Page 45 of Withered

My eyes wander around for a bit before settling on my window as I try to sleep. I roll onto my side. Jake’s room is dark, showing that he isn’t home. I shouldn’t even think about him after what happened today, yet my mind still threads its way around him.

I replay today’s events, and it’s mostly Jake. It started with waking up beside him, and now I am even ending it by thinking about him.

The only thing in my mind that stands out the most is the kiss I shared with him. The more I try to regret it, the more I just can’t seem to get my mind off of it. It is so wrong, but it feels so right.

I can still feel his lips on mine—the way he traced my lips, the way he lightly bit on my bottom lip, and the way his tongue explored me skillfully. The way he pressed his body against me and the feel of his hands on my exposed skin; I need to stop thinking about him.

My body betrays my mind as I trace my lips with my fingers. I can still feel him. Just thinking about him makes me sweat and want to hide under the covers.

As I lean against the headboard, the light goes on in Jake’s room. The curtains are closed, but I can see a faint shadow walking. I wonder where he went after I told him to leave. Aria didn’t mention him once, so he must not have been home.

It’s half past twelve already. From his room, I can hear the familiar grunting and hissing. I am instantly on my feet, making my way towards the window, due to a lack of synchronization between my body and my head. I peer through the curtain to find his room empty. I furrow my brows in confusion, having heard him.Where did he go?

I sit on my bed’s edge and wait. I have no idea why I am waiting; all I know is that I am. I don’t have to worry about school tomorrow because it’s Saturday.

Footsteps alert me he is back in his room. I wait for a few minutes with the hope that he will switch off his light and sleep the night away, but I hear him grunting.Is he hurt? Again?

I stand near the window, tightening my grip on the curtain in an attempt to yank it open but coming to a halt. My mind is racing with a million questions. The last time he was hurt, he put up a fight, and it’s the same all over again. Because I can’t see him clearly, I can’t tell if he’s still furious at me. Then again, when have my plans ever worked out with Jake?

I move the curtains and open the window. The late-night cool breeze greets me first, sending shivers down my spine. My thin camisole and shorts are also not helping.

Jake is sitting shirtless on his bed with his back facing me. Unlike his front, which is covered in black ink, his back remains untouched. Broad shoulders that were always square are now hunched.

I can’t call him because his window is closed. My parents are sleeping, so I can’t shout either. Before I can do anything, Jake turns, and I freeze when his eyes meet mine.

Without breaking contact, he gets up slowly and crosses the distance. I expect him to close his curtains and shut me out, but he surprises me by opening his window.

My eyes drink in his half-naked body. His bruises have almost faded now—hardly seen, actually—but a gasp leaves my mouth when I see a much larger bruise on the left side of his stomach and one on his right arm.

“Who did you fight with today?” I ask before I can stop myself.

My eyes meet his again, and he is watching me carefully. I snap my fingers to gain his attention and repeat the question.

“Why do you care?” He rolls his eyes, then hisses when he places the ice pack in his hand over his stomach.

His tone is still angry, so I have to be careful.

“I don’t,” I reply instantly.

“Oh? So what are you doing this late, peeking into my room? Stalking me?” He asks, getting back to his cocky self.

“Why would I even stalk you? I’ve seen better.” I’m honestly lying.

The only person I even think is closely better than he is… there is no one. The boys at our school are good, but I never really liked anyone. They’re all cocky, and Jake is the cockiest of them all, but there’s something about him that draws me in.

“Yet you kissed me first.” He smirks.

“You’re not going to let that go, are you?” I groan and huff.

“Now, why would I let that go, Rose?” He says in that low seductive tone, still smirking. The way my name rolls off his tongue does things to me that I don’t want to feel but must feel.

“Just forget it. Okay,” I coax. Desperate to change the topic, I ask pointing at his bruises, “Want some help?”

He stares at me blankly, and I have no idea what he is thinking.

“Never mind,” I respond before he can say no. “Goodnight, Jake.”

I was just about to close my window when he says, “Yes.”

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