Hurt Like HELL (new adult contemporary romance) (12 page)

I often thought about what would happen if I told her I was still a virgin.  A few years ago she’d smile... but now...

“Wait, how am I going to get home?” I asked.  “I’m not staying here, no way.  Not to hurt your feelings.”

“No, my feelings aren’t hurt,” Auntie B said.  “You’re going to drive home.  Doctors said you could, so drive home.”

“With what?”

Auntie B smiled and nodded towards the garage door.

I walked to the door slowly and opened it to find a car.  A new car.  A dark red car with four doors, no dents, and it wasn’t a crumpled, tangled mess of metal and glass.

“You didn’t...”

“I did,” Auntie B said.  “Bought it yesterday.  It’s not brand new.  I know how cheap you are.”

I looked over my shoulder and stuck out my tongue. 

“It’s yours, it’s paid for, and the keys are on the counter.”

“I could buy myself a car,” I said. 

“I know.  But I bought you one.  Something nicer, newer.  Time for you to get a man, Tessa.  Enjoy yourself.”

I waved my hands again.  I didn’t want Auntie B imagining me on a date, being with a guy, or anything else. 

I hurried back to her, hugged her for what felt like an hour, getting lost in her expensive and potent perfume, her one hand squeezing my back, her other hand touching my hair. 

“Thank you for helping me,” I whispered.

“Of course.  If you need anything, call me.”

“I will.”

“And Tessa... don’t worry about anything.  He can’t hurt you.”

I nodded, but I didn’t believe it.

Auntie B half smiled, telling me she didn’t believe it either.

Shit.

I took the keys and started my new car.  It smelled clean and started on the first try.  I backed out of the garage and left Auntie B’s house, feeling sort of like I did the first time I left.  It had to be done though.  I needed to find my sense of normalcy and survive.  Go home, take a real shower, a hot bath, and write.  Close the shades, lock the door to my apartment, and embrace home.  I had already been bothered all morning by people texting me - and sending me messages and posts online - wanting to know how I was feeling and how they were sorry for the accident.

The only person I responded to was Bridget.  She came and saw me at the hospital once and I promised her we would have a girls night soon.

When I got to my apartment I put my key in the lock and smiled. 

I opened the door and thought about my father murdering Jack.  The image was vivid and painful.  I shook it off and closed the door behind me.  I leaned back against the door and realized I had never seen Jack’s grave.  In fact, I didn’t know where he had been laid to rest.  Maybe I needed to see it, to see him.  Maybe that would chase away the last few  annoying ties.

“Home sweet home,” I said.

I locked the door and walked to the kitchen.  My fridge was mostly empty and there was no way in hell I was going to a grocery store.  Not today.  Today would be the kind of day where delivery drivers could bring me food.  I wasn’t driving.  I wasn’t leaving.  I wasn’t doing anything outside the apartment.  Sometimes the best inspiration to write came from tragedy, so I planned on opening the floodgates and getting words to paper.

I shuffled down the small hall to my bedroom, skipping the bathroom, although I peeked in there, smiling, knowing I would be in there soon enough.  My bedroom door was shut.  I touched the handle and then stopped.

I never shut my bedroom door.

Ever.

It was just something I didn’t do.

Ever.

Maybe Auntie B had done it... did she come to my apartment?

My hand started to shake as my grip tightened on the door handle.  My heart pounded.  I held my breath.

I turned and pushed the door open.

My eyes scanned the room and I saw nothing at first.  I flipped the light switch and let out a gasp. 

There he was.

Sitting on my bed.

He put a hand up and said, “Tessa, just wait a second...”

My mouth fell open and the room started to spin.  I swayed and my eyes struggled to focus on him.

“How... you...”

“It’s okay, I’m not here to hurt you Tessa.”

He stood up. 

He was tall, much taller than me.  Wide shoulders.  Beautiful eyes.  An innocent, familiar face.  He took one step and I let out a cry and then the room was gone.

Darkness came over me again, only this time I wasn’t in a speeding car.

He was in my apartment.

He was in my room.

He caught me as I fell.

Jack.

Wasn’t Jack supposed to be dead?

~3~

I opened my eyes and I was on my couch under an ugly green knitted blanket. 
The television was turned on and I hurried to sit up and look around.  The apartment looked empty.

I listened.

Nothing.

I couldn’t hear anything but the television.

My mind instantly came up with a perfectly normal explanation.

A dream.

It was just a dream.

I had come home and decided to take a nap on the couch.  Then I had a dream about...

“Tessa, are you okay?’

“Jack!” I cried out.

There he was, again.

He didn’t manifest from nothing, he walked from the kitchen carrying a glass of water.  He put the water on the small table in front of my couch and stepped back.  His hands were at his sides and he stood there for my taking, for my eyes to memorize him, for me to comprehend him, and for my body to long for him. 

It was ten years since I had felt this way, ten long years...

I forced myself to fully sit up and I reached for the water.  The glass was real.  The water was real.  But Jack...

“How are you real?” I asked.

No need to beat around the bush.

“I mean, you are...”

“It’s me,” he said.  “Jack.”

He opened his arms wide and smiled.

When he smiled his dimples showed, giving him a boyish look that made my heart jump a little harder, a little faster.  When he opened his eyes wide, I could still see the sixteen year old version of Jack.  The one that snuck into my basement.  The one that sat next to me making up names for our future.  The one that made me feel so strange... so warm, so lust filled...

