FIVE
Jared
I gripped my head in my hands, kicking at nothing while I stormed in small circles in the middle of the parking lot, trying to make sense of what the hell had just happened upstairs.
Aleena Moore was like a f*cking trigger.
I hadn’t been prepared for her. I rasped a snort as I yanked at my hair. As if I could have done anything to prepare myself for her.
In what felt like a small miracle, I’d dozed off last night, drifting along the fringes of sleep as my mind swam through a dreamlike state. The pain had come, but it’d ebbed as I floated, this calm coming over me before my eyes had popped open in awareness.
And the girl standing over me was some sort of goddamned vision.
Waves of long almost-black hair fell down around her face, so close I imagined them brushing along my chest. Her chin was sharp and her cheeks high, although a distinct softness pulled at her full lips.
But it was those penetrating green eyes that had shot through me, bolting me straight up to sitting.
Once my sight adjusted, my eyes had raked over the perfect curves of her slender body. She wore shorts and a little red tank top, and the straps of a bathing suit peeked out to wrap around her neck. Her smooth olive skin glowed golden in the dim light. The girl was all legs and undeniably the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. Yet there was something about her that appeared delicate and soft.
It’d taken a few seconds for the awe to wear off, for me to come to my senses and realize it was Aly. I found myself whispering my confusion. “Aly?”
Then she’d mumbled some kind of apology as if she was intruding on me when I was the one camped out on her couch. She stumbled into her room, the sharp click of her door shutting me out, leaving me completely unable to comprehend that the gorgeous girl who’d just stood in front of me was the same one who’d clung to my shirttails for the better part of my life.
I palmed the back of my neck and lifted my face to the sun. Even at nine in the morning, the heat was scorching, searing my skin. My lids dropped closed to shield my eyes from the blinding light, and I harshly shook my head.
Motherf*cking trigger.
She’d triggered memories, ones I didn’t want to remember. Memories of when I was happy and free. Memories that taunted me with what I could no longer have.
But worse than that was what she’d triggered in my body. I could blame it on leaving Lily behind at the bar after I’d planned on spending the night burying my aggression in her, but I’d be a liar. No one had ever caused a reaction in me like Aly had.
Last night, I’d lain awake for hours, fighting it, berating myself that I’d even for a second allowed my brain to trip into those types of thoughts. She was Christopher’s little sister, for God’s sake. And she’d been like a little sister to me. I’d dug out my journal, intent on hashing out my disgust on its pages, but ended up writing some f*cking cheesy shit about a Siren’s call.
When dawn had finally crept up to the windows early this morning, I had stepped out onto the balcony for a smoke and watched the sun slowly rise. By then, I’d gotten it under control, had chalked it up to my surprise at how the passing years had changed her, at the fact that Aly was no longer a child.
Then that trigger hit me just as hard when I slipped up behind her in the kitchen. Messy waves of black hair flowed down her back, and she wore a pair of tiny sleep shorts that exposed her long legs, and all I could think about was propping her ass up on the edge of the counter, my hands on her knees as I pressed them apart, my palms on her thighs.
A wave of guilt had flooded me just as soon as that fantasy had popped into my head. I’d whispered a regretful “Good morning,” knowing I had to get my shit together because there was not one single thing kosher about the way I was looking at her.
But then she’d looked at me. No. Not looked. Gawked.
Judged.
Stared at me as if I were some kind of freak show.
That was the trigger to a different gun. It provoked the roiling anger that was always smoldering at the ready in every cell of my body. Hate had slipped through my gritted teeth as I unleashed it on the girl, although really, it wasn’t directed at her at all.
The only person I hated was myself.
Still she had no right to look at me like that. I didn’t come here for her pity, for her eyes to wash over me as if she understood. As if she cared. No one cared. People just liked to make themselves feel better with their meager shows of compassion.
And I sure as hell did not care.
My fists clenched at my sides.
Shit.
But I couldn’t elude the nagging that tugged at me somewhere deep inside. I hated seeing her that way, shaking and nearing tears. Hated knowing I’d caused it. I’d scared her.
But it was for the best. I wasn’t lying when I told her she didn’t need my shit. And after the reaction she managed to work up in me, I most definitely did not need hers.
