"Look at me. Please," she begged. I turned toward her, still not meeting her eyes. Keep control, Jack.
"What do you want to talk about?" I asked, trying to keep my voice even. She reached out and touched my arm. I jolted it back. It was all too much. She was too much and not having her was killing me.
"Not here, Jack. I want to really talk. About us. You and me, whatever that is."
I sighed, my eyes meeting hers. "Rose—"
"No, Jack. You don't get to blow me off every time. It's not fucking fair." Her eyes flashed with anger, her emotion caught me off guard. Is that what I was doing? Messing with her feelings? The last thing I wanted was for her to feel like I was playing with her.
But that’s what I am doing.
I gave in when it suited me, and ignored her when it got too much. It was a dick of a way to treat someone, and very reminiscent of the ‘old’ me. In the very least, she deserved an explanation.
“Come outside with me, then.” I pushed the door open and waited until she had moved past me. Following her outside, I threw open the dumpster and offloaded the bag. Then I turned to face her, my expression level. I was in control.
As I waited for her to speak, I thrust my hands so far into my pockets that my fingers jammed against my thighs. I didn’t trust myself not to reach out to her. I so badly wanted to feel her hands on mine, or run my fingers down the side of her beautiful face. But, if I did that, I didn’t think I could stop. In all honesty, what I wanted to do was take her in my arms and hurl her against the wall and feel myself slide inside her again.
"You close yourself off. It's like there’s an invisible barrier around you, and you don't let anyone past that point. One minute I think you want to let me in, and then as quickly as that thought enters my head, you close off." She threw her head back and exhaled, frustrated. Upset. Annoyed.
I didn't know what to say. She was right; I did push people away. But how could I explain to her why?
"I don'
t do it to hurt you, Rose," I said quietly. "I'm just not . . . looking for anything other than friendship with you." I almost laughed as I choked the words out. They couldn't be further from the truth. How could I tell the girl I was falling for that I didn't deserve to be loved?
"I push love away too Jack, but unlike you, I'm not afraid of being hurt. I'm afraid of being the one that hurts you."
What did she mean by that? I stiffened, and turned to face her. My eyes met hers. I'd been so wrapped up in my own issues, that I hadn't considered her. All I saw was a pretty girl who had gotten under my skin and into my heart—someone, who deserved a hell of a lot more than I could ever offer her.
"What do you mean? How could you hurt anyone?" I reached for her hands, my fingers running over uneven skin. Glancing down, I saw them. Two identical scars running down each wrist, both a couple of inches long, both looking reasonably fresh. I looked up, my eyes catching her, searching for answers she wasn't ready to give. Instinctively, she pulled her hands away.
“Rose, what is this?” I asked her roughly, grabbing at her wrists again. I didn't need her to tell me. The twisted anxiety I was feeling in the pit of my stomach told me I knew what those scars were from.
She shook her head. "Look, it doesn't matter. I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable." She reached for the door.
Without thinking, I stepped forward and turned her until she faced me. My lips were against hers, with no thought or understanding of what I was doing . . . to both of us. All I cared about was the fire burning deep inside of me that could only be extinguished by her. She kissed me back, her lips full of passion and need, then pulled away from me, shock in her eyes.
“What do you want from me, Jack?” she yelled. Her mouth fell open as her eyes searched mine for answers—anything that would explain my actions to her. She yanked the door open and disappeared into the bar, not waiting for an answer.
"Rose, wait!" I called. She flinched, her body tensing for the briefest moment. I stepped inside, ready to go after her. No sooner than I was inside she was off again, this time right out the front door.
#
“Where did Rose go?” Darcy asked me, confused.
The night was barely half over, and if Rose was anything, it was a hard worker. She wouldn't up and leave for no reason, and I wasn’t the only one who knew it. The way Darcy was glaring at me right now made me wonder how much she knew. She and Rose had been getting close, but how close? I’d known Darcy for two years. She was such a strong and protective person and if she thought a friend was in trouble she’d do anything to help.
“She wasn't feeling well,” I replied.
“Oh . . . do you want . . . should I check on her?” she asked awkwardly. “You’ve got six other staff on and if she's not well . . .”
“Sure, go,” I sighed and turned around, taking in the near empty bar. Mondays and Wednesdays were so dead there was barely any point in opening. I was losing money, having to pay staff and electricity on those days. The smart thing to do was close two days a week, but I was too stubborn to act on that yet.
“You guys may as well go too,” I called out to Ash and Benj. They nodded. “I think maybe closing a couple of nights a week might be the way to go, then focus on getting full capacity the days we are open. I'll work on some rosters tonight and get back to you guys,” I muttered, admitting defeat. I was rambling, but I didn't care. I just wanted them all gone.
After they'd left, I buzzed Alex. It went straight through to his voicemail, so I left him a message telling him to come over. I needed to know more about Rose, stuff that only Alex might know. But I also knew my brother, and I knew that I was probably not going to get the information I wanted from him. He had too much respect to break her confidence just because I asked.
While I waited for him, I tried to plan out the next two weeks at the bar. We had two functions next week and those, combined with the open mic nights, meant things should pick up. The weekends and the open mic nights were still flat out busy, but I was more than a little disappointed that the success hadn't carried over to every evening.