Page 64 of Jagger
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JAGGER
Molly may be thin and a shadow of her former self, but she’s anything but ugly. Is that how she sees herself? My chest aches at the thought, the weight of all of this—everything that she’s experiencing being my fault. All because I sent that fucking text.
Now Molly is glaring at me, and I can’t find my fucking words. I’ve waited over a year to say this to her, and I’m stumbling. I rake my hand through my hair and curse, forcing myself to look at her.
“I’m sorry for what I did,” I say, hoping she can see I mean it—that I’m genuine. Her face gives nothing away, but I plough on regardless.
Say what you have to say, then let her go.
But it’s physically hard to say, the act of forming the words seems almost impossible.
“I paid Lawson so he’d let you go,” I explain quickly, like the words might escape if I don’t say them fast enough. “That was the deal. He let you go.”
Molly stares at me with her icy blue eyes, her lower lip trembling.
“He thought…” God this is hard. My chest tightens as I speak, and it’s only then that I realize what I sound like.
Pathetic. Feeble fucking excuses.
“He thought I was like him. That I wanted to…” I swallow, and a bead of sweat drips down my back. “That I wanted to rape you. He filmed it so he has collateral on me.” I bow my head. “Had, seeing as he’s dead now.”
Molly looks like she’s going to fall over, but I daren’t move. Tears spill down her face as she stares at me with hurt. “You…” Her words are faint, and I can barely hear her, but I don’t say a word. “Raped me.”
I nod, my chest caving in, crushing my heart. I did rape her. It doesn’t matter why—the fact remains that I did, and I deserve to have her hatred for the rest of my life.
“You didn’t free me,” Molly continues, her voice a whisper. “You made it worse.”
My shoulders sag, and I almost fall to my knees.
She’s right. I did.
“You could’ve saved me, Jagger. You could’ve saved me way before that.”
I nod even though I’m not sure what she means—how could I have saved her before that? But I don’t care, I’m too fucking guilty.
“You’re sick, Jagger,” Molly whispers, and I finally collapse to my knees when she says, “I could’ve loved you.”
I’ve thought about this for so long—could Molly have loved me? Could anyone? My own mother didn’t, and it doesn’t take a psychologist to figure out why I’m so fucked up when it comes to love.
Why am I such a fuck up? I’m unlovable. Fucking useless. The walls seem to be getting closer to me, and I’m sweating, my body trembling as I try to breathe, the reality of her words crushing me. I’m destined to be alone, but with the knowledgethat I could’ve had it all. I could’ve had everything. I ruined it, and now I’ve got to live with it. My vision darkens, and I wish more than anything that I could turn back the clock, go back and change my fucking actions, but Ican’t. It’s too late; everything has gone to shit. My fists clench and my teeth grind together, and the tightness in my chest increases until I’m seeing stars. There’s a ringing in my ears, but there’s another sound.
Stilettos walking on tiled floor.
She’s leaving.
But my face is wet with tears, and all I can taste is blood.
She could’ve loved me.
“Jagger,” Molly says, sounding muffled.
She’s still here.
Her fingers sweep my chin upward, so her beautiful blue eyes are all I can see. “Breathe. You’re having a panic attack.”
If I could laugh, I would, but I have no control over my body.
