Chapter 35 #2
An incredulous sound escapes me. “You couldn’t? What does that even mean? You should have done everything in your power to fix it!” My eyes burn and my throat feels tight, like I can’t swallow properly. “And this whole time, you kept it from me. Why?”
“I couldn’t,” she repeats.
“What—You know what? It doesn’t even matter. I can’t even look at you right now.”
I stalk to her front door. I need to get out of here. I need to process this. I need . . . something.
“Please, don’t go, Mase.” I hear her scramble after me. “Let me explain.”
I whip around, almost causing her to barrel into me while her tear-streaked face and red eyes stare up at me.
“Do you have any idea how many lives you’ve changed by sending Jacob to prison?
Do you know how many you’ve ruined?” I swallow, my own guilt starting to surface like claws climbing my chest. “I fucking got as far away from him as possible because of my own damn demons, and he didn’t even do anything wrong.
” My words are choked as they leave me. “And now, I’m going to have to live with that. ”
Shoulders wound tight, I turn around and storm through her door, stomping down the wooden steps before coming to a stop at the bottom.
“Fuck!” I grip my head, heaving in air, but it feels like my throat was sewn shut.
Jacob was innocent.
Jacob is innocent.
Dropping my hands, I stalk across the street, then turn around and walk back, an agonized sound ripping from my throat.
My back finds the side of the building, and I slide down, the cold ground instantly seeping into my pants as I collapse in a heap. I don’t give a fuck.
How? How could she do that?
I know I didn’t exactly treat him fairly after I heard what happened; in fact, I believed the worst of him, and I’ll have to sit with that for the rest of my life, but I wasn’t the one who accused him in the first place.
Fucking innocent.
I stab my thumbs into my eye sockets and exhale harshly, sitting with my turning thoughts for a long while.
Ten years.
He spent ten years in prison for no reason, and she didn’t even try to get him out when she found out. Why the fuck wouldn’t she? Why did she leave him there to rot?
I can’t even—
Scrubbing a hand down my face, I try to calm the fuck down and regulate my breathing.
In . . . and out.
In . . . and out.
My eyes fall shut while I just sit and breathe.
She wanted to explain something to me, didn’t she? But I didn’t give her a chance.
Shit, I didn’t even ask her who the actual attacker was, or how she found out.
I thump my head against the wall behind me, then roll it to the side, looking up at the staircase beside me.
I’m sure that would have fucked her up, finding out she had accused the wrong person.
She’s been punishing herself ever since. I realize that now.
Jesus, no wonder she didn’t want anything to do with me when we met.
Besides her not wanting my help, I would have been a constant reminder for her.
It’s probably been gnawing away at her.
And it definitely couldn’t have been easy finally admitting it to me.
“Shit.”
Now that the initial shock is wearing off, and I’ve had a chance to think a little more clearly, my stomach is more knotted than ever.
I didn’t handle that very well.
Closing my eyes, I take a few more minutes to try to think rationally.
I’m still upset, still angry, and fucking mortified. But I understand there is a lot more to the story than I know right now. She was still raped by someone, and I need to keep that in mind when I speak to her again.
There has to be a good reason she didn’t come forward.
There has to be.
When I feel like I can stand again, I push to my feet, breathe in deeply, then release it slowly.
Maybe I should just go to my apartment tonight, then talk with her tomorrow with a clearer head.
I chew on the inside of my cheek.
That probably isn’t a good idea.
She was already really upset, and just thinking about her tear-filled eyes and stricken face makes my stomach turn. I don’t want her to spend the night alone like that, regardless of how I feel. And I need answers.
Instead of leaving, I slowly walk back up the wooden steps and knock.
No answer.
I try again, calling out her name as well, but still nothing.
A bad feeling pricks at the back of my neck, but I try to push it away. She probably went to bed, or she’s in the bathroom.
Or maybe she simply doesn’t want to see me after the way I reacted.
Regardless, I have to see her. “Jayne, I’m coming in.”
I’m grateful when the handle twists and the door opens.
The smell of fresh paint hits me when I step inside. Funny, I didn’t even notice it earlier.
“Jayne?”
She’s not in the living room or kitchen, so I move straight to the bathroom, where I see the light on, that bad feeling growing like icy tendrils up my spine.
My steps are hurried, but I come to an abrupt halt when I step into the bathroom and take in the gruesome scene in front of me.
No.
Fuck no.
“Jayne!” The organ in my chest jumps straight into my throat while the rest of my body drops to the floor beside her lifeless body.
Agonizing fear shoots through me, the world collapsing on top of me in a devastating heap.
Panic feels like a living, breathing thing inside me that shakes me to the core.
Blood, there’s too much of it. And she’s pale, too fucking pale.
But then I see her chest rise and eyelids flutter.
She’s still alive, still awake, but her half-lidded gray eyes are vacant of life. Empty.
“Jesus,” I croak, grabbing her wrist with one hand and holding it in a vice grip, while I palm her pale face with my other trembling hand. “Jayne, baby, what did you do?”
We were just talking this morning, just fighting half an hour ago; she’s in the same light pink sweater she wore earlier. How can she be the same person slumped on the bathroom floor, her sleeve pulled up and blood leaking out?
“You need to stay with me, okay? I don’t want you gone. I’m so sorry. Fuck. I’m so sorry.”
I don’t know all the right things to say to keep her here.
“Did you hear me?”
This is my fault.
Quickly retrieving my phone, I dial nine-one-one and ramble panicked responses to the woman on the other end of the line.
Tears sting the backs of my eyes, and I can see her cheeks are still wet. She was crying. Alone.
Just stay with me.
I use my shoulder to wipe the moisture from my cheek.
Heartbeats pound in my ears, and my lungs feel like they’re closing in on themselves.
Without letting go of her wrist, I reach for a drawer in her vanity, rifling through each one until I find a bandage.
“Stay with me, Jayne.”
After wrapping it tightly around her wrist, I palm her cheeks, smudging blood across her skin, then press my forehead to hers.
I’ve never felt so fucking helpless in my life.
“Please don’t leave me.”
Please, please don’t fucking leave me.