15. Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
J essica
Spring appears out of nowhere. Petals unfurl, sending their sweet perfume into the air. At school, a sparrow makes its nest outside of my classroom window. The students and I carefully monitor the eggs that lie in their bed of twigs and feathers. Even the hardest of my kids cheer on the day when they hatch and three baby birds emerge, blind and bumbling.
My principal, Kent Wilson, remains an ever-present thorn in my side, a fact that I carefully hide from West. I still haven’t forgotten his expression, twisted with rage, when he saw Dylan’s hand on my arm at the gala or the fact that Dylan mysteriously disappeared from the hospital after that night. When I asked West if he had anything to do with Dylan’s sudden decision to transfer to a hospital in Alabama, he’d spread his hands wide and said innocently, “Who? Me?”
Yeah, right.
I didn’t buy that for a second.
If West was incensed by a man touching me once, I can only imagine his response if he knew how Kent breathes down my neck every time we work together. How he comes up with one preposterous excuse after another to keep me on campus. He’s always been weird with me, even back when we were in school together, but it’s grown worse since he found out I have a boyfriend.
A few months ago, I was at the copy machine, gushing to Julie about West, when Kent barged in. With a stormy expression, he’d interrupted our conversation and told us to get back to class. For a minute, I thought he’d confused us with the students, that’s how condescending he sounded.
Now, I clean the top of my desk, neatly stacking papers and logging off my school-issued computer. I stifle a yawn. It’s been a long day. West kept me up late last night with his “examination.” Then I had a 7:00 a.m. staff meeting, followed by six periods of teaching quadratic equations, material my students can’t seem to grasp.
I don’t blame them. That shit is hard.
Kent’s cologne announces his arrival before I see him. Its musky, pungent smell makes me wrinkle my nose.
“Jessica,” he says, sweeping into the room, bringing his stench along with him. “Richardson is sick. I need you to chaperone the dance this Saturday.”
“No,” I say calmly, not looking up from the drawer while I put away my favorite pen for grading. I worked through lunch to make sure all my papers are done. West is taking me to a bed and breakfast in Traverse City, Michigan, this weekend. It will be our first vacation together. I’m hoping there will be more “bed” than “breakfast.”
“No?” Kent sputters. “But we need at least three chaperones to run the dance.”
Finally, I look at him, wondering how the star quarterback of our high-school football team turned into this pot-bellied, wispy-haired, pasty-skinned man. When I was a freshman and he was a senior, Kent Wilson had ruled these halls. Many of my cheerleader friends had crushes on him back then, but I had never understood the appeal. He was selfish and mean-spirited, always picking on the smaller, weaker kids. When I think about it, he hasn’t changed. Now he has a job where he’s allowed to wield the power he always craved.
“Sorry, Wilson,” I say, surprised to find I’m not sorry at all. “I have plans with my boyfriend.” I’ve never actually called West my boyfriend in front of him, and I’ve certainly never heard him call me his girlfriend, but given how I’ve stopped my New York job searches and my Chicago apartment hunting I figure that must be what we are. We live together, see each other every day, talk and text constantly. And our nighttime activities…well, they require a level of trust that can only be found in a stable relationship. If we aren’t the definition of dating, then I don’t know what is.
“What about the kids?” Kent whines, wringing his hands together. “You don’t want us to have to cancel the dance, do you?”
That’s how he used to get me. Where my weakness lies, with “the kids.” Kent knows I’d do anything for my students. What he doesn’t understand is that finding my voice in the bedroom has spilled into the rest of my life. It’s those lessons with West that allow me to speak up now.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I snap. The sharpness of my tone makes Kent’s eyes widen. He takes a step back as if my words have assaulted him. “You won’t cancel the dance. Contact the Parent-Teacher Organization or send out a message to the parents. There are lots of families who will want to help out. I’m sure you can find a couple of dads to come in. Honestly, they’ll be more helpful than I would be if you need to break up a fight or separate some couple kissing in the corner.”
