, but I still wanted her.
And why? What made her so damn special? I didn’t indulge in nearly as many girls as she probably thought I did, but I could. I could have anyone. Hell, Cameron and I were always on call for each other, so why did I crave K.C.’s piss and vinegar all the time?
Every one of her looks was worth a thousand words. Why did it fill me up so good when she smiled at me or looked at me as if she needed me?
And then last night when I looked into her scared eyes and saw, for once, all the feelings she was so desperate to have but afraid to experience, I knew without a doubt that there was a hell of a lot more to her than what she let people see.
And I knew she’d bring me past the edges of my control.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and shut off the water. Stepping out of the shower, I grabbed a towel, wrapped it around my waist, and walked to the vanity. I wiped off the condensation and leaned in, trying to see what I wanted others to see.
I was good enough. I was strong enough. I was powerful enough. And I was worthy enough. I was clean, and no one looked down on me.
I stood up straight and steeled my jaw. Screw her. Why the fuck did I even care?
Sure, last night was the best sex I’d ever had, and I didn’t even get to come. But then she’d looked at me when we stood outside like the dirty shit son of Thomas Trent, and for the first time in a long while, I felt as if I were back in his house. Unclean. Unsafe. And unworthy.
I didn’t let anyone make me feel like that. Not ever again.
Grabbing a rubber band off the sink, I tied back my hair and walked into the office, where the speakers droned on with Three Days Grace’s “The High Road.” Logging in to Skype, I called my boss, Fallon’s father, and after a few seconds, he picked up.
