Regretting You Read online

  “You remember how much Jillian loved writing, don’t you?” Jackson’s whisper fills my ears and my entire body tenses at her name.

  Jillian. If it isn’t the loss of her that kills me, it’ll be the guilt that I’m left with. It’s like a fresh wound that never heals, even years later. It only seems to fester, never getting better. Every single time I think about her, there is nothing but pain, sadness, and guilt.

  Refusing to acknowledge Jackson, I continue doodling on my paper while pretending that I’m not completely zoned out. I don’t want to feel right now. Don’t want to breathe or be here.

  My fingers itch to inflict pain…

  “What? Don’t you remember anything about your best friend? Or is it that you just can’t acknowledge the fact you killed someone? That you ripped a future right out from under her feet?” The pain in his voice cuts through me like a dull butter knife. I should tell him I’m sorry, but I’m not stupid. Sorry, won’t bring her back. Sorry, won’t take the pain away. He hates me just as I hate him. It’s a double-edged sword that neither of us will escape without casualty.

  I feel tormented, broken. I don’t want to feel. Don’t want to drown in guilt and shame. Curling my hand into a tight fist, I sink my nails into the meat of my palm. At first it stings, but then pain erupts across my hand, and something in my head clicks; it’s almost like I get a high from hurting myself. It’s a momentary second of silence before everything comes back down on me. Pain triumphs any and all other emotions, it swallows them whole. Pain is the only thing that shuts it all down.

  I’m lost in thought when I feel Jackson’s hand creep up the nape of my neck. Every hair on my body stands on end. Heat spreads up my chest and into my cheeks when I feel his hand circle the back of my neck. Squeezing as if my flesh is a stress ball, he leans forward in his seat. Hot breath fans against my ear, and even though I shouldn’t, my body responds to the closeness of his.

  “I’m going to enjoy watching you suffer. Watching you drown in your own misery. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be wishing it had been you that died that night and not my sister.” A lump forms in my throat, and instantly, I’m drawn back into that memory.

  Her lifeless body hanging there, vacant eyes, a future that she never got to have because of me. I was a killer. It was my choice to drive that night. I killed her. Killed us.

  Squeezing my neck hard enough to leave bruises, he releases me with a shove, and I force a ragged breath into my lungs, not even realizing I was holding my breath.

  “I’m expecting those papers to be done within the next three weeks,” Mrs. Jarrid exclaims from the podium at the front of the room. Like stepping too close to the sun, I can feel the heat of Jackson at my back, and I have to get away, get out of this room, get to my apartment, and release my emotions.

  Standing abruptly, I bump my legs against the table, making a commotion as I shove my stuff into my bag. I know people are watching me, staring, but I don’t care.

  “Where are you going, killer?” Jackson taunts, but I ignore him. My shoe catches on the side of the table as I rush out of the room, but I steady myself before I eat dirt. I don’t dare look over my shoulder. I don’t want to see his sadistic grin or dark gaze that was once the one thing I looked forward to every day. I don’t want to remember that he used to be my world.

  I want to forget.

  Escaping the room, I rush down the hall and burst through the double doors. The sun kisses my skin, and the air blows through my hair. I’m alive, but am I living? The thought comes from nowhere, and I push it away. I can’t get my feet to move fast enough, and each step to my apartment feels like an eternity, my shoes weighed down with bricks.

  A group of girls rush past me on the sidewalk, they’re laughing and talking amongst themselves. Like normal college girls. I keep my head down and focus on the cracks in the sidewalk for the rest of the way to my small apartment. It’s only a short walk to campus, and I got this by design. I didn’t want to live in the dorms close to people, but I didn’t want to live so far away that I couldn’t walk. Since driving is out of the question for me.

  Even if I hadn’t lost my driver’s license after the accident, I wouldn’t have gotten behind the wheel again. I don’t think I will ever be able to drive again, I can barely stand riding in a car in general. I’ve only gotten in a car with my parents since the accident, and I don’t see that changing in the future.

