Branded (Ignite #2)

“I just told him you might be a while, heard some shouting coming from upstairs. Everything okay?” Jackson asks.

“None of your fucking business,” I growl.

Yeah, I’m an asshole. Sue me. The guy gets on my damn nerves. Collin told me he and Phina dated back in college and even though I’ve gotten over my issue with Dax, I’m still a jealous fuck at heart.

“Aw, trouble in paradise?” Jackson laughs.

“One more word and I’ll kick your ass all the way to the curb.”

He continues to laugh as he pushes himself up from the top step.

“No hard feelings, man. That one’s a stubborn one,” he says, jerking his head towards the house.

Don’t I fucking know it.

Doesn’t mean I have to like that this douchebag knows it, too.

Turning around, I go back into the house and try not to protest when Jackson follows me inside.

“Just going to grab a bottle of water from the fridge,” he tells me, making his way around me and towards the kitchen.

I glare at his back until he disappears into the kitchen. I don’t like how fucking familiar he is in this house. How the hell does he even know Phina has bottled water in her fridge? She does, I mean who the fuck doesn’t in this day and age, but still. That fuck nut doesn’t know that.

Jesus Christ, I’m losing it.

I hear the shower shut off upstairs and my stomach flops in anticipation of seeing Phina again, hoping the shower calmed her the fuck down and she’s ready to talk. What the hell did I say that was so wrong? What did I do that forced her to put all those fucking walls back up around her heart, refusing to let me in? She opened up to me last night about her father, she told me about the burns and she showed them to me and even let me make love to her instead of fuck her like a crazy person. Something isn’t adding up and my pea-sized brain isn’t grasping it. Is she just upset because of Finnley’s accident? Is the guilt she’s feeling making her relive every horrible thing her father did to her and she’s back to feeling like she’s not worthy of my love? She’s the only one who can answer these questions and she damn well better be prepared to open her beautiful mouth and start talking.

Jackson waltzes back into the living room, whistling as he goes and I want to punch him square in the mouth. Instead, I flop down on the couch angrily and clasp my hands together between my knees.

I hear footsteps on the stairs a few minutes later and my heart starts thundering in my chest. As soon as she gets down here, I’m going to grab onto her and kiss her, remind her of all the reasons why she can’t fucking shut me out. I glance up as she pauses on the bottom step and looks at me in irritation. Her wet hair hangs down around her shoulders and her make-up free face that’s been scrubbed clean of Finnley’s blood makes her look much younger and more vulnerable. That is, until she opens her mouth.

“I thought I told you to leave?”

Every good plan swirling through my brain disintegrates into a pile of dust.

I stare in a daze at my feet as Finnley’s blood mixes with the water from the shower and the pink-tinged liquid slides down my body, swirling around the drain. I should be crying. I have every reason to cry, but I feel so dead inside that nothing happens. I knew as soon as DJ started to remove my pants that he’d see. That stupid pep talk I gave myself meant nothing when it came down to it. I try to reason with myself that I just wasn’t ready for him to see. If I would have just had a little more time to prepare myself and think about what I wanted to say to him, maybe it would have turned out differently, but I know that’s a lie. If it happened tomorrow, a week from now or six months from now, I probably would have done the same thing – waited for him to look at those burns in horror and give me a reason to push him away. It’s what I do. It’s what I know, and no amount of pretending that I was this happy, well-adjusted person the last few weeks was going to change that.

I used his words of hatred for the man he thought was responsible for putting those burns on me against him. I know he doesn’t hate me. He loves me and he would do anything for me. The problem is the woman standing in the shower right now watching her best friend’s blood drip down her body. I hate myself too much to allow anything good in my life. It’s just like the bullshit they feed to people at Al-Anon meetings. ‘It’s not that your loved one doesn’t love you enough to stop their addiction, it’s that they don’t love themselves enough.’

It’s almost funny when I think about it, but I’m so numb that I can’t even force myself to laugh. DJ wants to tear the person who burned me limb from limb, assuming it was my father, when he was staring at the culprit the entire time. I’m sure it won’t be long before he puts two-and-two together. He’s a paramedic. He knows what fresh burns look like compared to fifteen year old ones. I can’t blame him for not realizing it when he first saw the marks on my hip. I’m sure my freak-out confused him and he was still running on adrenaline from the accident. He immediately assumed he knew where the burns came from and I didn’t correct him. If I was a different person, maybe I could have come clean, finally told him about the problem I have and what I do to myself from time to time. Maybe he would have pulled me into his arms, kissed away my tears and told me it didn’t matter. Maybe I would have believed him.

I turn off the water and dry off robotically, throwing on a pair of yoga pants and a sweatshirt. Grabbing my cell phone out of my scrub pants, I close my eyes so I don’t have to see the blood. I dial Finnley’s number and breathe a little easier when I hear her tired voice on the other line.