“Jessica! I can’t do that. It has to be you. You’re best suited for the job,” he says, confirming my suspicion that this is more about him wanting me there than him needing a teacher to fill the role.
Monica was right. He really is a little weasel.
I shrug on my jacket and pick up my purse, flinging it over my shoulder. “You know,” I tell him, “I was doing some light reading the other day—going through my work contract—and it specifically states that I only have to do a certain number of hours outside of the regular school day.” I pause to let that sink in, noting how his face flushes red in anger.
Nonchalantly, I say, “I even took the time to count up the hours I’ve worked on things like guard duty, field trips, after-school club monitoring, and you’ll never guess what I discovered!” Sarcasm leaks into my voice. “Turns out I’m way over the limit for those extra hours. I’ve done more than my fair share, so you’ll have to excuse me, but I need to go. Someone is waiting for me.”
I don’t smile at him or wave like I used to do. I just give Kent a pleasant nod and head to the door, calling over my shoulder, “Have fun at the dance.”
I skip outside to the curb, where my boyfriend waits for me in his fancy sports car, ready to whisk me away for a weekend of fun. Although I love my students—
I love West more.
Adam
A few weeks after we get back from our Michigan vacation, a storm hits. It’s 4:00 a.m. and I’m in bed reading when my room is suddenly flooded with white light, so bright I squint and raise my hand to block the glare. I look out the window just in time to see a jagged spike of lightning followed by ear-bursting thunder, loud enough to make the windows rattle.
On bare feet, I pad to the security room. Rain like this always puts me on edge—I hate how it makes everything blurry, how it obscures the details so I can’t see what’s coming at me—but the condo looks fine. Jessica’s asleep in her bed, and every other room is empty.
I’ve just climbed back into my own bed when the lights give a single flicker and then go out. It’s pitch black, the kind of darkness you’d see from the inside of a coffin. The entire city must be affected because no light comes in through the window. Navy Pier is nowhere to be seen. It’s just…disappeared.
My heart slams in my chest, as my breathing picks up. I flail around, knocking over the crystal bedside lamp. It hits the floor with a loud crash and shatters, tiny shards tinkling as they scatter across the wood floor. Panic sets in.
Jessica .
I need Jessica.
She always makes me feel better.
I yell her name, scream for her, as I fumble with the nightstand drawer. I keep a flashlight there for emergencies like this. The cold metal of it hits my hand and rolls away. I chase it, swearing and yelling. Finally, I get my fingers around it. I click the power button and…nothing. I shake it, hit it with the palm of my hand, and try again, but no luck. It’s dead. The batteries must not be working. I should have replaced them months ago.
Fuck. How could I have been so stupid, so careless?
Grasping the covers on my bed, I bring them up to my chest. My eyes blindly search but find nothing. That’s when the smell hits me mothballs, old clothing, stale air. I’m in the closet again. I’ve done something wrong, been a bad boy. Tears spring to my eyes, as terror fogs my brain. I lose grasp of time, of reality.
“Mommy?”
Jessica
West wakes me, bellowing from downstairs, the sound raw and terrified. Dread seeps, curling around my ribs. It chills me to the bone.
“West?” I call out, on my feet before my eyes have fully opened. I stumble to the door and flick the light switch, but nothing happens. Everything is dark, like someone has placed a blindfold over my eyes. I realize what’s going on. The power is out. Something I’ve only guessed at before becomes much more convincing as I hear the sound of a crash downstairs followed by more desperate yelling.
West is scared of the dark.
That’s why there are so many nightlights in this condo. That’s why he’s always looking up to see if it’s a full moon, why in Michigan he refused when I suggested a nighttime walk.
I have to get to him. Save him.
Stuttering flashes of lightning make the condo look like a scene from a horror movie as I leap down the spiral stairs, praying I won’t slip and break an ankle.
He’s stopped shouting. The ominous silence that follows is far worse.
“West!” I yell when I hit the bottom rung. “Where are you?”
No answer.
