I could only imagine what Jonah was feeling when we both walked along the hallway together, hand-in-hand.
And, oh, everyone noticed. We might not be a pair of the most popular kids in school, but we had made a scene—a couple of times—during the busiest periods in the hallway. That wasn't very smart of me, but, hey—at least I got the attention I'd wanted?
Jonah was biting his lower lip when we got to my locker, and I knew that something was in his mind. He muttered, "Everyone's looking at us."
I raised my eyebrows. "Yup."
He made a displeased face. "It makes me feel weird."
I sighed, feeling a little guilty about the whole thing. After all, it was all because of me. What I'd done. Operation Bite the Apple. I was debating myself if I should apologize, even though in order to apologize I needed to admit what I'd done wrong—but Jonah wasn't done talking.
"I mean, I guess I see it now why everyone's confused when they see us because we're kind of an unlikely couple and you're here holding hands with the freak kid who sits in the corner and they must be so confused why you're with me because you're you and I'm me and—"
Oh, geez. He wasn't even pausing for air as he kept grumbling. And now, looking at the distress on his face, I was feeling even worse than before.
"—why would you date a guy like me anyway? You could basically choose everyone over me but—"
To shut him up, I finally turned to him and pressed my lips against his. His word vomit immediately stopped, and he tried to pull me closer, only to have Daisy blocking our embrace.
I finally pulled away and gave him my most convincing annoyed look. "Since when do you talk a lot?"
He was grinning now. "Since now I am going to ramble a lot if that is the way you're stopping me."
I punched him in the shoulder. "Regarding your word vomit, I am not going to comment on it since everything you said was irrelevant."
He sent me a sheepish smile. "Sorry?"
"I don't care what people have to say about us and you shouldn't either. They don't matter to us," I told him seriously as I closed my locker. "What matters is just this," I gestured to the space between us, "and that's all. If I hear you talk about how much you think you don't deserve me or whatnot one more time I am going to let the sole of my shoe kiss your lips."
He grimaced at me. "Let's never make that happen."
[]
Since it was now Jonah's turn to take care of our demon baby, I had to stay at the diner after school to watch after her while he worked.
As I was doing so, I tried to finish another assignment that Mr. Herberg gave us. This one was done individually, and I was only required to answer a few questions that he had given me. Apparently, married couples were bound to have some shit fuck them up at some point in their marriage, and Mr. Herberg was giving me a few scenarios of what could happen in my "marriage" with Jonah, and I had to tell him what I would do to solve those problems.
Honestly, I couldn't see the point of this assignment—after all, we were only teenagers and we weren't actually married to our own classmates, and all these questions were starting to get kinda weird—but, hey. Anything I could do to get a good grade.
I was already halfway through the questions, my fingers starting to hurt from writing too many words. I looked up a few times to steal glances at Jonah—and most of the time finding his eyes already locked on my—but then I turned my focus back on the paper in front of me.
You find out that your significant other is seeing someone behind your back. What will you do?
I rolled my eyes. We will sit down and talk about it, like the grown up adults that we are, and see whether a separation would be the best course for us.
I sighed as I continued working on the rest of the assignment. Those questions seemed easy to answer, but I knew that it wouldn't be as easy in real life. However, I still answered the question as honestly as I could, even though I wasn't even sure myself that my "solutions" would actually work out.
After all, I wasn't really known for my award-winning impulse control.
And then, You discovered your significant other's dark past, and it bothers you to the point of considering leaving them. Will you actually leave? Explain why.
I frowned and twirled the pen in my fingers, before writing down, I won't leave him before we talk it out. His past is a part of him, and if I'm supposed to love him then I will love that part of him too.
For some reason, that particular reason really bothered me, I was still frowning at the paper when Jonah suddenly appeared in front of me with a warm cup of peppermint tea. I looked up and he was frowning at me.
"What?" I asked, before taking the cup into my hand. "Thanks."
"Why do you look so stressed out?" he asked.
