Chapter 7
*Jake*
It’s just the two of us in the limo heading back to her house. We’re both buzzed. Well, I think she’s buzzed, I know I definitely am. Having her sit on my lap the whole night didn’t help. I needed something to calm me down. It was a bad idea to sit her there, but it was either that or Logan's lap, and Logan sure as shit would’ve gotten her wasted and done god knows what with her.
I sit on one bench seat and she sits on the other, it’s the furthest we’ve been from each other since the restaurant.
“Jake, just get the limo to drive you home first. I’ll be okay. It’s like forty minutes to my house, and then you have to drive back around here to yours… it’s stupid.”
My head is tilted back on the seat, my eyes are closed, trying to steady the spinning of everything around me. I open one eye to look at her. She’s laying down, her whole body sprawled across the bench seat. “I’d rather make sure you get home safe.”
She doesn’t say anything, just smiles.
A few minutes of quiet passes, where I think were both replaying the night in our heads. I bet our adaptations are completely different.
The limo driver swears, and slams the breaks abruptly causing Mikayla to fall to the floorboard with a thud.
“Sorry,” the driver waves his hand in the air, “goddamn rabbits!”
I kneel on the floorboard to check on Mikayla, but she’s giggling to herself. She may not hurt now but she sure is shit will be hurting tomorrow.
“Hey… Mikayla. Are you okay? Are you hurt?” I lightly shake her. She starts to sit up but she’s struggling, more than likely from the alcohol. She puts her hands around my neck and I start to lift her back onto the chair.
“Call me Kayla,” she says into my chest.
“Uh… okay… your friends, or whatever… they called you Micky, right?”
She looks up at me, Bambi eyes, “Yeah, Jake,” she sighs. “They did, but you-" she shoves a finger into my chest, “you can call me Kayla… all right?”
I nod my head once, stupid goofy grin plastered on my face.
I begin to put her down on the seat but her grip tightens around my neck, “Just hold me, Jake. Please?” She doesn’t need to ask. I get comfortable on the seat and position her sideways on my lap, cradling her. Her arms around my shoulders and her face on the crook of my neck. “Thank you, for tonight I mean, god, if you hadn’t of been there… I don’t know what I would have done. And your friends… they just accepted that I was there and didn’t ask questions… or…” She takes a breath and sniffs and I can feel the wetness from her tears on my neck. “Just, thank you… so much…” and then she kisses my neck. I freeze, but she keeps going. Soft gentle kisses, up my jaw, looking for my mouth. I shouldn’t be letting her do this, she’s a mess, emotionally and physically. I turn to face her to tell her to stop but my mouth accidentally brushes against hers. Her lips are soft on mine as she kisses me once, twice, the third time is a little longer, more intimate. My eyes drift closed. She moves her lips a few times, then opens them and darts her tongue out to taste my lips, so softy, I would have missed it if I wasn’t trying so hard to take this all in, so I can remember it forever.
She pulls away and smiles. “Mmmm,” she coos before resuming her position with her face on my neck.
What. The. Fuck.
And now I’m hard and she’s sitting on me.
Shit.
***
She’s fallen asleep on my lap, me cradling her in my arms. She’s snoring gently and it’s pretty much the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.
The limo driver lowers the glass that separates the two areas, “We’re in the street, but I can’t get any further. Which house number is it?”
“What do you mean you can’t go any further?” I ask as a start to wake her up. “Kayla, what number’s your house?”
She wakes up drowsily and takes a second to get her bearings, looking around the limo.
“Have a look outside,” the driver says. “I don’t know what’s happening but I’m blocked.”
I press the button to lower the window and look outside. There are police cars, fire trucks and ambulances everywhere. There are so many people in the street I can’t see much past the window. Kayla looks out the window too and her eyes bug out of her head.
“What the fuck?” she mutters as she fumbles to open the door and rush outside.
She’s out of the car so fast I don’t have time to comprehend what’s happening. I jump out of the car and follow her. She’s trying to push past all the people looking at the house, her tiny frame doesn’t make it far before she turns around to me. There are tears in her eyes and panic all over her face. “This is my house, Jake. What the fuck is going on?”
Shit.
I grab her hand and start pushing through the people. I’m not nice about it and people start getting pissed. I clear enough space so that we’re at the front of the crowd. The house has been blocked off by police tape, and cops are swarming all over the place.
She looks at me like she’s four years old and can’t understand what’s happening. I pull up the police tape and duck under it, towards the house.
“You kids can’t be past that line.” An overly fat cop with a clip board yells, as he makes his way toward us.
“I live here, please tell what’s going on? Where are my mom and dad, and sister?” She starts to sob and I hold her in my arms. She looks back at the cop, her voice breaking. “Just please, tell me what’s happening, I need to see them.”
The fat cop looks at her, sadness and pity consume his features. “Sweetheart, just give us a minute, okay? We just need to do our jobs.” He pats her on the head like she’s a fucking dog. “Mendoza!” he yells to a younger cop talking to people in the crowd and taking notes. He comes over to us. “This is Miss…?”
“Jones,” Kayla says.
“Mendoza, this is Miss Jones, can you please escort her to the ambulance until we finish up here.”
Mendoza's eyes widen in surprise and then understanding. “Sure, boss,” he nods. “Come with me.”
Kayla’s heels are pressed into the ground and she holds on to my left arm tightly, “With all due respect, sir,” she says to Mendoza, “just tell me what the fuck is happening!”
“MICKY!” a guys voice booms from behind us.
We both turn to see James running at us. Kayla hides behind my body like a child, I step protectively in front of her.
“Get the fuck away from me, James. I don’t want to deal with your shit right now!” she yells.
“Micky…” he sighs. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.” He tries to reach behind me to get to her and I step in his path.
“Who the fuck are you?” he spits, squaring his shoulders at me.
“James, I swear to god, just go! I don’t want you here!”
“Micky…” he tries to reach for her again.
“I don’t think she wants you here, asshole,” I grind out, my fists balling.
“Fuck you!” he yells and reaches for her again.
So I punch him.
Right in the face.
Like I should have the first time I saw him hurting her.
He falls to the ground.
Cops start coming over but they’re shooed away by his friends that peel him off the ground and start to carry him away.
“Asshole,” I mumble under my breath.
Then I hear her gasp and her grip on my arm tightens even more. I turn to face her, all the blood has drained from her face. Her whole body gives out and I struggle to catch her on the way down. I try to fall to the ground gently, her small frame enveloped by my body. Then she wails, a scream so deafening it makes the murmurs of the crowd instantly silent.
I look to the house and that’s when I see it.
Three gurneys. Three body bags. One so small it can only be a child.
Fuck.