thirty-three: in which she struggles with his conscience

"What doesn't kill you makes you wish you were dead" -Bring Me the Horizon, Drown

********************************

I... can't... breathe...

Yes, you can. You've just forgotten how...

I woke up in a sweat, in an empty bed, in a room that wasn't mine. I should've been used to that by now, but I wasn't. Not even close.

And it was late. Or early, depending on how you looked at it.

The room was pitch-black but the shower was on and the bathroom door was ajar. Sitting up in bed, I listened as the water continued to run until I became doubtful that there was someone even in the shower.

I knocked on the door before pushing it open all the way. The first thing I really noticed was that there wasn't any steam, so Jake was obviously taking a cold shower. The water at his feet was a pale pink, the blood having mixed with the water, and with his back to me, he was pounding a fist into the ceramic wall of the shower.

My voice caught in my throat and my feet wouldn't move.

He stopped, breathing heavily, before starting up again, slamming his closed hand into the wall again and again, the sick thwack of bone against wall only muted by the harsh spray of water on his back.

I moved.

I didn't even think until I had slid the glass door open and I was stepping into the icebox he was standing in. My body instantly protested, begging me to turn away from the icy water.

"Jake, stop," I pleaded, putting my hand on his back. "Stop hurting yourself!"

He stopped, but only to turn abruptly and back away from me. There was no sign of wounding on his body, and wasn't it crazy that I was relieved that the blood in the water wasn't his? Because it belonged to someone, and how messed up was it that I was glad that that person was hurt and not my Jacob?

There was a wild look in Jake's eyes, a look I definitely didn't recognize, and it was if he was looking right through me. I wanted to reach behind him to turn the water off but for some reason, I kept still, as if any sudden movement would scare him. Or provoke him.

"Jake," I said slowly, "you have to get out of the shower now. Let me dry you off and -"

"They were just kids," he uttered hoarsely. "Just a bunch of stupid fuсking kids."

He held his hands out, slowly unfurling his closed fists. I chewed on my bottom lip, totally at a loss for what to say. I was shivering, my hair was matted to my face, and my ex was naked and admitting he'd possibly murdered some children.

"J-Jacob? Look at m-me," I told him, rubbing my arms to keep warm.

"Maya?" he said, as if seeing me for the first time. His eyes drifted from the top of my head to the hem of his T-shirt covering my body. "Why are you in here?"

"C-can you p-p-please turn the water off?"

Without taking his eyes off me, he reached behind and shut the water off.

"What kids?" I asked without thinking.

Immediately, he let out a wounded sound and leaned back, hitting his head against the wall. He did that again, and again, and this time, I had to physically stop him.

"Are you trying to kill yourself?" I screamed, holding him by the shoulders.

"Maybe that would be better," he choked out, voice heavy with emotion. "Women and kids - you don't fuсk with women and kids. Fuсk."

I ignored that. "Tell me what happened tonight," I whispered, even as he was shaking his head no.

"I'm a monster, Maya. This... What I've done... I can't go back after this. I can't be yours."

"Tell me."

His eyes searched mine. And the story poured out. How McNally had kids working for him; seventeen-, eighteen-year-old boys they called runners, boys who did menial tasks, like selling drugs to friends. How Jake and a few other Phantoms discovered their warehouse, How, despite how young those boys were, they'd been trained to kill...but of course, they hadn't been any match against Jake. It was only after the massacre, when there was so much blood and gore, that they'd noticed how young these kids were.

"Can I touch you?" I asked.

His eyes were red with unshed tears and he whispered, "Please."

I closed the small space between us and hugged him, almost tentatively. With my cheek pressed to his chest, I said, "You didn't realize until it was too late, Jacob. You didn't. You feel guilty and remorseful and it's okay to cry. It's okay to let it out that way."

I felt his body shake, felt his arms tighten around me as he let it out. He cried, and I cried. Seventeen was too young, and maybe he would never come back from that.

***

Expecting the bed to be empty when I woke up, like it usually was, I made a sound of surprise when I rolled over and hit my forehead against Jake's.

"Motherfucker," I exclaimed, jerking away and rubbing my head.

"I'm gonna have to wash your mouth out with soap," said Jake, not even opening his eyes.

"Is your skull made of titanium?"

"Concrete, my ma used to say." He opened his eyes, giving me a smug grin as he continued to lie on his side. "Sorry, babe."

"You're not sorry," I muttered.

"I am," he said, moving close so he could kiss my forehead. "All better, right?"

I couldn't breathe. Just like in my dream. His lips on my skin had brought the nightmare back - that horrifying feeling of being suffocated by something, and my late aunt Stacy telling me that all I had to do was remember how to inhale and exhale. Nightmares like that were being increasingly frequent.

The smile left Jake's face. He scooted away from me. "Sorry."

"It's not you," I said quickly, reaching for his hand beneath the sheet. "I was thinking about something else."

His fingers interlaced with mine and he brought them into the light, running his fingertips along my knuckles. "How can you still want to touch me - to be with me like this - after last night?" he wanted to know, sounding genuinely confused.

