Page 78 of Done Waiting

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THE STALKER

Maddie sits in the large bathtub, her hair pinned up on top of her head, revealing her gorgeous neck. I grin as I see the marks on it from me nipping at her skin. I plan to give her more of them.

I’d love to be in that tub with her, but Maddie pointed at my stitches and said, “Hell no. Once those come out, then you can get in here with me.” Then she grabbed my face, pulled me down to meet her lips, and kissed the hell out of me.

She’s confounding as hell—and I love it.

I’m perched on the edge of the tub, wearing my boxers. Taking a deep breath, I fill my lungs with air, then exhale. My stomach is in knots and my mouth is dry. I agreed to tell her about the meaning behind my tattoo, and I never go back on my word. Especially not with her.

Rubbing my hands together, I lean forward, my feet in the warm water. I don’t know where to begin.

Her feet wrap around my ankle beneath the water and my gaze moves to her. “You said you’d tell me about your tattoo. You still haven’t… If it makes you too uncomfortable, you don’t have to tell me, Jagger.” Honey-brow eyes stare at me with concern.

Shaking my head, I sit back against the wall surrounding the tub. “I’m going to tell you. I just… Don’t know where to begin.”

Maddie gives me an encouraging smile. “Why don’t we start with whatever you’re comfortable telling me?”

I grunt. “None of it makes me comfortable.” Sadness cloaks my heart as I begin. “Jason and Abby arenotmy biological brother and sister. Their parents, John and Alicia Brandt, adopted me.”

Maddie looks surprised but doesn’t say anything.

“My biological mom died in a car accident when I was eight years old. My dad was a fireman, and he was one of the first at the accident scene and didn’t know it was his wife in the car. He tried to save her but was unsuccessful.” My head lowers as the pain swells through me.

“I’m sorry, Jagger.” Maddie’s soft voice draws my attention. I simply nod, too choked up to say anything.

“My dad suffered severe burns from the fire that engulfed her and her vehicle and was hospitalized because of his injuries. I stayed with Jason and Abby while he was in the hospital.”

Maddie’s eyes are full of sympathy, but she doesn’t interrupt, patiently waiting for me to unveil my story in my own way.

“Because of his injuries, my dad became addicted to pain medication. His obsession with my mother left him bereft, and the only way he could cope was by using medication and alcohol. He… changed. Before my mom’s death, I had a happy childhood with two loving parents. After she was gone, it turned into hell on earth.”

Leaning my head back against the wall, my entire body is rigid as I stare at the ceiling. “My dad alternated between cruelty and neglect. Social workers came and went, but the system failed me. Even though John Brandt, my adopted father, was a doctor and had treated my wounds, even broken bones, it fell on deaf ears. No one would help me.”

Her sob draws my attention to her. Tears stream down her cheeks as she slowly shakes her head. “I’m so sorry, Jagger. How in the fuck…” her hand clamps over her quivering lips.

I shrug, but inwardly, the pain eats away at my guts. Despite my father’s death, the memories of what he did to me live on inside my head. Nothing can undo the trauma he caused, not even his death.

“Alicia Brandt taught me how to cook some things so I could eat because my father didn’t bother preparing meals. One day he brought home McDonald’s and gave me three fries and a piece of his roll. He chowed down on his meal in front of me but never bothered getting me anything, and only threw me those few scraps. My stomach hurt so bad from not eating. It was during Christmas break, so I didn’t have a school lunch. I sat there and bawled, begging to be excused from the table. But my dad refused.”

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Maddie mutters, her eyes red from her tears.

“He’s dead. Died when I was fourteen.” I hope she doesn’t ask how he died. I’m not sure how Maddie would feel knowing I was the one who killed him.

“Good,” she spits out, her anger evident by her red face, clenched teeth, and hands balled into fists on her bent knees. “I may still dig up his bones and light them on fire for hurting you.”

My laugh is brittle. Talking about my past puts me in a terrible head space.

Blowing out a long sigh, I continue. “When I was ten, I started cooking meals from the groceries Alicia dropped off regularly. Of course, my father wanted me to cook for him.” Rolling my eyes, I sigh. “One day, I was making macaroni and cheese, steak, potatoes, and vegetables. The steak and potatoes were in the oven, and the water was on the stove to boil. I ran to grab my backpack from my bedroom so I could workon homework while I cooked. My dad arrived home while I was upstairs. By this point, he was using heroin and cocaine because his doctor had cut him off from the pain meds, saying he was an addict. He traded one vice for another.” I sigh. “What I didn’t know was he screwed with the timers and the oven temperature.”

Running my fingers through my hair, I sigh, hating to tell her this. I know why she wants to know, but I’m afraid her view of me will change.

“When I came downstairs, dad was by the stove. He told me the water started boiling, so he dumped the macaroni into the pan to cook. It made me nervous, but when I went near the stove, he put me in a headlock, yelling at me for not trusting him.” Hanging my head, my voice is barely above a whisper when I say, “I sat at the table, doing my homework. I tried to finish it before the timer went off, indicating the food was done. It didn’t occur to me that it should have already gone off. Once the smoke started rolling through the kitchen, I realized the food was burnt. I knew what he’d done. I ran to the stove, and he came after me, screaming at me for burning the food. As I was trying to turn off the stove and oven, he grabbed the pan of boiling macaroni. I managed to turn around as he flung it toward me so the boiling water hit my back.”

Maddie gasps and I raise my eyes to hers. Her mouth hangs open and her eyes are wide from horror. “He threw scalding water on you?”

I nod. “Worse yet, it was hot inside the house that day. Dad didn’t allow me to turn on the air conditioner, so I had my shirt off.” I wince as the memory of the scalding water hitting my back runs through me. “It hurt like hell. My skin blistered, pissing him off…” Choking back a sob, I say, “He was so mad he grabbed a knife and started popping the blisters.”

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