Page 34 of Jagger
I grit my teeth, refusing to tell her why I did it. It wouldn't change anything, and it doesn't matter. Not anymore.
"You need to come with me, or I'll drag you home." I gaze at her coldly. "I don't want to touch you likethatever again."
Lies, all fucking lies.I want to hold her in my arms and tell her how fucking sorry I am. But I can't.
"I hate you," Molly seethes. "I'll call my aunt. She can come and get me."
I watch her trembling fingers reach for the motel phone before realizing she doesn't have her phone number. Our eyes meet.
"I'll get an Uber."
"Molly, get in the fucking car." I walk to the car, but not before our eyes lock once more. I see the hatred in them, the swirling darkness that tells me she wanted to shoot me. She picks up the gun and points it at me, and I sigh.
"You'll let me drive you at gunpoint, right?" I ask her, shaking my head. "Whatever makes you feel better, sweetheart."
"Don't fucking talk to me."
So, I don't. I drive to her aunt's house, stopping when I see the firetrucks and police.
What the fuck?
Molly gasps as tears stream down her face, and it's then I see her aunt's house is on fire. There's not much left of it but charred walls, and I know without asking that if her aunt was in there, she was undoubtedly dead.
"Fuck," I mutter, turning the car around as Molly cries into her hands, struggling to breathe. This girl can't catch a fucking break.
"I'll take you to mine."
To my surprise, she doesn't argue. Then again, she's the one with the gun in her lap. At least it's not pointing at me now.
Who the fuck set her aunt's house on fire? Why is this girl's life such a fucking headache? I drag my hand through my hair and cut the engine when I reach my door, stopping to look at Molly. Her hair is dank and greasy, her eyes circled with darkness. Her skin is pale and spotty, and her clothes hang from her. My stomach churns.I did this to her.
"Let's go inside."
Molly doesn't move. "Why, Jagger?" Her voice is soft and low, making my heart skip a thousand fucking beats. She sounds so vulnerable right now, and I can't handle it.
"Why what?" I snap, staring out the window instead of at her.
"Why did you rape me? You said you had to…"
I turn to look at her, and my heart stops. My world stops—she's just so fucking beautiful I want to cry.
But I hurt her too badly. I can never go back.
"Because I had to. I told you. Can we go inside? Please?" I don't wait for her answer, my stomach twisting as I stride into my house.
The place is a fucking mess. Takeout boxes with old leftovers tinge the air, and empty bottles cover the floor. Sunlight shines through the window, highlighting the dust and overfilled ashtrays.
Where is the housekeeper?
Fuck it. I'm not cleaning it.
I grab a beer and fall onto the sofa, closing my eyes and refusing to see whether Molly is in the house.
Maybe she'll run away, and maybe I'll have to let her. Fuck, maybe that's what I should do.
My eyes snap open, and I see Molly hovering in the doorway, looking like a fucking ghoul.
She's had the worst life. If I care about her, I should help her.
