October 27th, 2004
Apparently I have to actually write in this thing. I tried blowing it off and they threatened to drydock me for the next mission if I didn’t start playing along with the therapist. I’m supposed to talk about my feelings in here. What the fuck is there to talk about? I’m pissed off and it doesn’t seem to matter how many of them I kill. I’m still pissed. They took my parents from me, they took my girl…
I clutch the journal a little tighter. 2004… that was three years after he left me. He must be talking about some other girl, probably the one who made him tell me not to wait up for him. I take a deep breath and read more.
The doc wants me to speak my mind, well, fuck it. I put my fucking knife in a kid’s heart back in Tajikistan. It was a night mission. A simple grab and go for some journalist that command considered an asset. We almost got out clean and then I saw someone trying to get to the landline to call for help. A few seconds and he could’ve brought dozens of insurgents down on us. So I grabbed him by the mouth and stuck my fucking knife in his chest.
It was only after he stopped twitching that I dropped him and saw how young he was. He couldn’t have been older than fifteen, and I killed him. The worst part was how they all patted me on the back for saving the mission and told me what a big fucking hero I was.
Is that enough fucking emotion for one day? I don’t feel any better, so I hope I can stop this bullshit journal soon.
My heart aches for Jesse. I realize suddenly how selfish I’ve been. While I thought I was living a hard life because I had to face rejection after rejection auditioning for parts and playing in small, shitty roles to work my way up, he was dealing with all this? It doesn’t completely excuse what he did, but it helps, and I’m already regretting how I’ve treated him so far. At least a little bit. I hear the shower stop running and hurriedly put the journal back in place, wishing I had time to read more.
I rush back to the living room and try to adopt something like a casual position on his couch, anything to imply that I wasn’t just helping myself to his deepest, darkest secrets like a complete jerk. He steps into the living room, black towel around his waist, bending his neck slightly to ruffle his still wet hair. He squints over at me, looking sinfully touchable with his smooth, muscled body fresh out of the shower. I know there’s no way he could know, but I shift under his focus, like he knows I’ve just been reading the journal in his room.
“You look a little breathless,” he says, stepping even closer and making my heart thrum in my chest. “Is it from the view, or have you been sneaking around while I was in the shower?”
“The… view?” I ask, voice barely above a whisper. He’s taking away all my self-control, all my poise and power. “You’re not exactly hiding it,” I say, averting my eyes and gesturing toward him.
“I was talking about the view of the ocean,” he says, grinning and making me blush in embarrassment.
No you weren’t. Asshole…
“So what now? Am I just supposed to stay put and avoid doing anything remotely dangerous?”
He moves to the kitchen, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge and tilting his head back to drain it. My eyes trail down to his powerful neck as he swallows it down. Even his stupid neck is sexy. Jesus. I tear my eyes away.
“No. I’m yours, Kay… Makayla. My job is to shadow you, no matter where that leads us.”
He’s already moved from calling me Miss Pierson to Makayla, but I can’t bring myself to correct him.
“That wasn’t the impression you gave me when you dragged me here against my will.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Well, I had to get… my dog from daycare and grab a shower.”
“Your dog named Makayla. Right. I had almost forgotten.”
His perfect composure falters for just a second when he steps toward me, still clad in only a towel, and jabs a finger at me. “I told you. The shelter already named her that.”
It’s my turn to grin now. “Mhmm. So you just happened to pick the one dog out of a few dozen that happened to have the same name as me?” I glance at his dog who obviously has an eating problem. Her stubby legs are splayed out beneath her and she pants, eyes covered beneath the folds of her skin. “Not that she isn’t charming, of course.”
Jesse frowns, looking at his dog in a way that is adorably protective. He kneels to scratch behind her ears and pat her bottom and oh God. If he just angled his hips a touch more toward me, I think I would have a full view of everything. I catch myself leaning to the side, like a bowler trying to urge the ball away from the gutter. I lean just a little too far forward and lose my balance. I have to jerk my body back and clutch the armrest to keep from falling.
Jesse doesn’t even turn to look, but the way he bites his lip says he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. For the hundredth time in a just the few hours since I’ve seen him again, I can’t help thinking what a tremendous asshole he is.
29
Jesse
Makayla is taking a nap on my couch and my dog is curled up beside her legs. I smile to see the old girl warming up to someone new so quickly. I look around the apartment, noticing all the small things that are out of place from her obvious snooping session. I knew she would try it, but when I check the hidden drawer in my room and see the hair I carefully wedge in the crack has fallen, I’m surprised. This woman is no ordinary snoop. Damn.
She can’t have had much time to read the contents, but she will have already seen more than I hoped. Just holding the journal in my hands makes them shake. I slam it back down in the drawer, steadying my hand on the dresser and lowering my head, fighting the memories that are rising up.
I’m covered in dirt and blood. My hand is warm. God, it’s so fucking warm. I’m pressing the hilt of a knife into his stomach and yanking up like I’m opening the thick burlap of a sack of potatoes. I feel resistance as it moves through him, hot blood drenching my hand. He tries to collapse, but I hold him upright, finishing the job of ending him. He wraps his arms around me as he dies, almost hugging me, like he’s afraid to die alone. I should feel something. I should feel sympathy, fear, anger, disgust. But I feel none of it. That’s what worries me. I end his life and let his corpse fall to the ground and I feel nothing. Not a fucking thing.