Jesse (Damage Control 2)

Like I lose everything important in my life.

Did I eat cake? Can’t remember eating anything. I often forget about food. There was a time I tried hard to forget about food, because I didn’t have any, and now I can have it, I keep forgetting about it.

Figures.

“Man, you’re so fucking out of it.” Rafe grumbles as he thrusts a plastic cup into my hand, liquid sloshing inside. “Drink.”

I take a sip and grimace. “What’s this?”

“Water with sugar and salt. Chug it down already. No alcohol poisoning on my shift.” Rafe scowls at me through the blond hair falling in his face.

Second person I managed to piss off tonight, blondes excepted.

“Yessir,” I mumble and down the water in two gulps. I somehow end up with some of it on my T-shirt, and it makes me snort.

“Yo, Jesse.” Another tall form appears behind Rafe, and the Mohawk tells me I’ve drawn Zane’s eye.

Oh shit.

“Damn. Is he as piss-ass drunk as he looks?” Zane rubs a hand over his face, and the look of disappointment on it cuts deep. He’s my mentor, my teacher, the one who took me in.

Then again, feels like tonight everything cuts too deep, like I’m a reopened wound, letting the blades of words sink all the way to the bone.

“I’m okay,” I mutter and push to my feet, holding on to the sofa as the floor tilts. “See?”

“The hell you are.” Zane huffs. “What’s the matter with you, kid?”

It’s always funny how we calls me that, not being any older, but tonight I don’t find it funny.

“Everything’s fine.” Has to be fine, and I was wrong: alcohol isn’t helping me forget and get numb tonight. It rubs into my scabs, reviving every single fucking memory. “Perfect.”

“I’m driving you home,” Rafe says, grabbing my shoulder as I stumble on empty beer bottles. “Come on.”

And I go along. I paste a wide smile on my face and stagger out of the apartment, keeping my gaze straight ahead and my heart lodged somewhere in my throat, telling myself I don’t care what happens, what others think of me and where I will end up tomorrow.

If life has taught me one thing is that it makes no difference if I care, if I try—and fuck the world, anyway.

Chapter Three

Amber

Pre-party, the apartment looked small but cozy and clean. Post-party, it looks like a bomb went off—a bomb filled with beer bottles, plastic cups and, for some reason, multicolored confetti. Probably napkins, though why someone would shred them i

nto tiny pieces is beyond me.

Much in life is beyond me. I’ve long given up trying to understand people. Seriously. Trying is a waste of time. Instead, I let life flow around me, over me, let people brush me by, and do my best to keep my head down and be invisible.

In my experience, attention is a bad, bad thing. It leads to interest, and interest can turn bad more times than not. Avoid interest, avoid attention, and you avoid problems.

Which is why Jesse has unsettled me so much, I muse as I gather plastic dishes and cups, throwing them into a huge trash bag. There was interest and curiosity in his gaze. I had somehow, mysteriously, drawn the attention of the hottest guy in the room, and it only served to frighten me.

I need nothing from him. No attention, no interest, thank you very much. I hope he got the message. I’m perfectly fine without any more men in my life. I mean, I have my dad back in Chicago, and I can’t avoid Micah and Ev’s friends completely.

That’s more than enough. Way more. Maybe more than I can handle.

My hands are shaking, and I sink down on the sofa. Something crinkles under my ass, and I cringe, pulling out a plastic spoon.

Rolling my eyes, feeling a bit better, I chuck it into the trash bag and sigh. Why can’t I chuck my fears in there as well? How can the past keep me prisoner after so many years? How can I break the chains? How can I fight something that is supposed to be over?