Daughter of the Demon (I)

Daughter of the Demon-19-What a Real Friend Will Do

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Chapter 19: What a Real Friend Will Do

~Jacob~

I got a call at around three the next morning.

The person on the other end was crying uncontrollably and it was hard to make out her words, but I could tell it was Jemma. I jumped out of bed and flipped on my light, and asked her to calm down through the phone. She did a little. I got to the point of understanding the words, “come”, “quick”, “help”, and “starting again”. They didn’t sound too great together. I tried comforting her through the phone as I left my room and headed downstairs, pulling on a jacket and sliding sneakers on my feet. But there was a thump on the other end and then I was talking to air.

I sighed in frustration and worry and slipped my phone into my pocket. I opened the front door but the sound of a voice stopped me.

“Going somewhere?”

I looked into the darkness of the house and spotted Belinda’s slim form. “For a little.”

“Would you like to tell me where?”

I might have blushed a little. “Jemma. I think she’s . . . I think she’s in trouble.”

Belinda’s eyes widened. “Then what are you doing here? Go, go! And, god forbid, don’t do anything to make it worse!”

Worse? How could I make it worse?

Although I did have a knack for doing that and never knowing how.

Jemma’s door was unlocked when I arrived so I opened it and barged in. It was quiet. There was no car in the driveway so I figured Jemma was home alone.

Crap. How could Clara leave her alone?

My legs automatically found the stairs and I took them two at a time until I appeared outside her bedroom door. I was shocked because it was unlocked. I was so used to it being locked and her hiding away from me.

I was pretty much still shocked that she called me over here after storming off at school.

But she sounded hurt and in pain and I just couldn’t leave her like that.

So I opened the door.

Her eyes were closed. I fell to my knees beside her, araid to touch her, to wreck whatever fragile state she was in. "I'm sorry," she whispered, sounding completely broken and lost and at her wit's end.

“Jemma . . .” I ran my fingers over the scars on her arms, stomach sinking when I found the new ones. When had she done these? How the hell could she do this to herself? "I thought . . . I thought you were getting better . . ."

Her lips twisted into an empty smile. “Me too."

“Where’s your aunt?” I asked, anger rattling my voice.

“Out with Michael.”

“Michael?”

“Her boyfriend.”

“Oh my god.” I moved a hand over my face and stood up. “I’ll be right back." I left the room and found her bathroom, rifling through the drawers for a first aid kit. When I found I returned to her, removing the necessary supplies and going to work on her open wounds. She watched me, silent, and I felt like a taut string liable to snap at any moment.

After a genergous stretch of silence, I couldn't help but ask, "Why did you do this?"

“It’s my way of handling pain.”

“Pain?”

"The inner stuff. Bad stuff.”

I grabbed her arm, making sure everything was covered and taken care of. “I thought I told you before that I don’t like the way you handle things.”

“It’s not my fault,” she whispered softly.

The worst part? I didn't think it was.

Slowly she sat up and I spotted a dark bruise on her shoulder. I traced the outline of it with my finger. Our eyes met again, and my mind flashed back to the time in my bedroom, when we had stood together so close and I had tried fighting these uncontrollable urges, too.

Her lips were still perfect and still pink and her eyes, though tortured, were still pulling me in. I wasn’t sure what was happening until I felt myself lean forward, and my nose knocked with hers. I paused for a moment, my lips parted, unsure. I was always told just to go with my instincts, and my instincts told me to kiss her. I closed my eyes and closed the rest of the distance, shivering at the feeling of her mouth under mine, soft and perfect. She didn’t pull away. The sane part of me with any thought blacked out and the other half of me took over, the lustful, curious half. I covered her hand on the floor with mine, my other hand intertwining in her hair, and I kissed her a little harder, opening my mouth wider, feeling my teeth graze her lower lip. I couldn’t explain what I was feeling, but it was a hell of a lot more than I’d ever felt with Abby.

She emitted some low sound, and then pulled away, eyes wide. I stared at her, speechless, my mouth still hanging open. My sane half was starting to wake up and it told me I had just made a big mistake.

“Jemma . . .” I tried, but she shook her head and looked away.

“I think you should go,” she whispered.

“I didn’t mean---”

“Now.”

Knowing further argument would be pointless, I slowly rose to my feet and gazed down at her. When she still wouldn’t meet my eyes I walked out. I hated leaving her there, but I had to go and kiss her and boy I was an idiot. And why wasn’t Clara home? No. I wouldn’t leave. I would stay here until Clara came back and I would ask her what the hell she was thinking leaving Jemma alone like that.

I stood in her front door. I didn’t know how long I would be standing there, but I wasn’t leaving any time soon.

*****

Clara came back looking happy and carefree with Michael. It was all too clear she had been drinking a little, because her footsteps weren’t exactly coordinated.

That made me angrier.

She saw me standing in her foyer, and she cocked her head, staring at me for a moment in wonder. Then her eyes widened as the answer finally came to her. “Jacob! What are you doing here?”

I ground my teeth together. “I think the real question is, why weren’t you here?”

She furrowed her eyebrows, giving me a puzzling look. “What are you talking about?”

I threw up my hands and moved toward the door. “Don’t ask me. I’m not your niece,” I said, and left. Hopefully that was hint enough. The nerve of her to go out frolicking and having fun when Jemma was clearly in a lot of pain, mentally and physically.

It made me want to punch something.

Hard.

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