The one that kissed me.

I licked my lips - partially to keep them and my mouth from running dry, but also to bring back that night he kissed me.

“Jack...”

“Here, remember this?”

He leaned down and I jumped back on the couch.

“My gosh, Tessa, I’m not going to hurt you.  I’ve been saving you longer than you can imagine...”

Slowly, Jack brought his right hand down to the table.  His hands were big, strong.  Time had treated Jack well...
but how
?

How could time have treated him well?  Time had been taken from him.  By my father.

Jack took his pointer finger and tapped the table three times, with his fingernail.  He then tapped the table with his finger, twice.  Finally, using four fingers, he raked them along the table like a quick drumbeat.

The moment he did it, my heart fluttered and my eyes filled with tears.

The signal.

Our signal.

When we were teenagers... the signal he’d use on the basement door to let me know he was there.

I looked at him as a few of the tears let go, streaming down my cheek.

“But how?” I asked.

It all seemed cruel in that moment, because if I was still dreaming, I hated the dream.  I didn’t want to dream about a life where Jack survived or a life with Jack... I wanted to live it.  I had enough of dreams.  I wanted to embrace reality.

Jack took the same hand and reached towards me.  I didn’t jump back.  His finger touched my cheek and I felt it.  I really felt it.  His finger ran up my cheek, collecting my tears and then he pulled away.

Jack was real, but not.

My chin quivered, fighting to hold it together.  I looked at him, waiting.

Waiting for what, I didn't know.  Maybe for the dream to end.  Maybe for my lust filled fantasies to come to life and have Jack attack me on the couch and have me.  When I was thirteen, I didn't fully understand all I felt and what my body wanted.  But now, I was twenty-three and I knew what I wanted, even if I didn't come with the experience.

"Just tell me how."

"How what?" Jack asked with a cute smile.

His dimples were perfect, definitely something he kept from his youth.

"You're a ghost..."

"No, I'm not."  His face looked annoyed now, I obviously touched on a nerve.

"I'm sorry," I said.  "I didn't mean it like that.  This just..."

"I knew this was going to happen," Jack said. 

He turned and took a few steps, working himself into pacing.  He used to do the same thing in my basement when he was nervous or mad.  He still turned the same way, sticking his toes in the air, spinning on the back of his foot.

I couldn't believe how much of this I remembered.  As I watched it, it was like the memories were being resurrected from the depths of my mind.

I loved every second of it.

"Jack..." - I couldn't believe I got to say his name again while looking at him.

He spun and stopped.  His brown hair bounced a little, looking thicker and fuller than ten years ago, but it still had that same curly mop look to it.  He needed a comb and some gel, but the messy look suited him.

I had to look away and collect my thoughts.

What was wrong with me?

"This is why I never showed you before," he said.  "But after the accident, I couldn't risk losing you..."

"Losing me?”

The way Jack spoke, it was like he never left me.  Like he had been in my life... my entire life.

“If you...
die
... Tessa, I may not see you.”

“You see me now.”

Jack smiled.  Before my heart could race at the sight of his dimples, he ran a hand through his hair.  His t-shirt pulled up and I saw a sliver of skin and I felt like I could melt.  Then I saw his bicep flex, and even for a brief second, I could see it tighten and ball up.

Wow, he was strong.

Really strong.

I sighed as quietly as I could manage and hurried to look away, just as he started to look at me.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked.

I patted the couch and moved down.

As he sat, the couch moved... if Jack was a ghost, I wouldn’t feel him, would I?  He wouldn’t be able to move the couch, would he? 

“Tessa, it’s complicated, okay?”

“Says the man who died ten years ago as a boy.”

Jack half smiled.  “I see that wit grew over the years.”

“You would know, right?”

“We’ll get to that part later.  But for now... there’s a lot I still don’t know about death.”

“That makes two of us.”

I thought dead meant gone.  Bye-bye. 

“If you died in that accident, I wouldn’t have been able to find you.  You know, after...”

“So there’s life after death?”

Jack looked at me.  His eyes were beautiful.  Just beautiful.  Ironically, they were full of life.  And protection.  Staring in his eyes made me forget about everything.  Forget about my father being released from prison.  Forget about the accident.  Forget about Brett.  Forget about...

“There’s no life where I came from,” Jack said.  He swallowed, hard, and then continued.  “It is whatever you want it to be.  For some, it’s different.  But I do know that when it happens, you’re not necessarily greeted by friends and family.  If I didn’t help you after the accident...”

“I knew it was you,” I said.  My voice squeaked a little but I didn’t care.  “I knew it.”

“I’m not supposed to do that kind of stuff, but I couldn’t let you die.  I couldn’t imagine my life, or whatever I have, without you in it.”

I was speechless, and stunned.

Silence worked its way into the living room and we sat there.  It was just like ten years ago.  Like we aged but time had paused long enough for us.  I looked to my right and down.  I watched as Jack started to slowly move his hand.  From his leg to the couch.   On the couch he moved slowly, his hand like a fleshy spider.  I did the same with my hand and in silence, our fingers touched.  At first he felt cold, really cold.  Shivering cold.   But touching him made me feel warm and as our fingers closed together, everything became warm.

“You saved me,” I whispered.