Awaken Me (The Jaded Series Book 4) (8 page)

Until Chris.

The guilt of wanting someone else weighs heavily on my shoulders. I’m not meant to be with anyone else. I was Anna’s just as much as she was mine. I don’t want to want anyone else. It feels like a betrayal to Anna.

After soaping my body and washing my hair, something I have to admit I haven’t done in a few days, I get out of the shower. Still naked, I walk out of the bathroom just as my bedroom door opens and Chris walks in.

She doesn’t see me standing there, so she jumps when I ask, “Don’t you know how to fucking knock?”

She stops in her tracks and just stares at me, struck dumb I’m sure by my nakedness. Her eyes aren’t focused on me, but on my hard cock. The bastard never went down from my shower and has now decided to go to full fucking mast.

“You mind turning around, Sugar, or are you just going to stand there and molest me with your eyes?” I smirk when I see her blush and quickly turn her back to me.

“Sorry,” she mutters. “I was just coming to tell you I’m making omelets if you want one.”

My stomach rumbles at the mention of food. I try to think back to the last time I ate, but can’t remember. Even though my stomach is still queasy and unsure of food at the moment, I know I probably should eat something.

“Sure,” I grunt as I walk to my dresser. I pull out a tank top and a pair of sweat pants. After putting them on, I turn to see Chris has already left the room.

I grumble to the quiet room and make my way to the door on bare feet. I hear tinkling in the kitchen when I walk into the living room. It’s cleaner than what I remember. It irritates me that she was riffling around in my living space.

I quietly walk to the doorway leading to the kitchen and lean my shoulder against the doorjamb. She’s facing the sink, washing something, but the way she’s turned, I can still see the side of her face. Of their own accord, my eyes rake down her body. She’s wearing a pair of hip-hugging skinny jeans and a dark green short-sleeved shirt. On her feet she has on flat ballet-type shoes with no socks. Her red hair falls to the middle of her back in soft waves. It infuriates me that I find her attractive. Not in just an appreciative way, but in a flat-out carnal way.

While I stand there and watch Chris, she does something that’s weird and has me leaning forward for a closer look. From my angle and the small bit I can see reflected by the window in front of her, it looks like she’s—I step forward to get a better look—making faces at herself in the window.

What the fuck is she doing?

Before I get a chance to ask her about her silly behavior, her eyes meet mine in the glass and she spins around with a screech, dropping what she was washing back in the sink with a crash. Her hands fly to her chest and her eyes go wide.

“Jesus, Nick, you scared the shit out of me!” she says loudly, causing me to wince as my head throbs from her shout.

“What were you just doing?” I ask.

She looks down at her feet, and I see the blush creep up her cheeks. Instead of answering me, she walks over to the stove, picks up a spatula, and flips over the omelet she’s cooking.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked in your omelet so I just put in the basics; cheese, tomato, peppers, and ham. I hope that’s okay.”

She turns and looks at me over her shoulder. I give her a chin lift, letting her know it’s fine.

“There’s coffee as well.” She gestures to the coffeepot with the spatula.

I don’t want coffee. What I want is an ice-cold beer. Or something stronger. I walk to the fridge, open it, and don’t see a damn beer in sight.

I slam the fridge shut with a bang and face Chris, who’s watching me warily.

“Where’s my beer?” I look over to the bar and don’t see my Jack either. “And my whiskey?”

Her throat bobs as she takes a swallow. She turns back to the stove. I barely hear her when she murmurs, “Down the drain.”

My back stiffens at her words. What gives her the right to pour my shit down the drain?

“Excuse me?” I ask in a deadly calm voice.

She turns at my tone. I can see the fear in her eyes and it sends satisfaction through me.

After a few seconds, I watch with fascination as she straightens her spine and sets her jaw. “I poured it down the drain. You don’t need it. You’re killing yourself by drinking so much.”

