Marney looks up as he folds the paper. "Well, hell, what do you need ice for? The damn orange juice is cold. I would've warned you if I'd known you'd be going in the freezer. Gotta keep them cold, or they start to smell," he chuckles.
Crazy bastards. I cannot deal with this shit at seven thirty in the morning.
My stomach rolls and Marney points to the sink. “If you're gonna hurl, do it there.”
I glare at him. "Jude!" I shout.
Marney's still laughing as Jude's heavy footsteps come down the hall.
"What in the hell are you screaming about?"
I turn around, leaning back against the fridge. I press my hand against my stomach threatening to rebel. "Well, you know, I just go to get some ice and there's a fucking head in the freezer."
"Oh, yeah." He smirks. "It's a present for Joe."
I bend over, bracing my hands on my knees as I take deep breaths. "And it has to be stored next to the ice cream why?"
"Because, just like fucking ice cream it needs to stay cold to keep." Jude pushes me away from the freezer and opens the door. "What did you want, doll, some ice?" he asks, like it's normal, everyday life to have a man's head in there.
He grabs a handful of ice cubes and drops them into my glass. "There. There's your ice." He places a kiss on my forehead and walks off.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm being irrational and hormonal. Maybe it's entirely unreasonable of me not to want a head in the freezer. "Jude! Get rid of the head, before you find yourself sleeping on the couch next to it."
"Yeah, yeah. Marney, have that courier pick it up this afternoon before the queen loses her shit, would you?"
I chuck the orange juice down the sink and leave the room. When did this become bloody normal?
Jude
I flick the cigarette into the woods and hold the nicotine inside my lungs as I stare down at my phone screen. Sofia Solomon. A twenty-one year literature major who likes to read and play tennis. And unfortunately, Stan’s daughter.
Something in my gut rolls. I hate doing this. But the lines of war are never steadfast. They constantly move.
I shove the phone into my back pocket and stare out over the ridge, and as I do, Caleb creeps into my thoughts. I try my damnedest not to think about him because it hurts. I shut the thought down and grab onto the edge of the wooden porch railing. I should have forced Caleb out of this lifestyle the day my father died because Caleb was too good of a person to be mixed up in this shit. He had a heart. He always did.
I narrow my eyes on those woods, listening to my breaths as they grow deeper and angrier. I miss him, and every time I think about him the only thing I can see is the way he looked when Marney found him. The video of Tom killing him.
Exhaling, I turn around and reach for the door. Marney's whistling, stirring something in the pan. The rancid aroma of burnt–I don’t even know what–slaps me in the face.
"God, Marney, what the hell are you making?"
"Tuna pancakes," he says, hovering over the stove. "Want one?"
What is it with that old man and tuna? No one puts tuna in pancakes. "Hell no."
"Oh, they came and got the head. Don't want our darling pitching another hissy fit," he chuckles.
I can't help but laugh a little. "Where is Tor?"
"Probably upstairs still sulking." He jumps back from the stove like he's burnt himself. "Shit. Damn grease.”
There’s no helping him. Shaking my head, I walk up the stairs and hear the shower running. My mind goes to the thought of Tor naked, standing under a stream of running water, and I can’t stop myself from going into the bathroom. A cloud of steam rolls out when I open the door. I can just make out Tor's silhouette behind the fogged-over shower door.
I haven't seen her entirely undressed since before I sent her away. Months...
She's afraid I'll be disgusted... like anything about her could disgust me. To me, she's perfect, no amount of scars Tom could have left her with will change that. God, I need her.
I kick off my boots and jeans, then open the shower door and step in. And as soon as I do, Tor freezes. My gaze trails over the raised scars on her back. At this moment, I swear, I’ll kill the man who did this to her slowly. Swallowing, I gather her wet hair in my hands and sweep it over her shoulder.
"Jude..."
I kiss the top of her spine, right over one of the scars. "You're beautiful, doll.”
I want her to know I don't care. But every mark I kiss over causes my stomach to knot because it represents a day I didn't get to her. Tom did this to punish me, not her. I wrap my arm around her waist, and she tenses, her hand bracing the wall as her breath hitches.