I take another hesitate step into the room. Unsure at this point of what to do or say, only knowing I have come too far to turn back.
The bottle falls from his hand, or rather he drops it. The carpet softens the fall and you can’t hear it drop—not really. Still, I think the thud echoes in my heart. Nicole’s words come back into my head.
He’s broken, baby.
Oh god, I don’t think I had any idea of just how broken.
“Jacob,” I whisper, my voice unsteady. I have heard you don’t sneak up on a wounded bear. If anyone is wounded, it is this man, that much is clear, now more than ever. Yet, this is beyond my scope of experience. All I know is I just can’t leave him alone.
His head moves to the side as if in a daze. My first instincts are to turn on a light and try to connect with him. Still, if I do that I won’t get the chance to help him further. He’ll throw me out. Heck, he might anyway.
“Care Bear?”
The old nickname rolls from his tongue. It delights and wounds at the same time. The only people to ever use it were Jacob and Jazz. Besides my parents they are the only two people to own my heart. Completely own it. My life has been so empty without them. If Jazz was still alive, she’d know how to reach Jacob, she’d know how to make everything better. Never have I missed my best friend more than I miss her right at this moment.
“It’s me, Jacob. I wanted to check on you,” I say cautiously, walking a few more steps towards him.
“Why?” He asks, his voice is slurred and full of confusion.
“I wanted to see you. I thought you might need me,” I respond honestly.
“Care Bear always wearing your heart on your sleeve, world will eat you alive someday.”
I wish I could argue with him, but that has pretty much happened.
“Let’s get you in bed. You’re tired,” I say, standing in front of him, praying I am distracting him enough.
“I’m fucking tired of it all,” he says, as his eyes close. A grimace of pain bathes his face and it breaks me. The pain seems so huge, so engrained in him I want to curl myself around him and cry.
“I know, Jacob. I want to help you. Let’s get you in bed. It’ll look better in the morning,” I lie, wishing it was the truth.
“It’ll never be better.”
I slide my hand around the gun gently, hoping he doesn’t notice.
“Someday it will. You just have to hold on, Jacob. Isn’t that what you told me all those years ago?” I ask. I pull on the gun, thanking God that he seems to be concentrating on my words. He doesn’t realize he is giving it to me.
The weapon feels weird and heavy in my hands. I don’t like it, anything about it really. I want it far out of his reach, but I can’t do that just yet. I back up to put the gun on top of the television. I don’t want to turn my back on him. I’m afraid if I lose eye contact with him that he might sober up enough to know I’m really here. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t register the fact right now. If he did, he’d be screaming for me to leave…or using the gun on me.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, sounding even more confused.
“I know,” I agree walking over to the bed and turning it down. Finally, I make it back in front of him. His eyes look so dark and bleak. I wish it was a trick of bad lighting, but I know better.
“I told you to leave me alone.”
“I know that too,” I agree and take his hand into mine. It’s big and rough. The feel of it is like coming home. I wish I could freeze the way my heart feels when his hand grasps mine. Freeze it and hold it with me forever, because I know this will be all he ever gives me. This is it and I’m only getting it now because he doesn’t realize it.
“Come on let’s lie down for a bit. When you wake up in the morning, I’ll be gone.”
Instead of letting me pull him up, he yanks me down onto his lap. I gasp and brace myself on his chest.
“What…what are you doing?”
“Giving you a taste of what you’ve been wanting for years,” He growls and then his lips are on mine.
At the first touch of our lips, sensation flames through my body. His tongue runs over my bottom lip and his teeth nibble against it and he slowly sucks it inside his mouth. I should hate it, the taste of alcohol is heavy on him and the flavor isn’t what I have dreamed of all these years. Yet, instead of pushing him away, my hand moves up to his head. The short hair teases against my fingers. It’s one more sensation to add to a million, as he releases my lip and then pushes his tongue inside my mouth.
I’m twenty years old. By that age most women have slept with a man, or more than one. They have been in relationships, they have held hands, they have been kissed and they have been in some type of love. I have never had any of that, save the last.