3. Jade
Jade
My head fucking kills.
It’s like a million boots stomped on my skull all at the same time, and I somehow lived. The dryness of my mouth makes me cough, and I try opening and closing it repeatedly to get some moisture back. Water—I need water.
What happened last night? I put my hand to my head, hoping to get the room to stop spinning. It doesn’t help.
Where am I? Pushing myself to a sitting position feels like I’m pushing the side of a mountain. It takes a million years, but I finally sit upright.
Where am I? Panic sets in as I realize I have absolutely no idea. I can’t remember anything about last night. Why can’t I remember anything about last night?
“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” I mutter, trying to push myself out of the plaid-covered bed I’m in, only to find I’m in a huge, unfamiliar T-shirt and black sweatpants that are at least two sizes too big. “What’s going on? Oh god.” My thighs are sore, my entire body hurts. But especially… between my legs.
No, no, no, no, no.
A hazy memory comes of someone holding me down and not being able to fight them off.
I said no.
Oh, god. I want to cry. I want to scream. But I have no clue where I am, who did this to me, or where Sarah is. How to get home.
A breakdown will happen. It just can’t happen right now, Jade.
Stumbling, I use the wall to help me walk to the door. The room itself is illuminated with sunlight that’s streaming in from the blinds, and I can tell it’s at least mid-morning. The white walls of the room are empty, giving me no information about where I’m at, but at least the room is tidy. The plaid sheets and bedspread seem clean and there’s a desk on the side of the room that’s covered in drawings. Remarkable, beautiful drawings.
One of a phoenix catches my eye. It’s done in charcoal, and seems so real. The feathers are so texturized and lifelike, the beak sharp and dimensional. Don’t get me started on the eyes… The artist has given the mythical bird such depth within their eyes. It’s astonishing.
I love to create, I love art, and I’d spend every spare second I have with my pencils and my sketchbook if I could. The person that created this picture put all their care into the piece. I can see how they felt with each stroke. It’s magnificent.
The wall around the desk has some drawings taped up. There’s a pair of boots by the closed door and shoes that look like mine lined up right next to them. I stumble closer and can see my bag at the end of the bed. Thank fuck I didn’t lose it. Hopefully my phone and money are still there.
I want to change out of these clothes, but honestly, I don’t have the strength for it yet. I need to shower. I want to burn my skin off; burn away every trace of the man who touched me. I want every reminder of him on my body gone.
Falling to the floor, I rifle through my bag, trying to find my phone with the hope it’s still charged. The little icon in the top corner glares at me, teasing me with 10%. It should be enough.
It’s going to have to be enough.
I dial my mom’s number, waiting on pins and needles until she picks up on the very last ring.
“Why are you calling me so early? You’re meant to be sleeping off a hangover.” Fucking fantastic, she’s annoyed already.
“Mom, something… something happened,” I whisper.
“What is it?” she asks, not sounding any more awake.
“Well…” Tears line my eyes. I try not to let the sobs flow as freely as I’d like, but they’re clear in my voice.
“Oh god,” she groans, and I can almost hear the eyeroll. “What happened?”
I don’t want to tell her. I don’t want to have her hear what I’ve gone through or what I think happened… but I feel so fucking awful. I need to tell someone. Someone.
“There was this guy,” I sob. “He, well, he was nice at the beginning, I think. He got me a drink and we played beer pong together. Then I think he took me somewhere and we… I think we…” A broken sob leaves my lips. “I think we had sex.”
“That’s why you’re calling me so early? You had sex? What, were you actually a virgin?” She’s fucking laughing at me. God, I’m so stupid to think she might care about me at all.
“I was.” I cry harder, careful not to wake up anyone here. I don’t know if the guy who raped me is still here, or if I’m somewhere else, but the last thing I want is someone coming in and hurting me more. “But he left, and I don’t know who he was really, or any of that.”
My mom chuckles condescendingly. “Jade, that’s called a one-night stand.”