“Maybe that’s what I want,” I tell her quietly. “Maybe I don’t want to live anymore with the guilt and pain. Maybe I want it to go away. Maybe, just fucking maybe, I want out.” I snarl the last.

There’s a sharp ache in my chest when I see the stark pain in Chris’s eyes, like it physically hurts her hearing me say that. I still don’t get why she cares so much. Yes, I can see it coming from my friends, but not her. She hasn’t known me long enough, doesn’t know me well enough to feel pain like that for me.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Chris, but don’t waste your time. It’s not worth it.” I take a step toward her, but stop when I realize what I’m doing. I don’t want to get near her. “I had my chance, and I blew it. I don’t get another one. Even if I did, I don’t want it. What I wanted, what I’ll always want, I can’t have anymore. Anna’s gone. I don’t know what you hope to gain out of being my…
friend
,” I sneer the word, “but nothing will ever come of it. I don’t want you, friend or otherwise. So just fucking stop.”

She doesn’t say anything at first, just stands there with tears glistening in her eyes. I harden my resolve against the look, even though every bone in my body wants to rush to her and gather her in my arms. I’m an ass. I know it and she needs to know it too. As I told her, I don’t want another chance. Anna was my chance and now she’s gone. No one will ever compare to her.

“I know,” she says, and lowers her eyes to her hands. “I just wish…” She doesn’t finish. Shaking her head, she looks back up at me and the pain there is ten times worse. My gut tightens, but I hold my place.

She offers me a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Have a seat. The omelets are almost done,” she says, gesturing to the bar.

I stand there for a moment before shaking my head and taking a seat. Of course she’s not going to listen. She’s stubborn as fuck. She’ll learn, though, that what she is doing is futile.

She puts a plate down in front of me and then makes her own. Instead of sitting beside me, she stands at the bar on the other side. I watch as she cuts the edges off her omelet to make it a perfect square, before cutting that piece into small individual squares. When she’s finished, she eats the leftover parts first. She spears her first square omelet piece before she realizes I haven’t touched mine yet. She looks to my plate and then up to me.

“What?” she asks.

One corner of my lips tilts up into a smirk. I shake my head, pick up my fork, and start eating. It tastes like fucking heaven to my empty stomach. Even though it’s a simple omelet, I can’t remember the last time someone cooked for me.

We sit and eat in silence; the only sounds are the clinking of our silverware against our plates. When I finish, I grab my plate and rinse it in the sink. The rolling in my stomach has lessened, but the pounding in my head is getting worse. I grab a glass out of the cabinet, fill it with water, and down a couple of pain pills.

“You wouldn’t need those if you’d stop drinking so much,” Chris says from behind me.

I deposit the glass in the sink, turn, and lean against the counter with my arms folded against my chest.

“I also wouldn’t need them if you would all stop nagging me, Sugar,” I tell her.

She clenches her jaw, and I can tell she’s holding back a retort. Brave little girl is finally trying to grow some balls. This’ll be interesting.

I feel a pang of disappointment when she remains quiet and instead takes her plate to the sink. I’m standing right beside it, so she’s close enough I can smell sugar and vanilla.

Suddenly angry, I step away from the sink, and her, and walk to the doorway. “I’m tired. I’m going back to bed. Don’t,” I say, and turn to face her, “come back in my room.”

She nods and goes back to what she was doing at the sink. My eyes drift down to her ass in her tight jeans, before I curl my lip at her back. I turn on my heel and walk back to my bedroom, closing the door a little too firmly.

I strip my clothes off and sit on the edge of the bed. I pull the drawer open and take out the picture I have of Anna inside. It’s just a simple picture of her smiling big at the camera. We’re outside in the snow, so she’s bundled up in coat, scarf, and hat. It’s one of my favorite pictures of her.

I run my finger down her face and whisper, “I’m sorry, Anna. I miss you.”

I bring the picture to my lips and kiss it before replacing it safely back in the drawer. I lie down in bed with my hands behind my head.

