Page 17 of Crash

“What?”

“He calls me Jessica. Pompous ass is too worried about himself to get my name right.” She pauses, face scrunching up. “What were we talking about again? I know it wasn’t Branson Lexington.

I bite my lip, trying and failing not to laugh. “Aliens.”

“Right! Why would they show themselves to a world full of idiots? We are light years behind them. Oh!” She looks over to me, green eyes glazed over like peridots. She pauses for a minute, gazing up into my eyes. “You’re beautiful, Easton,” she whispers, fingertips dancing across my cheek.

I grab her hand, kissing her fingertips lightly, pulling her to me. Her head falls to my chest and her eyes drift close. I wonder when the last time she slept was. I yawn. Fuck, when was the last time I slept? I’m about to close my eyes when a text comes in on her phone. Picking it up, I see there’s no passcode. Rookie mistake.

Unknown: I’m coming for you soon. You’re going to wish you’d listened the first time, little girl. You thought what I did last time was bad? Wait until I get my hands on you this time.

What. The. Fuck.

I set her phone down, making a mental note to have Everett hack into it so I can track this number. Who—other than me, of course—is bullying Snitch? I have to put myself in check so I don’t wake her up and demand answers. I don’t like the fact that someone else is making her life miserable. That is my job. Only me.

I put my arm around her waist, snuggling into her warm vanilla scent.

My eyes drift and then I’m crashing. And not just into sleep.

* * *

Bursting through a door that reads Doctor Shackler, I take in a man reading over a file.

He raises an eyebrow at me. “May I help you?” he asks, all sophisticated and shit.

“Yep. Jasmine Andrews’s file.” I snap my fingers. “I need it.”

“I’m not allowed—” Before he finishes the sentence, my gun is jammed into his mouth. He raises his hands, mumbling around the barrel. I ease it back a little. He pulls out a thick file from the top of his desk, hands shaking, and hands it over. I sit on top of his desk, all the while he glares at me, and I begin reading the first page.

Patient comes in after a traumatic event. She’s completely unresponsive. Crying and then completely shutting down. I recommend patient to get a full psychological evaluation. This is from the year we turned fourteen. Her first kill. I remember that day. I remember her being here one minute and then gone the next. I remember not caring because I had my own shit to worry about.

“So, are you a boyfriend or something?” I see the doctor's slight jealousy and it makes my blood boil.

“Sure.” I smirk. “I’m her boyfriend.”

His jaw tics and I flick through to the most recent notes.

Patient blocks out the important details of the rape. Can’t get past a certain point. Wait. What?

I look up to the doctor as my hands shake. “This true?” I ask. He nods sadly, fidgeting with his watch.

Patient changes dramatically after the rape. She was once sweet and kind but now she’s angry. I predict a rapid pace of downward spiraling and self-destruction.

Patient begins self-harming. Claiming she’s tainted in the assaulted area.

Patient is lying about taking medication. It’s clear she’s downward spiraling.

“Look, I suggest you leave. Jasmine will be here at any second.” Throwing the file down, I stand up. Not exactly sure what to do with all the information or the feelings bubbling inside me. Raped. Someone raped her.

My throat fills with acid and I shake my head. “I’m staying. Point me to the observation room or find your brains scattered across the wall.”

His eyes widen and he swallows, pointing to a door. I walk through it, noticing it’s connected to the mirror that’s in his office. And then Jasmine comes in. She has on a red sundress and sandals. Her hair is in a braid over her left shoulder. Her bright green eyes are framed by long lashes. She sits down as I press both my palms to the glass, watching. She lies back as the doctor talks her through a series of steps to hypnotize her. And then it’s quiet.

Her body struggles as she mumbles something about an uncle. She doesn’t have any uncles besides our dads—that I know of. I don’t know a lot about her mom. So maybe that side of the family? She begins sobbing, her body shaking before she lets out small whimpers. It takes everything in me for me not to march back out there and wake her up. To fucking save her from her own reality. She sits up with a long scream. It’s gut-wrenching, a soul-crushing sound. Her chest is heaving, tears streaming like a roaring river down her face. “Why can’t I get past that point?” She sobs as Doctor Shackler hands her tissues, mumbling soothing words.

My hands are clenching, wanting to wrap her up in my arms and shield her. The feeling is foreign. I don’t protect Snitch, I hurt her. But with Jasmine, I realize I’m not in control of my feelings.

I notice an exit and decide I have invaded her privacy enough. Leaving, I consider tying her up to get answers out of her, but even I know that’s not right. I wonder which of the parents knows about this. I wonder if anyone knows about this at all.

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