If We Could Be Endgame

C h a p t e r 7

I walk into the dark kitchen and almost scream. Instead I kick one of the island stools, which is probably worse, as I try and make my way out of the kitchen.

Jax, who was standing at the fridge, spins around and looks at me darkly. I freeze, looking him directly in the eye as we both stand, frozen to the ground.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Getting ice for my bruises,” he says.

“In the fridge?” I say, sarcasm floating back in.

He stalks towards me, letting the fridge door shut.

“Yes, in the fridge,” he says, glaring down at me.

I look down, realizing he doesn’t have a shirt on, and inspect the swirls of patchy bruises melting into the ink racing around his chest.

“Who did this?” I ask quietly, reaching forwards to touch one of the bruises.

He winces and pulls away slightly. I pull my hand back, resting it on the island-top behind me.

“Just some guys I didn’t like,” he says.

“Is your nose ok?” I say, scooting around him and going to the huge fridge to retrieve some frozen peas.

“It hurts,” he says as I return and press the peas up to his face.

“Hold that there,” I say, grabbing his other hand.

He pulls his hand back and I look down, surprised to find his knuckles bloody and bruised.

“Up to the bathroom we go,” I say, snatching his hand back, gentler this time, and leading him up towards the stairs.

“Why were you awake anyway?” he asks as we creep up the stairs.

“I don’t sleep much anymore. They put me on different meds, ones that are harder to get high off of, and they do a lot less than my other meds,” I shrug lightly, pulling him up the last step and towards the bathroom.

I pull him inside and lock the door, flicking the lights on.

“Did you have to do that?” Jax whines and I roll my eyes, giving them time to adjust.

“Ya, lemme just treat your wounds in the dark, that's a great idea,” I snap. “Sit.”

I point at the counter and he jumps up on it, still towering awkwardly over my small ass.

“Give me your hand,” I say, pulling the first aid kit and hydrogen peroxide from the cabinet.

“That stuff stings,” Jax says, pulling his hand away.

“I haven’t even put any on, stop being a baby,” I snap, snatching his hand back and wetting a cotton ball with hydrogen peroxide.

“Can I grab your other hand to squeeze?” he asks, setting down the peas.

“Fine,” I say and he snatches the hand not holding the cotton ball.

I dab the cotton ball on his swollen knuckles and they begin bubbling white as he squeezes my hand. My fingers feel like they are crunching together as he squeezes them as hard as he can.

“You are gonna crush my hand,” I snap, still dabbing his knuckles as they continue to bubble.

“It hurts though,” he hisses out.

“And you got into a fight,” I snap, turning and tossing the cotton ball in the trash.

“For you,” he says quietly behind me.

“Sorry, what?” I ask, whirling around and coming face to face with the idiot himself.

I place my hands on his chest and push him backwards, back up onto the counter. He gives me a dark look as I pull another cotton ball out and soak it with hydrogen peroxide.

He groans as I hold his hand down and dab at his already bubbling knuckles.

“I swear to god, shut up already,” I mutter, tossing the cotton ball in the trash and glaring up at him.

“You like that, Missy?” he says, smirking down at me as I glare darkly.

“Fuck off.”

I turn and prep another cotton pad before turning back and almost bashing his nose in again. He has bent low, so his face is right beside mine and I stand frozen for a few seconds, eyes glued to his lips. Slowly he leans in and my brain mirrors him, leaning in as well. Right before our lips brush, he pulls back and smirks down at me. Cotton ball still in hand, I press it to one of the cuts on his chest and he hisses, trying to pull back. Glaring up at him, I wrap my arm around his back and press him closer so he can’t escape. I run my fingers across his chest and he freezes, one hand wrapped around my forearm.

“Sarah Mae…” he whispers and I freeze, looking up at him quickly.

“What? Did I hurt you?” I ask, pulling the cotton pad away and glancing down, then back up quickly, trying to figure out what happened.

“Sarah Mae, look at me,” he says, grabbing my chin and tilting it up so my eyes lock with his.

“What?” I ask, this new crushing feeling overwhelming me. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I told you it’s ok,” he whispers, pulling me closer so I am forced to step between his legs.

“I just… you were… I… you… um… sorr-”

“Jesus Sarah Mae, shut up already,” he says, cutting me off and pulling my chin up just enough for our lips to meet together in a light touch, barely there.

I inhale sharply, freezing as he leaps from the counter and spins me around so my back is to the counter instead. I look up at him, my eyes wide. His hair is spiky from him running his hands through it and bruises speckle his face. Reaching up gently, I rest one hand on the side of his face, covering the bruising with my freezing hand.

“Why are your hands always so cold?” he whispers as he reaches up and covers my tiny hand with his huge one.

“I… did you just ask me about my hands being cold?” I stammer, frowning. “Right after you almost kissed me?”

“They would be warmer if you slept in my bed,” he says and I snort, pulling away.

“I hate you, remember. You hate me too,” I mutter, spinning around.

“Sarah Mae, calm down,” he says, grabbing my shoulder.

“Don’t call me that,” I curse, pulling away.

“Come on Missy.”

“Don’t call me that either,” I hiss, spinning around and rushing towards the door.

I push the handle down and rush forward, but the handle doesn’t budge and I slam my forehead into the door, cursing. I unlock the door and push it open, running out and towards my room. I slip inside and shut the door behind me, locking it quickly. A few second later, Jax begins knocking, asking for me to let him in. I tell him to go fuck himself and the banging stops.

Safe to say, I didn’t get any sleep that night.