“I don’t think?—”
I’m cut off by her mmm. “It is, and it’s okay. It’s common. Just find Sarah and come home whenever she’s ready.”
“That’s the other thing, Mom.” I wipe my cheeks as humiliation fills my body. “I don’t know where I am, and I don’t know where Sarah is. She basically left me the moment we got to the house.”
“That doesn’t sound like her,” Mom scoffs. Because of-fucking-course she would take Sarah’s side on this. She doesn’t even actually know the devil girl except through maybe a passing greeting here or there.
“You don’t fucking know her, Mom.”
“Jade, don’t you speak to me that way.”
“I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to tell you!” I snap, holding my head in my hands. I’m too hungover, too hurt for this conversation. “I don’t know where I am, I don’t know where Sarah is, and I don’t have enough battery life to go searching. What should I do?”
I hear a scoff across the line and then nothing.
Silence.
“Mom?” I ask, bringing the phone to my face. I find that goddamn annoying blinking light telling me my phone is shutting down.
“Shit!” I hiss in frustration, but then wince because that makes my head hurt more.
I’m on my own.
I don’t really have much of a choice, I have to figure out where I am and hope that guy—Hunter? Harry? Hudson?—isn’t here.
When I reach the door, I turn the knob as slowly as possible, hoping to keep quiet. Seeing there isn’t anyone in the hallway, I step out into the apartment, trying to notice as much as possible while my head feels full of cotton.
There’s art everywhere. Where the bedroom only had sketches and hand-drawn work, the walls of the hallway are filled with paintings and framed artwork. There is so much, you can barely see the white walls underneath. Walking into the living room, I hear soft snores coming from a bright purple couch.
Anxiety fills me and my hands start to shake. I tiptoe over to see who is there, whose apartment I’m in, and I’m struck speechless.
It’s not the guy from my hazy memory.
This guy is beautiful; dark hair with soft curls that fall across his forehead, black and white tattoos which disappear under the collar of his white T-shirt. His strong cheekbones and jaw are softened with sleep, the five-o’clock shadow darkening his soft-looking skin. His quiet snores are endearing as he sleeps. I’m leery, but I can’t help feeling bad that this hulk of a man is smushed on a small couch. He positively fills out the couch as he sleeps propped up on his side, with his arms crossed tightly across his chest so that he doesn’t fall. His legs are so long his feet have to hang off the side of the couch for him to fit comfortably.
I wonder what his eyes look like.
I wonder why I’m here with him. I wonder what happened to me… Although, I can guess.
Tears fill my eyes as I try to hold myself together. A soft sob escapes my lips, and I cover my mouth quickly. Shit.
Light blue, a beautiful ocean foam blue, eyes snap open and meet mine.
The mystery guy jumps up into a seated position and looks at me with wide eyes.
“Uh, hi,” he stutters, standing quickly. He backs up a few feet and rubs the back of his head before shaking his head to get the sleep out of his eyes. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m… well, I don’t know.” That’s as true of a statement as I can make. I don’t really know anything right now.
He nods awkwardly. “Yeah, I understand.”
“Who are you?” I ask.
“Oh, yeah, right. I’m so sorry. I told you last night, but I should’ve guessed you wouldn’t remember. I’m sorry.” This mystery man moves quickly to stand in front of me, holding out a hand. “I’m Asher Lee. What all do you remember from last night?”
“I know I went to that party with Sarah,” I stammer, ignoring his hand. “She ditched me very early on, and I think I played beer pong? And this guy…this guy gave me a drink. Made me chug it when I didn’t want to drink the beer.” The memories are too much as I try to sort through what’s real and what’s a nightmare. “He carried me over his shoulder, and I tried… I tried to…” A tear slips down my cheeks and I tighten my grip around myself. I can’t lose it now. I don’t know this guy. But it’s still too raw. Everything is going to shit, and it’s like I can’t control myself.
