Hurt Like HELL (new adult contemporary romance) Page 2

  “Yes.”

  “You lying?”

  “No.”

  He looked at the bed. “Those covers are a mess.”

  “I was in bed,” I whispered. “Falling asleep.”

  “With a boy in there?”

  I shook my head.

  My father lunged forward at the bed, grabbed all the covers in one shot and threw them across the room. They hit my small desk in the corner, knocking everything over. I refused to look back. My father put his hands to the bed and leaned over it.

  “Where’s the whiskey?” he asked with a growl in his voice.

  “It’s not here,” I said. “I swear. I don’t drink.”

  He looked at me and scoffed. “You don’t drink. Yeah, right. Where’s the whiskey?”

  I bit my lip.

  I didn’t want to answer the question.

  I knew where it was. I always knew for this situation. If I didn’t know, he’d take it out on me. Then he would trash the house and I’d spend my entire day the next day cleaning it all up. If I told him, he’d leave and drink.

  But before that…

  “Tell me where it is.”

  He stood from the bed and reached for me, his hand back to my hair.

  I cried out and nodded.

  “What are you nodding about? You know where it is?”

  I nodded.

  “Tell me, Theresa.”

  “Top of the ‘fridge. All the way to the back, behind the junk basket.”

  “Ah, so you do know it all,” my father said. “That’s smart. Drink young, drink early. And you’ll end up like your mother.”

  I let out a cry, hating when he mentioned my mother. Then he twisted his hand, making my knees give out. I tried to cry more but he threw me, taking my breath away. I saw my hair, my bed, and then the wall. When I was on the floor on the opposite end of my bed, I didn’t move. I had no reason to move.

  My father laughed and left the room, working his way downstairs to find a drink.

  I put my hands to the window and pulled up, looking out to Jack’s house and window. Everything was dark. Sometimes Jack would leave after his mother left. He told me he would just walk for hours, hoping to find something new. But the roads would turn, run into each other, and bring him home. Sometimes he just stayed in the darkness of his house, not wanting to let people know he was home. And sometimes, there was no electricity at Jack’s house, because his mother would spend the money elsewhere.

  “Jack,” I whispered.

  The night, at that point, was only halfway over. Jack would come, but it wouldn’t be for hours. By then, things would have gotten much worse. However, by the time Jack would knock, I’d have enough time to endure my father and clean myself up.

  4

  Three taps with a fingernail, two taps with a finger, and then the raking sound of four fingers.

  Our signal. I rushed to greet him.

  I slowly turned the deadbolt. It wasn’t too loud, but in the quiet of the night, knowing my luck, it would have sounded like a gun going off. The last thing I needed, or wanted, was for someone to wake up.

  The lock came undone and I froze, holding my breath. My heart pounded like a pendulum against a stone wall. Outside, he waited for me, knowing my routine. He knew everything about me, the horrors of truth and the scars of reality. And I was okay with it. He was the only person I ever trusted in my life. Then again, when you’re thirteen, you really don’t want to trust anyone. Not when you live with the heavy hand of the law upstairs, tucked away, sleeping off another night of too much whiskey.

  I pulled the door open and at first, I didn’t see him. All I saw was the darkness of the yard. The penetrating darkness had a blanketing effect on me. I suddenly felt alone and dead.

  “Jack?” I whispered, my voice cracking.

  It didn’t take much those days to break my fragile soul.

  “I’m right here,” Jack said.

  He pushed from the side wall.

  I grabbed the strings of his hoodie and pulled him into the basement. He crashed into me and we embraced each other. I gasped, not wanting to cry.

  I refused to cry right then.

  “Jesus, Tessa,” he whispered. One of his hands went to the back of my head, stroking my hair, just the way I liked it. We had discovered things about each other in the basement ever since our midnight meetings grew more and more frequent. “I was right there, just leaning against the wall.”

  “I didn’t see you,” I whispered. “I thought… you left me.”