With my hands out in front of me, I feel along the wall and furniture. The last time I heard him it sounded like he was in his bedroom, so that’s where I go.
His door is ajar. Hastily, I shove it all the way open. I’m blind. There’s no light at all. Just an inky blackness so thick it’s oppressive, suffocating.
“84, 85, 86…”
He’s counting.
My blood turns to ice because it’s West’s voice, but there’s a lisp to it, like it’s also the voice of a child, a little boy. The fine hairs on the back of my neck rise, and my skin prickles. I get the sense that we’re not alone in this room. That the ghosts of his haunted past have risen from whatever dark graves he’s buried them in. My imagination slips into overdrive as I feel them crowd me, their skeletal hands reaching, clinging to my nightgown, scraping along my skin. They want to slow me down, to stop me from reaching him.
I won’t let them.
“West?” I shuffle forward, so I don’t trip on the furniture or the edge of the rug by his bed. I’m a few steps in when something sharp bites my toe. “Ouch!” I hop on one foot, but that was a bad idea because whatever razor-sharp material is on the floor slices into my other, uninjured foot.
“Fuck!” I thump to the floor, landing on my bottom, and pull my stinging feet into my hands. Something warm and wet drips across my palm.
I’m bleeding.
“West! West!” I cry with a sob, pain and fear mixing together.
“93, 94, 95…” There’s a vacancy to his voice. It’s mechanical, detached, like he’s gone somewhere far away.
My fingers probe the soles of my feet and find sharp-edged shards of what must be glass sticking out. I cut my fingers and my palms as I wiggle the larger pieces free from my feet, which are slippery with blood.
“West!” I call out raggedly.
Still nothing but counting, the sound coming from the bed. That must be where he is.
Sweeping my hands in front of me, I brush more broken glass out of my way. Slowly, I clear a path so I can painstakingly crawl forward on my hands and knees. I force myself onward, filled with an urgency to get to him. To wake him from whatever nightmare he’s slipped into.
I’ve just reached the edge of the bed when he says in an eerie high-pitched voice, “Please. I promise I’ll be good. Please, please let me out.” Those words make me freeze, fear and grief slicing into my soul as sharp as the glass did in my skin. A sick feeling curls in my stomach, like I’ve swallowed something poisonous.
He goes back to counting. I use those numbers as a beacon to lead me to him.
Finally, I feel the outline of his feet, his legs, his body under the sheets. I trace his form until I get to his face. I take it in both hands.
He keeps counting, low and monotone.
“West!” I shake his head from side to side, squeezing. “West! Wake up!”
Nothing.
My hands find his shoulders. I shake them, but still he doesn’t stop. I tug at him, shaking him harder so his head flops. I’m almost at the point where I’m going to slap him awake when abruptly he sits up straight.
Strong hands grasp my wrists and tighten.
“West! It’s me,” I hiss, worried he’s so disoriented that he’ll think I’m a stranger and hurt me by accident. He would feel so terrible afterward.
He mumbles a groggy, “Jessica?”
“Yes! It’s me. I’m here.” He lets go, and I scoot closer. Climbing into his lap, I circle his neck with my arms and pull him to me. Trembling, he burrows into my chest. Still blind, I search with one hand in the darkness until I find his face.
Scratchy, stubbled jaw. Full lips. Sharp nose. His cheeks wet with tears.
“Jess?” He sounds dazed.
I lower my face to his, whispering, “I’m here. I’m here. You’re okay. The power went out. That’s all. You’re safe.” My cheek presses to his cheek, then my lips to his lips. I kiss him in the void of light, touch our only working sensation.
At first, his response is sluggish, but then he kisses me back, gasping consuming kisses, like he can’t breathe unless he’s breathing the same air as I am. I slide down his body until the length of me is molded to him. The pain of my torn-up feet and hands is long forgotten.
“Jess, Jessica, Jess,” he chants my name as his hands come to life. They thread into my hair so he can angle me to deepen our kiss. His tongue slips into my mouth as I open to him. His hands roam down to the straps of my nightgown. Without breaking his mouth from mine, he peels it off my shoulders so my breasts are freed.