I hunched over the desk, filling out what felt like the hundredth application I’d worked on today. Most of my day had been eaten up racing from one construction company to another, chasing jobs that didn’t exist in this suck-ass economy. Next to no one was hiring, and I’d spent half the day questioning my sanity. Who the f*ck just left their home and a decent job without any plans? Dumb-asses like me, that’s who.
I finished the application and stood.
“You done?” The owner, Kenny Harrison, sat behind a large desk on the other end of the room, rocking back in a grungy fabric office chair.
“Yes, sir,” I answered as I crossed the room, passing the application to him. Of course I hoped for a position similar to the one I’d left in New Jersey, but I would take just about anything.
He scanned my information, suddenly turning his face up to me. “You originally from around here?”
I just nodded, couldn’t speak.
“Hmm,” he continued, “your application looks good. We don’t have a lot going on right now, but I could maybe fit you in somewhere. You’re not going to be close to making what you were at your last job, though.”
Disappointment hit me, but I shook it off. “That’s fine.”
Kenny laughed. “Desperate, huh?”
I shifted my feet, feeling uncomfortable and on display. I forced myself to stand still. “You could say that.”
“All right, then. Why don’t you come back here Monday morning and you can fill out some paperwork to get you started?”
“Thank you, Mr. Harrison.”
“Call me Kenny.”
I shook his hand and began to back away, mumbling my thanks once again before I headed out his door.
I knew I should feel relieved, grateful, but the only thing I felt was the anxiety that had ramped up during the day. I felt it buzzing under the surface of my skin. I jumped on my bike, slipped onto the freeway, pegged the throttle, and hoped to outrun it. Hot air blasted my face and whipped through my hair, stirring the aggression higher. I darted in and out of cars. Ran.
Today the adrenaline from the speed didn’t do. It only wound the anxiety tighter through my chest, made it hard to breathe as I pushed harder and faster. As the late-evening sun began to set, I cut across rush hour traffic and took the exit not that far from Christopher and Aly’s apartment. I found I couldn’t go back, but I was incapable of going far.
I ended up behind a deserted building with a bottle of Jack. I figured if I couldn’t run from it, I’d drown it. I tipped the bottle to my lips, welcomed the burn as it slid down my throat and coated my stomach. I brought it to my mouth again and again, rested my head back on the coarse stucco of the old building, and listened as the night began to crawl through the streets of the city.
I never understood why sounds became more distinct at night, why I could hear the churn of an engine from miles away, the rustle of birds as they settled in the trees, the echo of an argument happening behind closed doors down the street. It all penetrated and seeped, bled into my consciousness as if each sound belonged to me. What some would consider peaceful felt entirely overwhelming. Tonight, those old cravings hit me hard, the intense desire for complete numbness, a moment’s reprieve. I just wished that for one goddamned night I could block it all out. I drained the rest of the bottle. My head spun, and I squeezed my eyes shut tight.
But I could never outrun it. Could never drown it.
I would never forget.
My hand tightened on the neck of the bottle, and I staggered to my feet. I roared as I chucked the bottle across the lot. It shattered. Glass burst and pinged as it scattered across the ground. The sound stoked the memories, and all I could hear was glass breaking as it rained down all around me.
I spun and my fist connected with the building. Skin tore from my knuckles as it met the jagged, pitted wall. The tissue whitened and blanched before blood seeped to the surface. I welcomed the frenzy it created inside me.
I slammed my fists into the wall again and again and again until I was panting and the blood dripped free, wept from my skin in the way it should have instead of hers. Rage curled in my chest and erupted from my mouth.
It should have been me.
It should have been me.
Exhausted, I dropped my forehead, pressed my palms to the wall as I gulped for air. Heat rushed down my throat and expanded like fire in my lungs. My head rocked and my body shook as the aggression finally spiked, broke, and the effects of the alcohol brought me to my knees.
“F*ck,” I groaned, slumping onto my stomach with my cheek pressed into the hard ground.
I never should have come here. It was all too much, this place that echoed my past and thrummed with familiarity. I refused to take comfort in it. Most of all, I fought against the desire to stay.