  Jack took my face into his hands. He held me tight, his blue eyes beautiful and calming. I wanted him to be the one to protect me forever. It didn’t matter that he was two years older than me, six months shy of becoming sixteen, on the verge of getting a driver’s permit, then a license, then a girlfriend his age…

  “I would never leave you, Tessa,” he whispered. “I promise.”

  I nodded and blinked, feeling the tears forming in my eyes. I managed to keep them from spilling, which was a feat in those days.

  One of his thumbs ran down to the corner of my lip. I felt a sting of pain and whimpered. I closed my eyes, knowing I messed up. I was in such a hurry for my father to fall asleep that I didn’t check myself in the mirror before coming to the basement. I licked at Jack’s finger, tasting the blood.

  Shit.

  “He did this?” Jack asked.

  His voice was deep, the voice of a man. The voice of a protector.

  “It wasn’t that bad,” I replied. “Honestly. He tried to slap me. I turned my head in time to avoid most of it but one of his nails caught me in the right spot.”

  Jack’s finger continued to move, cleaning up the small wound. And that’s what it really was, just a small wound. Compared to some nights, I had gotten away pretty easily. My father took one swing at me and then stumbled away to bed.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I said.

  I opened my eyes and saw Jack looking up at the ceiling of the basement. His lip started to curl and I watched him start to breathe heavier. As he swallowed, I saw his small Adam’s apple. He was just a boy then, but turning into a man by the second.

  5

  I opened the basement door before Jack arrived. I couldn’t stand the wait anymore. The backdrop of my house was black. Darkness. A few small lights shone too far off in the distance to matter any, and I felt so empty yet so graciously alone. I felt my throat clenching shut as I wanted to cry.

  It had been three long days since I’d seen Jack. This week had been particularly busy for my father, so he kept himself occupied with his business life and making money. That took the strain off me, for now. I caught small conversations between my father and some of his business associates and while I didn’t understand exactly what he was doing, it seemed like a really big deal was about to go through. Maybe once he had everything he wanted in his life, he would stop destroying mine. Even if he opened the door and shooed me out like an unwanted pet, I would go. I’d be on my way, free at last, finding my way to becoming Abby Wednesday.

  I saw Jack move across the backyard, and when he saw me, he started to run. I imagined him coming at me like people do in romantic movies, lifting me up, spinning me, kissing me, touching me… doing other things to me, and with me.

  But Jack didn’t do any of that.

  Instead, he stopped a foot away from me and somehow in the darkness I could see his eyes. They were always with hesitation, with protection.

  “Hey Abby,” he said.

  “No,” I replied. “No Abby right now.”

  “Rough day?”

  “Not today,” I said. “Here, come inside.”

  We took our usual spots on the couch, sitting quietly, looking at each other. I could tell something was wrong with Jack. He blinked too much, he looked at me, then looked away, and he was fidgety. He kept putting his hands to his face, sighing, running his fingers through his dirty blonde hair.

  “Is everything okay, Jack?” I finally asked.
<
br />   “Yeah. Sure.” He looked at me and smiled. It wasn’t the same Jack smile I had become accustomed to. “I’m sorry I haven’t come over in the past few days.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “Did anything…” Jack pointed up. He was never able to come out and say certain words.

  I didn’t want to answer his question because we both knew the answer. When I broke the stare, Jack had his answer. I heard him sigh but he didn’t say anything to it. What could he say? We both knew the reality of my life and I had to live it. At least I had Jack with me.

  “Change of subject,” I finally said. “What’s going on with you? You’re being quiet.”

  “I’m always quiet,” Jack said. He sounded annoyed, something that never happened between us.

  I inched closer to him on the couch and reached for his shoulder. My fingertips grazed him and he looked at my hand.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “If I’m a burden…”

  “Never,” Jack said. His teeth gritted together and his eyes were twice as wide. They were beautiful eyes, pure eyes, just what I needed to see on those nights to keep me alive. Jack put his hand to my hand and squeezed. He opened his mouth but didn’t speak. It was one of those moments. I could feel something between us burning. My mouth started to run dry and the images of Jack and I kissing kept coming to me.

