BROKEN AND SCREWED(Broken_Part One)(4)

His shoulders drooped as he took a breath. Hearing the shuddering inhale from him, I clasped my eyes closed.
I heard the pain in him. My own matched his and I wanted to go to him. But that was how it happened the last time. Nothing good came out of that except more suffering.
I felt my wall crumble and whispered, “I’m tired of hurting, Jesse.”
He looked back up. The cockiness was gone. The anger still burned in his eyes, but he had stuffed it down. I knew it was there, though. But it didn’t keep me away. His torment was on the surface and he let me see that.
Tears burst from my dam. I couldn’t stop them.
“It’s the exact time that it happened, you know. Right now. It’s 11:05. June 2.”
The pain suffocated me, but I couldn’t turn away. I nodded with my throat full. “I know.”
Jesse sighed again and stretched his legs down. He slid off the trunk and leaned against it. The moonlight flashed over his flask as he raised it again. As I heard it empty, he tossed it aside and crossed his arms over his chest. Even though Jesse was lean, his biceps bulged from the movement. He had always worked out, but since Ethan died he had doubled his time there.
“My god. I f*cking loved that guy.”
A hand reached inside and squeezed my heart. More tears streamed from my eyes. I was helpless to stop them, but I choked out, “I know.”
“Drive me home?”
My eyes closed again and I wrapped my arms around myself. There it was. That was the request I knew was coming. My heart thundered while I tried to think clearly. And then I said, “Yes.”
The corners of his lips curved up, just slightly.
We didn’t speak after that. We didn’t need to. I went to the driver’s side. He went to the passenger side and neither of us said a word as I drove past his black Ferrari or even when we pulled up to the mansion his father had built when Jesse’s mother had been dying. As we walked through the hallways, up the stairs, and to his back bedroom my heart was calm. I was calm. And that made me not calm.
I shouldn’t have been calm.
Jesse went to his bar and poured vodka into a glass. He slid it across the counter to me. I picked it up and waited until he poured one for himself.
It was the third time we’d done this. Ethan’s funeral. Ethan’s birthday. And now the anniversary of the day Ethan’s car wrapped itself around a tree. He died a year ago and nothing was the same.



CHAPTER TWO


When I woke up, I rolled over. I wasn’t surprised to see Jesse beside me. Images of the night flashed in my head as I relived the erotic moments. There was a bittersweet taste in my mouth. I couldn’t stop myself from looking at his back. He was turned away from me with his arms bunched around the pillow under his head. He was on his stomach and I could see the sculpture he had created over the last year. He’d been ripped before, but he was defined, molded, and a piece of art now.
I sighed and wet my lips. The night had been one big blur of blind primal need. A carnal lust took over when I was near him and that was the problem. Jesse hated me. He needed me on the nights when neither of us could escape Ethan’s ghost, but the next morning would be another story.
As he stirred, I hurried out of the bed and dressed. When I couldn’t find my shirt, I spied a sweatshirt on the chair and grabbed it.
“What the f*ck are you doing?”
I froze from the savagery in his voice. Then I turned around as I pulled the sweatshirt over my head and gulped. He sat on the edge of the bed with clear hate in his eyes. “What?”
The small hope I’d had for morning pleasantries, maybe more, died inside. I looked away as I felt tears coming. I shoved them down, deep down, and hardened inside as I looked back.