West rolls and lays me flat on my back. He hovers over me, braced on one arm, while his other hand travels over my jaw, down my collarbone, and onto my breast. I arch into his palm, filled with longing. Spooked by what just happened, I need the physical reassurance of his touch. West trails kisses down my neck and over each peaked nipple. I cry out as he bites down gently.
“Are you real or am I dreaming?” he whispers into my skin.
My hands are in his hair. I tug his head until his mouth comes back up to meet mine. “Real,” I whisper back, right before we kiss.
Hands shuffle until we’re both naked. West moves between my legs and then pauses. His voice is steadier when he says in a hushed tone, “I don’t have a condom…is that…is it okay?”
I want to remind him that he’s the one who prescribed the birth control pill I slip onto my tongue every morning, that he’s the one who ordered the labs that show I’m clean, but this isn’t the time, so instead I reach down and guide him to my entrance. When he slips into me, it’s a new kind of high. The sensation of his skin on mine, of how it shifts and glides as he moves is so intensely arousing that I almost come right then.
It’s more than the physical, though. It’s a deepening of our emotional connection. How we’re peeling back parts of ourselves, revealing all the things that were hidden before. All the hurt and pain and grief. It’s there between us, and I want to help, to take care of him the way he takes care of his patients, of me.
“Adam,” I whisper, my breath catching as he hits a sensitive spot that feels so good. “I don’t know what happened just now, and you don’t have to explain until you’re ready, but I need to tell you something.”
At the sound of his first name, he slows down, stops, still hard inside me. In the blackness of his room, I can’t see his expression, which may be a good thing. I’m not sure I’d have the courage to go on otherwise.
“Adam, I know you don’t like the sound of your name. I—”
Hatred and grief curls toxicity into his words as he hisses, “ She used to say it all the time. I love you, Adam . I hate you, Adam . You ruined my life, Adam . You ungrateful piece of shit, Adam —” He cuts off abruptly and draws in a shuddering breath.
Tears spring to my eyes and tumble down my cheeks. I can’t fathom it, to be abused like that by your own parent. My house growing up was filled with love, but I’m realizing that his was a horror show beyond anything I’d imagined before. My heart shatters for him.
I cup his cheek, stroking it with my thumb. The way he leans into that caress with a sigh reminds me of when we first met back in my apartment. Of the first disastrous time I kissed him.
I gather my thoughts, wanting to make sure I get this right. “I hope I can help rewrite that part of your story. Maybe sometimes, not all the time, but sometimes I can call you Adam. I can tell you how you’re good—”
“No. No, I’m not.” He corrects me with so much conviction that it makes me cry harder. I hate her, the woman who broke him like this.
His mother.
“Yes. Yes, you are. You’re good and so kind and caring and—” I gulp, choking back my tears so he won’t notice I’m crying. I don’t want to make this about me. It needs to be about him, about us. “And I love you, Adam. You’re everything to me.”
A stunned silence, the quiet filled with only the steady drumbeat of our hearts, pressed together.
Then his lips are on mine and he’s thrusting deep, making love to me like his life depends on it. The lights come on, blinding in their harshness. There’s blood from my cuts everywhere. Smeared across his face and staining his white sheets. We’re fucking in it, in my blood, but I barely notice. All I can see is how he stares at me, his gaze adoring, worshipping.
“I love you, Jess. My pretty girl. I’ve loved you forever, and I’m going to keep on loving you until my bones break and my heart stops. That’s the only thing that will ever separate us because I’m never ever leaving you, and you can’t leave me either.”
My orgasm rips through me as the last of his words fade, but I heard every one of them. “Never.” I say the words I know he desperately needs to hear. “I’ll never leave you.”
“Promise me,” he demands as he comes shuddering inside me, and, for the first time, I feel his warmth fill me up and gush down my thighs. “Promise you’ll never go.”
Meaning it with every fiber of my being, I tell Adam, “I promise.”