  I sigh when I finally reach my apartment and retrieve my keys from my pocket with a shaking hand. Relief is so close, close enough that I can almost taste it. Unlocking the door, I hurry inside and close it behind me before clicking the lock back into place. I deposit my stuff on the floor and rush into the bathroom.

  My hands are shaking with anticipation as I pull my pants down and step out of them. I open the medicine cabinet and grab the tiny box where I keep the razor blades. With trembling fingers, I grab one and put the rest on the counter.

  Sinking to the floor with my back against the tub, I look down at my thighs. There are countless scars that decorate my skin. Most are so tiny they are barely noticeable; some are bigger, and others are still red, raised, and healing.

  I don’t exactly know why I started doing this, but one day, I felt the need to do it. It started with nothing more than pushing the blade into my skin and later turned to deeper cuts. The rational part of me knows it’s wrong to do this, but it’s my one reprieve, for one second, I feel nothing, not shame or guilt, or fear. I might not know why I began, but I know that somewhere along the way, it morphed into something else… an addiction.

  The one thing that helps me get through each day.

  Holding the razor blade between my fingers, I bring it to a spot of unblemished skin and slide it across, watching as the skin separates.

  Blood starts to pool along the blade, and my hand stops shaking, a euphoric feeling washes over me. The pressure on my chest is released, and suddenly, I can breathe again. Air enters my lungs rapidly as I suck in a deep breath and push the blade into my skin just a tiny bit deeper. Every time I do this, it becomes a little harder not to cut deeper, to stop myself from sinking the blade as deep as I can.

  Do I want to kill myself? I don’t know. What I do know is I’ll do anything for five seconds of silence. Watching as the blood drips slowly down my leg, I feel satisfied. My vision becomes blurry, and my skin burns where the blade sliced through it, but it doesn’t hurt. I think it should hurt, though all I feel is sated. Still, I need more.

  Moving the blade a little lower, I cut myself again, sliding the blade across my skin. More burning, more euphoria… more silence.

  Nothing can touch me when I’m inside my bubble. Not the memories. Not Jackson. Not the past. My emotions don’t exist here. All I can feel is right now. Closed off from the world, there is nothing else that can reach me.

  Inside here, I’m free, the pain I inflict on myself absorbs everything around me, making it possible to hold on for one more day.

  One more day.

  One more cut.

  3

  Jackson

  We all have our vices. Before my sister died, I was focused on my grades, on my future. I was a good kid. I didn’t drink or fight. I didn’t even smoke weed.

  I had sex, but nothing like I do now. Using my body as a weapon, screwing any chick that bats her eyes at me. I used to be focused on being the perfect son and brother. Now, I focus on nothing but momentary pleasure. Anything that gets me through the day.

  When Jillian died, a piece of me died with her. It broke off, shattered. My heart became a black hole for anger and pain. Now that she’s here, I’m reminded of that loss and the pain. My anger is amplified.

  “You sure you want to do this tonight?” Talon interrupts my thoughts. I met him during freshman orientation at Blackthorn. I wasn’t trying to make friends, but the fuckface wouldn’t leave me alone, and so here we are now.

  Glaring at him, I continue stretching. “We’re doing this, either that or I can pi
ck some random prick off the street and beat the shit out of him.”

  Talon shrugs. “I guess. You know they have classes to deal with this shit, right?”

  “What shit?” I pretend as if I have no idea what he’s talking about.

  Talon doesn’t know me. He thinks he does because we fuck the same girls and have drinks together, but he doesn’t really know me. He doesn’t know the feelings I harbor, my past, the loss I’ve endured. He thinks I have an anger problem, and he’s not wrong. I do.

  But if he knew why I’m angry, if he knew what happened, then he would understand better. Problem is, I don’t give a fuck about making him understand better.

  “Why you always play stupid?” He grins at me.

  Arching a brow, I reply, “Why you always ask stupid questions?”

  Talon doesn’t respond and just shakes his head at me. It’s for the best, I tell myself. I’m not here for friends. In fact, I wouldn’t be here at all if my mother hadn’t guilted me into it.

