27. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I still can’t believe I didn’t throw up.
I’m a weak fucking pussy who’s sickened by his own past. It disgusts everyone else who hears about it. Why would I be any different?
That’s why I couldn’t tell Jesse!
Fuck!
I shouldn’t have told Jesse.
But his eyes, his freckles, and his damned flushed ears made me feel like I was safe. Like I could find a home by his side. Then I fucked it up.
God knows what I’d have done if he hadn’t hit me.
I’m no better than Josh, Trevor, Sean, or Jet. And why? Because I’m a man and we only know one thing…
I catch my cheek in the mirror as I pace past the bathroom. The ice pack has stopped it from swelling too badly, but the bruise is already forming. It serves me right, though. I deserved it.
If Jesse doesn’t forgive me for this, I don’t know what I’ll do. Get the bruise tattooed permanently on my face as a reminder of how I screwed up the best thing I almost ever had? That might be a start.
My tongue rolls around my mouth in a witless attempt at self-comfort, but I’m jittering with anxiety. My stomach feels like a balloon is being blown up inside of it and just on the verge of popping. Dashing to my window, I push it up and grab my cigarettes—the loose ones shaking around inside the pack as my hand tremors.
Is this really what I need right now?
I’ve never seen Jesse smoke.
He must hate the smell on me.
Without giving it another thought, the cigarettes are midair and well on the way to hitting someone’s car bonnet. Though now I’ve thrown them away, I’m not sure what I was hoping to accomplish.
My mouth is almost instantly dry, and I start gnawing on my bitten-down fingernails.
Do I actually think not smoking will improve my chances with Jesse now? After I was a wretched human, continuously dangling a proverbial carrot in front of his face because having him pissed off and by my side, is an easier pill to swallow than slitting his throat and watching him bleed out in my arms.
Letting him in is a fate worse than death, because how can he desire someone he pities?
Pity is for starving children or a dog dying in the street. Never has a person ever uttered the words, damn, I pity that man so much I need him to fuck me.
I slam my window back down and scream. Loud.
I want it all out of me.
All the self loathing and doubt.
I’m sick to death of being numb or depressed with nothing in between.
I need a light at the end of the tunnel.
A reason to stop taunting death.
I want to trust.
To be trusted.
And be loved by somebody that I love back…
I hear Jesse’s door close and I stop breathing.
He’s so close. Two doors and a hallway feel almost insignificant compared to what we’ve been through. But they’re still there. And I hate them. We should be together. We should have always been together.