  I licked my bottom lip, on the right side, where it was still plump from my father’s rage. Jack had accepted me for all that happened, never focusing on it, never telling anyone. He held my darkest secret like he held my heart.

  There was no better time in my thirteen years of living than right then to kiss Jack. I pictured his lips coming to mine and healing my wounds. Maybe Jack would be magical, some kind of special teenager able to kiss me and take it all away. Maybe the kiss would make us who we wanted to be…

  Abby Wednesday and Danny Thursday.

  Together.

  Tonight.

  Tomorrow.

  Forever.

  I let out a long breath, not caring how obvious it was.

  Our stare hadn’t broken yet, even as I started to move in.

  This would be it, my first kiss. I couldn’t figure out if I should start with just the lips or offer my tongue too. I did not understand the appeal of kissing with tongues. But, then again, I’d never done it before.

  Jack’s lips came together and parted, over and over. I couldn’t tell if he was nervous or trying to find something to say.

  My hand squeezed on his shoulder and his hand squeezed on mine. We were in such an awkward position but it didn’t matter. I didn’t need a perfect moment for a first kiss. Nothing in my life was perfect so why would I start worrying about it then?

  I was inches away, just inches, and my body started to freeze. No way… I wasn’t going to give this up. I found the last little bit of courage and went in.

  Jack closed his eyes and moaned. He slid his hand off mine and turned to face forward. I was literally about to crash into his cheek when he lifted his right arm up, putting his fingers back into his hair, blocking me.

  “Tessa,” he whispered, “I…”

  He stretched his right arm up, lifting his shirt. When I saw his bare skin, my eyes went to it. I couldn’t help it. The way my heart raced, the things my mind thought, and the way my body felt, I couldn’t help it. I’d never felt like that in my life.

  For a split second, I could only imagine seeing more of Jack’s bare skin and him seeing mine.

  Then I saw the small red marks and I gasped in horror.

  When I looked up at Jack again, there were tears in his eyes.

  “Did…”

  Jack cut me off. “My mother did it.”

  6

  I reached for his shirt and Jack’s hand clamped to mine. I felt pain, the first time Jack ever caused me pain, but I ignored it. I held his shirt up, staring at the marks. There were four that I could count. My eyes stayed focused on the marks while my mind made note of the lines along his stomach. Muscles. Subtle muscles that made my hormones go wild.

  “What did your mother do to you?” I asked.

  I wanted to cry, but the last thing I wanted was to add to the situation. It all made sense to me now. Why Jack kept his house dark the past few nights. Why Jack hadn’t come to me the past few nights. Why Jack had been acting so weird in front of me now.

  “She was upset,” Jack said.

  He attempted to keep his voice calm, like it wasn’t a big deal, but he was terrible at it. He couldn’t keep anything from me.

  “Upset?” I asked. “Like my father gets upset?”

  He looked at me again. The tears were gone but the pain wasn’t. “Yeah, just like that…”

  I had the urge to smile right then. Smiling at Jack admitting to physical abuse probably would have hurt him more, but I wasn’t going to smile because Jack got hurt. I was going to smile because we had something else in common. We could understand pain, together. We could talk about it, openly, and appreciate how each other felt. Before then, I didn’t understand why it hurt Jack to be left alone. I’d give anything for my father to disappear for hours, or even days. I’d take no electricity and no food if I had to. It would be ten times better than being on the receiving end of my father’s hands. And before then, Jack couldn’t understand the pain of abuse. Physical abuse.

  As I thought about it, I kept my eyes on the wounds. It took me a few seconds to finally realize that these weren’t wounds from hands. They were not punches, bruises, cuts or scrapes. They were… something else.

  “What are these?” I asked.

  Before I could stop myself, I touched one of the marks. Jack cried out and jumped. My finger touched too hard and the scab came off, allowing a fresh flow of blood.

  “Oh, Jack, I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll get you a bandage.”

