31 fake sleeping
By the time I leave the party, my head hurts so badly I can feel it behind my eyes.
Cold air slams into me the second I step outside, sharp enough to sting my skin after the heat inside the house. Somewhere behind me, music still rattles through the walls while people laugh too loudly on the porch, but I keep walking without looking back once.
I'm so angry I could scream.
Not even just angry. Exhausted. Humiliated. Confused in that horrible way where every emotion starts bleeding together until none of them make sense anymore.
Stop dancing with him.
The audacity of that sentence keeps replaying in my head over and over again.
As if Jackson Bennett gets to decide who I talk to after spending the last few weeks treating me like I'm some mistake he regrets making.
My phone buzzes in my hand.
Another text comes in before I can answer.
Despite myself, I almost smile.
Almost.
Nola immediately sends back three dramatic crying emojis and a threat to murder Jackson personally if necessary.
I shove my phone into my pocket before I can think too hard about that part.
Campus is quieter this late at night. Wind pushes dead leaves across the sidewalk while groups of people in costumes stumble past laughing, probably heading toward another party.
I keep my arms folded tightly across my chest the whole walk back, trying not to replay the look on Jackson's face when he interrupted me and Scott.
Jealous.
The thought hits hard enough that I physically tense against it.
No.
Absolutely not.
Because jealousy would mean he cares, and I'm officially done trying to translate Jackson Bennett's emotional damage into something romantic.
-
By the time I reach the dorm, I'm emotionally exhausted enough to cry again, which is honestly insulting considering I already did that earlier this week.
The room is dark when I walk in.
Jackson isn't back yet.
For a second, I just stand there quietly, staring at his empty bed across from mine. His hoodie's thrown half onto the chair beside his desk. One of his textbooks is lying open face-down on the floor.
Everything about the room still looks like him.
That's the problem.
I change into an oversized T-shirt and climb into bed without bothering to turn any lights on besides the small lamp above my desk. Eventually even that gets switched off too, leaving the room dim except for the orange glow from outside filtering through the blinds.
I'm still awake thirty minutes later when the door opens.
Jackson walks in quietly.
Even without looking, I know it's him instantly from the sound alone. The heavier footsteps. The slight pause after he closes the door like he's checking whether I'm asleep first.
So I shut my eyes tighter and keep breathing evenly.
Fake sleeping at nineteen years old. Incredible character development for me.
The room stays silent for a long time.
Then there's the soft sound of him sitting down heavily on his bed.
Springs creak.
A long exhale follows.
Not drunk anymore, I realize immediately. Or at least not enough to hide behind it.
Something about that makes my chest ache.
I hear fabric rustle, then the faint buzz of his phone unlocking.
Another silence, then quietly, "Jen?"
Jenny.
I recognize it almost instantly.
Jackson rubs a hand over his face hard enough that I hear the friction of it. "You awake?"
A pause.
"Yeah, well, congratulations, because I just somehow managed to fuck things up even worse."
My heart stutters once.
I stay perfectly still.
Jackson leans forward, elbows probably resting on his knees from the sound of his voice. Lower now. Rougher. "She was dancing with Scott and I lost my mind for no reason."
A pause.
"No, I know it wasn't my business. That's literally the problem."
Heat creeps slowly into my face under the blankets.
I shouldn't be listening to this.
But I can't stop.
Jackson laughs once under his breath, except there's nothing amused in it. "I keep hurting her and then acting shocked when she gets upset."
The words land somewhere deep and uncomfortable inside my chest.
Because part of me wants to stay angry.
But another part-the worse part-hears how genuinely miserable he sounds and immediately softens anyway.
Which is pathetic.
"I don't know what's wrong with me," he mutters quietly. "Every time things start getting real, I just panic and make it worse."
Jenny says something too muffled for me to hear.
Jackson lets out a tired breath. "Yeah, obviously I know I'm an asshole."
A sharper response comes through the speaker this time, loud enough that I catch it clearly. "You are such an asshole."
Despite everything, a startled laugh almost escapes me.
I press my mouth harder into my pillow to stop it.
Jackson groans quietly. "Thank you, Jennifer. Super helpful."
"No, actually," Jenny snaps faintly through the phone, "you know what's not helpful? Emotionally destroying some poor girl because you're scared of your own feelings."
Silence.
Complete silence.
And then Jackson says something so quietly I almost miss it. "I think I'm in love with her."
Everything inside me stops.
Actually stops.
My heartbeat turns violent all at once, hard enough that I'm suddenly terrified he'll hear it from across the room.
For one disorienting second, I genuinely think I imagined it.
But then Jenny goes dead silent too.
And Jackson laughs once under his breath like he can't believe he admitted it out loud either.
"I'm serious," he says quietly. "I can't stop thinking about her. She's always there. Every second. And every time I hurt her I feel like absolute shit afterward, but somehow I keep doing it anyway."
My throat tightens painfully.
Because this whole time I thought-
God.
Jenny finally speaks again, her voice softer now but still sharp around the edges. "Then stop acting scared and act like a man for once."
Jackson doesn't answer immediately.
The room feels unbearably small suddenly.
Finally he exhales quietly. "Yeah."
A few minutes later the call ends.
Silence settles over the room again, heavier than before.
I keep my eyes closed, barely breathing.
Across from me, Jackson stays sitting on the edge of his bed for a long time without moving. I can practically feel the exhaustion radiating off him through the darkness.
Then eventually, very softly, "Fuck."
Something twists painfully in my chest.
Because now I can't stop replaying the words I overheard.
I think I'm in love with her.
And somehow that should make everything better.
Instead, it only makes everything hurt differently.