Jagged Edge

Forgetting can be a blessing.

Fuck, it’s cold, too cold to sleep dressed like this, in my thin jacket, without at least a sleeping bag between me and the night chill.

Getting my stuff is out of the question, though. My sleeping bag and duffel bag are now in Adam’s keeping, since Mayleen left, and if anyone’s watching me, I’d rather not show up and walk right into their arms, or worse, lead them to Adam’s door.

So I tough it out, searching for a hot air vent, a corner where the wind can’t reach me, moving through the night, sleepwalking through the city.

Morning finds me curled up in front of a coffee shop entrance, and a cleaner who comes to unlock the door shoos me away, like I’m some stray dog.

The cut on my arm throbs. It’s bled sluggishly through the night, soaking through the sleeve of my jacket, so that I have to pull the fabric off, and that hurts like a bitch. And then it’s bleeding again.

Dammit.

I won’t die from it, that’s all that counts, and there are more pressing matters. As I stumble down a vaguely familiar street, the buildings swimming in my eyes, my hands and face so cold I barely feel them, I realize I urgently need someplace warm to thaw out, and something to eat and drink before I faceplant and ruin some passerby’s morning.

A woman, nicely dressed in a business suit with an upswept hairdo stops in her tracks—then turns and crosses the street to continue, stealing glances at me.

I scared her. I bet I look like a demented ghost or a hungry vampire with my eyeliner running down my cheeks like dirty tears, blood down my side and on my jacket, bruises on my face and throat, dragging my feet through the gray light of dawn.

I suppress the urge to bare my teeth at her.

The world dips again, and I shake my head to clear it. There’s a bakery not far from here that opens early. The owner knows me, and he won’t mind if I sit inside to have a cup of coffee.

I’m focused on that, on the promise of warmth, as I stagger down the street, my teeth chattering so loudly I can’t hear myself think, when movement from my side catches my attention.

Too late, though. Something hits the back of my head. Pain explodes inside my skull, a firework laced with darkness, and then everything goes black.

Strong arms are around me, keeping me safe. “You’re okay now,” a deep male voice says in my ear, and I nod, grabbing fistfuls of soft fabric, pressing my face to his muscular shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

“They’re after me,” I whisper. “Raine—”

“It’s all right,” Raine says, and yeah, it’s him, and his arms around me. “Slow down.”

I huff a laugh. “Why do you always say that? I can’t stop running. My life’s fucked up.”

“Why?”

Why? “Because I don’t deserve any better,” I admit, muffled against his T-shirt. “Never have.”

“You deserve good things.” His voice rumbles in his chest. I feel it in my bones, inside my head. “I care for you, Jason. Let me.”

Let him do what? And what does he mean, he cares?

“You hate me,” I whisper, and there’s a fucking knot in my throat. I can’t breathe past it. “I’m—”

“I don’t hate you.”

Yeah, right—but I want to believe it, I want to hear him say he cares for me, I want his arms around me, so I just nod, soaking it all in.

I feel so safe. This, being with him, feels so good. So right.

It’s not real. It’s just a dream. Has to be.

And like with everything good in my life, I fuck it up, ruining it, ending it in case it gets too good.

I wake up, wishing to hell I hadn’t.

Disorientation. Darkness. Cold air hits my face as I shift on a hard surface, scratchy fabric under my folded arms.