“It’s okay.” Asher comes closer, slowly enough where I’m not surprised when his hand rests on my shoulder. I don’t look at him, but can see where his free hand curls into a fist at his side. When he does speak again, his voice is rough, like he’s trying desperately to hold back emotions. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.”
“Do you know who did this to me?” I bite my lip to keep the sobs from escaping.
“No, I’m sorry. I wish I did, I’d make them pay.” He looks down like he’s ashamed. “I found you in the laundry room of that house, naked and alone. I covered you up and carried you out. But I didn’t know where to take you, so I brought you here—to my apartment.”
“How’d you get my bag?” I point back toward the direction of the bedroom.
His demeanor changes as his eyes narrow, his jaw clenching before he says anything. “I met your friend with the curly hair outside. She’s… quite the character.” He puts his hands in his jean pockets and shakes his head.
“She’s a bitch,” I snap. “And she’s definitely not my friend.”
“I can agree with you there.” The way he says that so quickly makes me wonder what happened, what Sarah did to him.
“So, you found me, brought me to your house, and just hoped for the best?” I ask.
Asher chuckles and walks backward toward the small kitchenette in the corner of the room. “That I did. You seemed like a nice girl.” He shrugs and gestures to the coffee pot. “Coffee?”
“Sure,” I reply hesitantly. I mess with the end of my shirt and pull it down slightly.
Asher smiles, nods, and starts gathering the coffee grounds. “Any specific way? I take my coffee black, but I might have some milk. Maybe I can find a Sweet-n-Low somewhere.” He starts rifling through his drawers for sugar, and I have to admit, it’s very sweet.
“No, it’s fine. Milk is okay.” I really only drink coffee with an unhealthy amount of creamer, sugar and flavored syrups, but right now, any warm liquid seems comforting.
I watch him like a fucking hawk. Making sure he’s only— only —using coffee. After last night, I won’t make that mistake again.
He sighs in relief and starts to make a large pot of coffee for us. Taking advantage of the lull in conversation, I start to look around more. The kitchenette is small, functional, and organized. Asher has a butcher block cart in the middle which serves as an island of sorts. The living room is connected, and while it’s obviously a bachelor pad, I can see he cares for his place. It’s evident by the art on the walls and the way everything is picked up and clean. There’s a big TV across from the purple couch and a small art-deco armchair next to it.
“I like your place,” I offer softly, looking around at all the artwork in the living room. There’s no real discernable style to the collection. There’s a little bit of everything: paintings, chalk, watercolor, black and white, color, all pastels, neon. It’s like he’s collecting everything.
“Thanks.” Asher brings me a ceramic cup with milky brown coffee.
“Do you have a certain style you prefer, or do you just strive to collect every style?” I gesture to the walls with my cup.
“I collect what I like. That’s it.” He shrugs. “If it makes me happy, I bring it home.”
Nodding, I take a sip of the coffee, doing my best to cover my grimace. I should know by now that saying I like something to be cool will only get me into trouble.
Asher’s looking at me, and I meet his gaze head on.
“I’m Jade. Jade Henderson,” I whisper.
“Very nice to meet you, Jade.” He smiles softly with his reply. It’s a smile I can trust, or at least I think I can.
“Very nice to meet you, Asher. Thank you, by the way.”
“For what?” His eyebrows furrow together as he sips his black coffee.
“For saving me.”
* * *
The full force of everything that’s happened hits me all at once, weighing me down until I can’t move from Asher’s couch. He hasn’t pushed me to leave, but I don’t know if he has work or something like that. Maybe he has a girlfriend who is going to stomp into the apartment at any minute, freaking the fuck out once she sees me staring blankly at the wall. I’m sure I’ve overstayed my welcome; I probably should feel guilty about that, but honestly, I really don’t care.
“What am I going to do?” I mutter softly. The forgotten coffee mug is still in my hands, well past the point of cooling. “How am I going to get home? How am I going to face people?” The words spill faster as my chest tightens. “How can I face my mother? Fuck, Sarah’s going to tell her mom and then she’s going to spin a stupid fucking story to make it my fault.”