I have no idea what Chris hopes to accomplish by being here, but what I told Andrew the other day was true. You can’t fix something that’s irreparable.

The pain I saw flashing in Chris’s eyes when I told her I wanted out appears in my head. As much as the woman bugs me, I have to admit I hated seeing that look on her face. I’m the one who’s a fuckup, not her. I’m sure she’s a great girl and any man would feel lucky to have her. I’m just not that man. I’m broken and sad and so far down in my black hole there’s no way out. There’s no safety net, or rope long enough to pull me out. All I would do is pull her down with me.

Chris is the type of woman who deserves roses and romance and sweet talk. Someone who would cherish her and treat her like gold. I did that before. I sure as shit am not doing it again. All my sweet and romance was reserved for one woman, and that one woman is no longer here. The goodness in me died along with Anna. All that’s left is a bottomless pit of despair and loneliness.

Chris

I drop the dishrag back in the sink, dry my hands, and wipe the few stray tears that I couldn’t stop from falling.

Hearing Nick say there could never be anything between us hurt, even though I knew the possibility of that happening was slim from the start. I have no idea why I have feelings for him. It’s not like he’s shown me any kindness or caring or acted like there’s a possibility he could ever be interested in me. He’s never, not once, except for that one time in Jaxon’s hallway, given any indication that he could ever be attracted to me. I also have no clue why he feels this hatred toward me. And that’s what it is. Hatred. It’s in his eyes when he looks at me and it’s in his actions. I don’t know what I did to garner such behavior.

It doesn’t matter though, because no matter how much he may hate me, I don’t feel the same for him. I won’t stand around and watch him wither away into nothing. He may not care for me, but God knows I care for him.

When he spoke so carelessly about his life, it took every bit of strength in me to hold my legs up. The pain was so debilitating that all I wanted to do was sink to my knees in despair. I swear all the air in the room was sucked out because my chest hurt to breathe. I have no idea how I kept my feelings from showing, but somehow I did. I don’t know why I want to hide them from him, but I do. Maybe I just don’t want to give him more ammunition to use against me.

I finish cleaning the dinner dishes, turn off the lights, and walk to the bathroom. I plunder the cabinets until I find a toothbrush still in the package. I break it open, scrub my teeth, wash my face, and run my fingers through my hair. I’m going to have to ask Jaxon to bring me some clothes tomorrow. I don’t feel comfortable leaving Nick here alone, and I don’t want to ask Jaxon to stay with him. I just have this feeling that
I
need to be here.

I suck in my cheeks to look like a fish and open my eyes as far as they will go. When Nick caught me making faces at myself, I was embarrassed, so I avoided his question. What started out as something funny as a kid became an almost OCD quirk as an adult. I can’t see my reflection without making a face at myself. Life is always so serious. We all need to stop for a minute, make faces at ourselves, and laugh.

I quietly close the bathroom door behind me. When I glance over at Nick’s door, it’s closed, just as I figured it would be. If I’m honest with myself, I’m kind of glad. I’m not sure how much more of his black mood I can deal with tonight.

I walk silently down the hallway to the living room. I stop at the coffee table to check the time on my phone. A little past nine. Although I slept several hours earlier, I’m still tired. I’m always exhausted after my encounters with Nick. Probably due to the emotional toll all his negative comments put on my body.

I undo my pants and slip them over my hips. I love my skinny jeans, but they’re a bitch to get out of. I end up sitting on the couch so I can peel them down my legs and force them over my heels. No way am I sleeping in them again.

Once my jeans are off, I reach behind me and unclasp my bra, slide the straps down my arms, and then pull it out from underneath my shirt. Wearing a bra to bed is another thing I hate doing. I’m an underwire kind of girl, so my boobs either fall out of my bra when I’m on my side or get poked from the wire. Either way, not fun.

I tuck my bra into my jeans and move them to the chair. There’s a throw pillow on the same chair, so I grab it and the blanket off the back of the couch and snuggle down. I blow out a tired sigh once I’m comfortable.