  Every Saturday night just outside of Blackthorn, at an abandoned warehouse, there is a fight. It’s called the pits and for good reason, because two fuckers enter the “pit” and clobber the shit out of each other. At the end, there is only one winner. Most of the time, it’s me, sometimes, it’s some other fucker. I don’t really care who wins, because at the end of the day I get my aggression out either way.

  I guess you could say it’s my personal version of anger management. Tonight there’s only a small crowd. I look over to Franco, the guy who puts these things on, while I continue stretching, cracking each knuckle on my hand, as well as my neck.

  The smell of sweat and smoke clings to the air. My muscles tighten at the mere thought of pulverizing one of these assholes’ faces.

  “You know the rules, fuckers. Tap out or knock out. Winner takes all the cash. We got a small crowd, but you better make it worth it for them tonight,” Franco scolds as if we’re elementary students who can’t listen or comprehend basic rules.

  Blocking him out, I scan the crowd, the girls are licking their lips, and batting their eyes as they look me and the other fighters up and down. We aren’t seen as regular frat boys here. We’re seen as sexed-up warriors, and these ladies want to take a bite out of us.

  “Into the pit, you two,” Franco orders, and I hop down into the makeshift ring, landing on the balls of my feet. I’ve ditched my shirt and am wearing a pair of low hanging shorts and tennis shoes. Sweat dribbles down my back and chest, my muscles tingle, and I lift my gaze, making eye contact with the guy across from me.

  I’m going to fuck up his face tonight.

  Grinning like a shark, I wait for the bell to ring. As soon as the sound pierces my ears, I take a step forward. The fucker in front of me does the same, but instead of sizing me up, he makes the first move, his fist flying through the air, and in the direction of my head.

  Naturally, I duck and kick my leg out, taking him out at the feet. The sound of skin hitting skin is all I can hear, and it feeds into the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I feel high as I lurch forward and pummel the guy with my closed fists.

  My knuckles make contact with his nose, and a sickening crunch meets my ears a moment before blood pours out. Even with blood coating my chest and hands, I don’t stop. I can’t. Each punch makes my muscles burn, and my heart thunder in my chest. Fuck, there is nothing better than beating the shit out of someone.

  Focused on the fight, I don’t realize two of Franco’s men are pulling me off of him. He gets back up, and they release me. He’s watching me, his eyes bleed into mine as he wipes away the blood from his lip. The crowd roars as Franco speaks into the microphone. Clenching my jaw, my molars grind together. The anger rippling through me is now at a low simmer, but it’s still there, and I want it gone. I want her gone.

  My lips curl at the thought of her, and I take a step toward the nameless guy. He follows, and soon we’re slugging each other. I let him get in a few punches and kicks because the pain overshadows everything else, it dulls all the other emotions I’m feeling.

  Fighting until we’re both exhausted, I get the guy on the ground and pound his face in until he’s screaming, his hand slapping against the ground over and over again. Then I stand and let Franco lift my hand, letting everyone know that I’ve won.

  Climbing out of the pit, I’m greeted by Talon and two chicks I’ve never seen before. Their tits are hanging out, and they’re wearing shorts that leave very little to the imagination.

  I bet I could fuck them right here in front of everyone if I wanted to, and neither of them would object.

  The brunette purrs, rubbing against me, placing her hand on my shoulder. “Let’s fuck,” she leans in, and whispers yells.

  “Yeah, Jackson, won’t you fuck us?” The brunette’s friend adds, batting her eyes seductively at me. Rolling my shoulders, I shake the brunette’s hand off me.

  “No, thanks, babes, maybe later.”

  Both girls give me a pout but walk away on unsteady feet.

  Running my bloody hands through my hair, I turn to Talon, who is counting out the cash that Franco just gave him.

  “I need a beer,” I grunt, already feeling the familiar ache in my muscles. There’s a calmness inside of, me but I know a couple of drinks will make that calmness last a little longer, spread throughout my body. Slowly, my heart rate returns to a normal pace. Talon passes me a beer, and I pop it open and guzzle it down like water, crushing the can when I’m finished.

  Fuck is that refreshing.