  I started to stand but he grabbed me and pulled me back down, shaking his head. “No. You can’t wake him up.”

  I sat back down.

  Jack lowered his shirt and pressed it against his body, letting his shirt absorb the blood. That explained why the scabs were so terribly dark. They were scabbed by the fibers from Jack’s clothing he wore.

  Silence fell again. The excitement I contained a minute ago, of finally knowing someone else could understand my pain, was all gone now. I never wanted anyone to understand my pain, let alone feel it. Jack stared beyond me, and I knew he was thinking about it. Reliving the moment it happened.

  “You can tell me anything,” I said. It was the best I had to offer. I touched his leg, the closest sexual gesture I’d ever made in my life. My body wanted Jack in ways I didn’t fully comprehend, but my heart tore to pieces for him. “I want you to tell me everything, Jack.”

  Jack nodded. “Of course I’ll tell you, Tessa. I tell you everything. You tell me everything. It’s how we work together.”

  “I’ll wait then,” I said. “I have nowhere to go.”

  It didn’t take Jack long to open up. And when he spoke, he looked satisfied to be able to tell the story.

  “She came home two nights ago, really upset. I’ve seen her upset before, but not like this. I thought something bad had happened so I hurried downstairs to check on her. Her screams became cries and then she switched back and forth between the two. I approached her slowly, calling her name, calling her mom, calling her anything I could think of. Sometimes when she gets really messed up, she forgets who I am and thinks I’ve broken into the house. I introduced myself to her, explaining I was her son, that everything would be okay… and she snapped. She lost it, Tessa. At first, she took it out on herself, pulling at her hair, shaking her head, her body was convulsing. I knew what that meant. She was out of drugs. She’d get like that. But normally she’d just go out and get some more. But not that night.”

  Jack paused and took a breath. Then he looked at me, finishing the story.

  “She didn’t have her purse with her. It was stolen. That’s what she told me. Someone stole her purse. With her
wallet, her money, her paycheck, everything. She started to pull her hair out in clumps, throwing it to the floor. I thought maybe for a second she was understanding how bad drugs were and that she was regretting it all, but that wasn’t it. She was mad at herself for not carrying cash in her pocket. When she finally moved away from me, she went to one of the drawers in the kitchen and found a pack of cigarettes and a lighter…”

  My mind flashed the images of Jack’s body.

  Oh, no.

  “… they were her temporary fix to get her to the drugs. But she had no drugs. No money. And that’s when I saw the hatred in her eyes. The hatred for me. The hatred for her life. The hatred for everything. She lit the cigarette and took a drag, then two more quick ones, but it wasn’t working. So she wanted to find another way to calm her nerves and get over having her purse stolen.”

  “She burned you?” I asked.

  Jack nodded. “But it sort of worked for her. She calmed after that and left. I haven’t seen her since.”

  When I tried to talk, it came out as a desperate whimper. He put his hand on mine again and that’s when I heard the steps creaking.

  Our eyes went wide and Jack’s chin began to quiver. He ran, like hell, out of the basement and back home. To his dark house, alone. I managed to close the door in complete silence and make it up the basement steps and into the kitchen before my father got to the bottom of the steps. He was obviously still drunk, stumbling around, and when he turned on the kitchen light, I turned holding a glass.

  “I needed water,” I said.

  “Or is that for your whiskey?” he asked and then cackled.

  “I was thirsty.”

  “There’s a bathroom upstairs, Theresa, you know that. Now, I can’t have you sneaking around the house in the middle of the night.”

  He touched his belt and my body shivered.

  I paid, dearly, but the entire time, I could only think about Jack. I realized that night… I was in love with Jack Smithen.

  7

  I hadn’t seen Jack for three more days and it really bothered me. I couldn’t figure out why Jack hadn’t come back to my house and without him there to ask, I’d never know. I wasn’t sure if it was the intense sexual tension between us, my attempt at a kiss, or the revealing of his own physical abuse thanks to his drug using mother.