Page 13 of Crash

Easton.

I would think it was all a dream if it weren’t for his scent all over my bed, my skin, the slight ache between my legs. My body trembles remembering the feel of him on me.

Groaning, I drag myself up and grab the water and pain pills off my bedside table, swallowing them. Checking the time, I see I’m supposed to meet Axel for a drop-off, but instead I grab my phone and send him a text.

Jasmine: Meet at my house instead? No parents. Just us.

Axel: This a booty call?

Jasmine: You’re nice to look at, but not worth the jail time.

Axel: That’s fair. I’ll meet you in thirty.

Jasmine: I’ll buzz you in at the gate.

Jumping up, I go take a long shower, reluctantly washing Easton’s scent off me. I get out, brushing my hair and throwing on a long, white off-the-shoulder t-shirt and red yoga pants.

I get a call from the front gate, and I buzz Axel in. Hearing his motorcycle, I rush downstairs. Swinging open the door, I usher him in quickly. I have no clue if he is allowed on our property or not, but maybe they should have chosen someone else for this job.

“Nice place.” He looks around, taking it all in. I watch him a little closer, realizing he could be scoping the place out.

“Thanks, it’s more of a prison,” I reply. “Can I get you a drink?”

He nods and I take him into the kitchen. The white countertops and sterling silver appliances give the place a generic feel. No dishes in the sink, pictures on the refrigerator, or baking cookies as a family.

Cold.

Lifeless.

Empty.

He ditches his jacket, leaving him in a black shirt with the sleeves cut off. Jesus. I forget he’s sixteen. What sixteen-year-old is built like that? His muscular arms are as big as my legs. He grows facial hair as well as my dad. I mean, what is this, a Netflix teen drama?

My phone rings, breaking me from my Axel-infused daydream. I slide the water across the counter, holding up a finger for him to give me a moment. He nods, looking over my kitchen. “Hello?” The line is silent before a voice that taunts my nightmares has my heart sinking to my feet.

“How’s my niece?” the sinister voice asks.

“What do you want?” I whisper, stepping out of the kitchen and into the backyard, shutting the floor-to-ceiling glass door behind me.

“Oh, just wanted to know if you were holding up your side of the deal? Maybe delivered a little message?” My body trembles as flashbacks assault my mind. The weight of them threating to buckle my knees.

I rest my back against the door to support my trembling body. “I will not—” My voice cracks. “I will not tell my parents and I will not do what you asked me to do. You can hurt me a thousand times. I still won’t help you.”

He chuckles. “So stubborn, just like your mother, but I broke her eventually, too.” He exhales. “Listen to me carefully, Jasmine. I will hurt you again, this time a thousand times worse. There will be no hole unused, and you’ll be bleeding when I’m finished. Do you understand? I’m not a man you can fuck with. Oh, and, Jasmine?” It’s silent for a beat. “I’m always watching.”

The line goes dead. I hold the phone to my ear as I stare at my favorite painting spot. I wipe the tear that slowly slices down my cheek and walk back to the kitchen. “You good?” Axel frowns at me.

“Uh, yeah. Just the wrong number,” I lie, smiling at him. “Let’s go get your drugs, outlaw.” I bump his shoulder with mine as I take him to my room.

* * *

I’m outside in my special spot, working on my piece. The spot lies under a huge silk cotton tree. The bottom roots of the trunk overlapping one another, climbing up the structure. I’m shading the lips today—they’re cracked and dry, weathered by life—when a voice startles me.

“Did I see Axel King’s motorcycle over here earlier?”

A distorted scream leaves me, and I clutch my chest. “You scared me.” I turn over my shoulder, taking in Easton. Sweat glistens his strong, golden chest, dripping down the grooves and dips of his abs. A lit joint hangs on his bottom lip, the red cherry steaming as he inhales. I wonder what it’s like.Why so many states legalized something that is considered a dangerous drug for years. Why the hype?

Turning back around, I add white hints to the wires stitching the girl’s lips. Marijuana smoke tumbles, curling around my painting, giving a sinister haze to it. I wave it away.

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