  “Good fight tonight, Jackson. Maybe consider coming every Saturday?” Franco hints, just as he has been for the last month. He wants to highlight me as one of the main fighters, but I don’t give a fuck about what he wants. I come here to let loose, mainly so I can make it through the fucking week without committing some type of murder.

  My mom would be heartbroken if I ended up in prison.

  “No, thanks. I’ll let you know if I ever change my mind though.” I sling my shirt over my shoulder and head for the door. Talon is hot on my heels, and I snatch another beer from him as we walk out to his car. The cool night air makes me shiver when it connects with my sweat-clad chest. Tipping the beer to my lips, I swallow down the frothy beer, letting the cold liquid cool me from the inside out.

  Wiping my face with my shoulder, I crush yet another can and toss it over my shoulder once we reach Talon’s car.

  “Dude, you want to binge drink tonight or something?” Talon says, unlocking his SUV. His family has money, hell, everyone that goes to Blackthorn has money. Or grades. Good grades will get you in, it’s how I got in, after all.

  “I mean, it doesn’t sound like a bad idea, but…” I pause as I open the car door and hop inside. “Actually, I’ve got a better idea.”

  “What’s better than binge drinking?” Talon cocks his brow, and even in the dark, I can see the smile tugging at his lips. In a way, he’s the devil’s advocate, sometimes pushing me to do shit, while other times, he tugs me back away from the edge.

  “Tormenting someone.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?” he asks, shifting the car into drive.

  “It means I need you to take me over to Oakwood apartments.”

  “What’s at Oakwood?”

  “It isn’t what but who.”

  “Sounds mysterious. Want to clue me in?” he asks, a little more curiously than I like. Do I want to tell him about Kennedy? No. My brain replies before I can even think about it. And not because I don’t want him to know who she is, or because I’m hiding something. I’m not. I don’t want him to know about her because I’m not ready for him to start asking questions, so leaving this entire thing open-ended is the best.

  “Not really. It’s no one important. I just need to stop by and pay them a little visit. Then I’ll meet you back at the complex.”

  Twisting around in my seat, I grab another beer and open it just as Talon speaks, “You don’t want me to stay and give you a ride home?”

 
“Nah, I’m fine to walk. It clears my head,” I say before taking a chug of the beer.

  I’m a lot calmer now. My head felt like it’d been run through a blender the last time I talked to Kennedy. Being so close to her, her scent surrounding me, having her so close but yet so far away. She’s the only thing that I’ve left of my sister, and yet, I want to watch her burn. Want to see her bleed. No amount of pain I inflict on her would ever bring Jillian back, but it would make me feel better, and that’s the best I have.

  “You sure you don’t want me to wait for you?” Talon says when we finally pull into the complex. It’s late and Kennedy is probably asleep, but I don’t really give a fuck. After following her home one night, I knew that I’d eventually come to this point. Showing up at her place, barging in. Briefly, I wonder if she’ll fight me? Call the cops? Scream?

  The thought makes me smile. If she fights, I’ll fight back, and I can guarantee it’ll be the last time she pushes me.

  “Jackson,” Talon says my name, and I realize I never answered him.

  “I’m good, man. Go home. I’ll be a little bit.” I chuckle as I open the door and slip out of the SUV. Tugging on my shirt, I close the door and wave Talon off. When he starts to back up out of the parking space, I walk to her apartment.

  I know I shouldn’t let my brain wander with thoughts of Kennedy, but it’s hard, so fucking hard. There was a time when I cared for her so much, I would’ve ripped my beating heart out of my chest and given it to her, but then everything fell apart. She couldn’t wait five fucking minutes. She couldn’t wait for me to show up and take her and Jillian home.

  Part of me wondered for a long time if things would have been different if I had been at that party that night and not fucking Nicole. Then I realized nothing I did would have changed the choice that Kennedy had made.

  Making my way down the sidewalk, I cut across the grass and walk right up to her door. The screen door creaks as I open it, and I lift my bruised knuckle, banging on it loudly. If she was sleeping, she isn’t now.