I could feel my face clouding over with the memory. Jake had been so descriptive, likely not realizing it, and afterwards - after we'd dried ourselves off and fallen into bed naked together - I'd gotten up and emptied my stomach in the toilet. I'd sobbed as I brushed my teeth and then I'd sat on the floor for the longest time, asking God to forgive those kids. And Jake. Him, too.

"Because I love you," I replied, "and because...because you didn't cry when I told you that your mother had passed, but you cried for some boys you never even knew."

His eyes drifted to a spot over the curve of my shoulder when he said, "I can never forgive myself for it, Maya. I won't allow myself to."

I brought his bruised knuckles to my lips and kissed them, and the silence blanketing us was comfortable. His eyes slid shut and I pressed my lips against his other hand, softly.

"Maya," he whispered, "thank you."

Before I knew it, I was on my back and he was hovering above me. I thought he was about to kiss me - in fact, I welcomed it - but he put his nose to my neck, breathing in.

"Home," he murmured, his lips tickling my skin.

His mouth dipped lower as he eased his body lower, and lower, under the covers. I felt his tongue skim my navel, felt his lips on my clenched stomach. He pulled my legs apart and kissed the inside of both thighs before bending my legs at the knees.

In reality, it had been all of two weeks since we'd been like this. In my head, it felt like decades.

A sharp cry escaped my mouth when Jake's tongue slid up the lips of my puѕsy, and I clamped a hand over my mouth, my eyes shifting to the door. For all of two seconds, I worried that someone might hear, but Jake put a stop to that by sucking my clit into his mouth. After that, the only thing I cared about was getting off.

"Jake," I cried, tearing at the sheets as he tore inside me with his whip-like tongue. "Jake, Jake, Jake, Jake..."

It became a repetitive chant that became louder and louder as pleasure overwhelmed me. He stopped sucking and licking in order for him to rub my wet puѕsy with two skilled fingers.

"More," I begged, and he pushed a finger, then another, inside me, nudging at my clit with his knuckles. He went fast, deep and I couldn't even find the words to convey my pleasure.

He had barely begun when his mouth latched on once more and I was mindlessly rubbing myself against his face. The fact that I could hear him - hear his tongue inside my vagina, hear his muffled groans - made me wetter. Just the slightest press of his thumb against my engorged clitoris and I was coming.

Jake held my hips down, his tongue lapping at my release. It became unbearable, being forced to endure more pleasure, but my first climax blended into another and I was gasping for air once it was over.

I thought of something as he poked his head out, eyes dark and full of yearning.

"Don't tongue-fuсk me out of some misguided sense of gratitude, Ford," I said breathlessly. "Tongue-fuсk me because you want your tongue inside my vagina."

For a second, he looked puzzled, and then memory served him well and he smiled big. "Funny. That was how many months ago?"

"Let's see... That was the night I lost my virginity, so that was -"

"Four months ago," he finished for me.

"A lot can happen in four months." I was saying this to myself, mostly.

"I said a lot of bullshit that night," he told me, brushing my damp hair off my forehead.

"Quote-unquote, sappy you're-my-first- bullshit, if I recall correctly," I said, but I was smiling.

"Like I said - bullshit. You're the only woman who's ever made me wish I was a virgin the first time we fuсked."

"Wow, Jake. That should be a Hallmark card."

He laughed, rolling off of me and pulling me with him. "What I mean is, you probably didn't feel like it was...you know, special. And it was. For me."

I rolled my eyes down at him. "Oh, God. You've gone soft on me. Wet-Kleenex soft."

"I mean it, baby. I had wanted you for a long fuсking time before that."

I pulled myself off of him. "Please don't tell me you were lusting after me while you were with my cousin."

His brow furrowed and he sat up so fast he was almost a blur. "Of course, not! You were fuсking underage, anyway, remember?" He rubbed at the temples of his forehead and took a deep breath. "I meant from that moment you visited me in prison, wearing some weird-ass floral skirt and asking me if my handcuffs hurt. I wanted you."

I swallowed hard.

"You were kind to me, even when you thought I was responsible for Ella's death," Jake continued. "You were kind to me, and I wanted to fuсk you right there on the table, prison guards be damned."

I let out a breath, feeling my skin flush. What the heck could I say to that?

"Why did you eat me out just now?"

Oh, yes, Maya. You could always just say that, the voice in my head said sarcastically. The village of Rembitaboflafla is missing their idiot. Go home, girl.

"I mean, are you hoping for sex?" I added quickly. "Because that isn't happening. We're not -"

"I missed your taste," was Jake's response. "That's it."

He slid out of bed, standing with his back to me.

"Where are you going?" I asked, just because I wanted something to say.

"To take care of this," he muttered, turning around and gripping the base of his erection. "Is that cool with you, babe?"

"Go."

Chuckling, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

That was the exact moment I heard a knock at the door. Whoever it was wouldn't come in until I told them, would they? In any case, I ducked beneath the covers, pulling them over my entire body before I asked who it was.

"It's me - Daisy. There's a woman in the living room who says she's your aunt." Daisy paused. "I thought your whole family was dead, Maya."

I... can't... breathe...

Yes, you can, Aunt Stacy said with a laugh. You've just forgotten how...