“Your mother would take Sarah’s word over yours?” Asher asks, cocking his head in question.
I chuckle darkly. “Without question.”
“What a shitty mother,” he scoffs and takes a drink of his coffee.
“Sarah was my ride here,” I explain. “She was meeting some guy named Kyle who she said she was dating.” His lips twitch as he cocks an eyebrow, but he doesn’t stop me. “My mom and her mom pushed for this. We hate each other.”
As hopeless as I may seem right now, I actually feel calm at Asher’s house, in his presence. Calm and safety are two things I need right now, but I know this poor guy probably has other things he needs to do today rather than babysit a nineteen-year-old girl who is, honestly, a fucking mess.
I set the still full mug down on the wooden coffee table and stand.
“Thank you so much, Asher, really. But I better get out of your hair. I’m sure you have better things to do today.” I chuckle humorlessly and start to move toward the bedroom to change into whatever clothes I have left.
“Wait,” Asher says quickly, standing and reaching out to me. There’s an eagerness in his light blue eyes. “How, uh, how are you getting home? Where is home?”
I groan, closing my eyes and letting my head drop forward in frustration. “About three hours from here,” I sheepishly admit.
His eyes widen. “Wow. I was not expecting that.” He sets his coffee mug down beside mine, putting his hands back in his pockets. He keeps doing that, like he’s trying to make sure I know he won’t reach out unexpectedly.
While it’s a little thing, it does make me feel better.
“Yeah. Not my smartest idea,” I grumble, even though none of it was my idea.
“You came all the way to Carver for a fraternity party?” Asher’s expression shows me just how unimpressed he is with that idea, especially considering the person I came with as ‘back-up’ immediately stabbed me in the back. “Your ride told me last night that you had to find your own way home. Do you think she left already?”
I have no idea. My phone’s dead and apparently Sarah had no problem just letting a random guy take me home last night while I was obviously drugged.
I hate her so fucking much.
My heart starts beating harder and my cheeks redden with anger and embarrassment.
“I don’t know. But I’ll figure it out.” I reply.
“The hell you will,” he growls. His voice is deep and commanding, unintentionally making me freeze up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…” He runs a hand over his hair, shaking his head slightly. I don’t know what to do and it looks like neither does he. Asher sighs and tries again. “I just mean, if you’re okay with waiting until after my shift at the shop, I’ll gladly drive you home.”
My mouth drops in shock. “No, Asher, there’s no way I’m letting you drive me three hours away just to then drive three hours back home. That’s insane.” I can’t let him do that. He’s done far too much for me already. “Thank you, but I can’t ask you to do that.” I turn back to walk towards the room, but he walks a few steps towards me.
“I’m happy to, really.”
“Why?” I ask skeptically, raising an eyebrow. I’m already out on a limb, but I’m not stupid.
“Because it’s the right thing to do,” Asher replies, shrugging his shoulders. “I know you’ve been given a shitty hand these last two days, and I can’t in good conscience let you ‘figure out’ some way home. What does that even mean? Hitchhiking? Yeah fucking right! That’s not going to happen.” He shakes his head, looking angry, but takes a deep breath and lets his hand drop in front of him. “Seriously, if you’re okay with it, I’d really like to provide you a safe ride home so that I know you’re okay.”
“What am I, some charity case to you?” I snap back, my hands curling into fists at my sides.
“No. No, Jade. I just…” He struggles to speak before running his hands through his hair again and sighing deeply. “I feel… I want to—no, I need —to take care of you. I can’t explain it, I just… I need to.” My frustration and humiliation soften a little at how completely desperate he looks. It’s confusing.
To both of us.
He takes a step closer to me, stopping right before me.
“Will you let me? I know it’s not fair right now to ask, but can you trust me?” The blues of his eyes are icy, clear, and coiled with a clear-sky blue ring. They’re so clear, I can almost see what he’s thinking.
And he’s begging me to trust him.
But can I?