I flipped the paper so he couldn't see what was written. "I was doing the paper Mr. Herberg gave us earlier today."
"Oh. I haven't seen what it's about. Can I see yours?"
"Nope," I said, keeping my arms on the table, holding the paper down. "It's confidential."
He rolled his eyes at me. "Okay, whatever. Don't frown, though. You look ugly."
I sent him a death glare. "Thanks, I'm flattered. Just go back to work." I took a sip of the drink that instantly warmed my throat down. "Thanks again."
His eyes softened. "You're welcome."
[]
I had asked Jonah if it was alright if I joined his family for dinner, and he said yes, even though he was clearly confused. I didn't tell him why though—I just showed him that I was grateful that their family let me walk into their house with open arms.
It was the first time I met Jonah's father. He looked exactly like him, and I could definitely see what Jonah would look like as an adult. He was a man of a few words, though, only speaking when necessary, but he was nice to me and didn't seem to mind my presence, so I felt welcomed there.
Jonah drove me home around nine, and he kissed me on my doorstep before leaving. When I opened the door, Mom and Dad immediately jumped up from the couch, worry etched across their faces.
"I was at Jonah's," I told them calmly, walking past to get to my room.
"Why did you turn off your phone?" Mom scolded, trying to stop me.
"I didn't. I forgot to charge it last night."
"Hannah, I know why you're upset," Dad sighed. "But you can't just disappear on us like that."
"If you know why I'm upset then why aren't you guys doing something to make me not upset?" I asked exasperatedly.
Mom ran a hand down her face in frustration. "Hannah, we have something to tell you—"
"If you're just going to tell me no again, I don't wanna hear it," I cut her off, my tone final. "Good night."
I left them to my bedroom, and they didn't go after me. Which was good, because I wanted to be alone.
No, that was a lie. I didn't want to. I didn't like being alone.
I didn't like it at all.
[]
I put a hand over my sweaty forehead as I tried to control my breathing.
It was getting worse, night by night. My parents knew that I used to have these dreams, but they thought that those dreams had stopped. I never told them that I still had them. I never could.
I turned to my side and muffled my cries into my pillow, my whole body shaking uncontrollably. I still felt like I was in that car when the ground split up in front of me. I still felt like I was falling down to that endless hole. I still felt so helpless.
Finally, I managed to calm myself down. I was still slightly shaking when I grabbed my phone and made a call, not thinking twice about the contact name that I pressed until the dial tone started ringing.
"Hannah?" Jonah asked softly, his voice clear and alert. He must've been awake. I didn't say anything, just letting him hear my heavy breaths. "What's the matter, baby?"
I smiled a little at the concerned tone in his voice, as well as the fact that he was calling me baby. "Did I wake you up?" I asked anyway, just to fill in the silence. My voice was noticeably hoarse from crying.
"No, you didn't. I was already awake," he answered. "Tell me what's wrong?"
I sniffled, and shuddered out a long breath.
"Did you have another bad dream?"
"Mm-hm." I sat up and leaned into the headrest, still feeling dizzy from it all. "It's was a pretty bad one."
"It's alright," he told me. "You're not there. You're here and you're safe, alright?"
"Yeah, I know that," I said. "It's just—it felt so real, Jonah." I started to sob again. "I wish it would stop."
"Shh, Hannah. It's okay," he soothed softly. "Do you want to talk about it? Or do you want to go back to sleep?"
"I don't wanna sleep again," I cried, barely keeping my voice down. "It'll just come back. I don't want it to come back."
"Okay, alright. That's just fine," he told me. "You talk to me. I'm here. It's okay."
"Okay." I sniffled again. "Okay." I took a deep breath and finally told him to get it all off my chest. "I never really remembered what happened when I was in that accident."
He was silent, even though I heard some shuffling, so I kept talking.
"I mean, I remember a little—some flashes, but it happened so fast and everything was hazy," I said. "And I guess these nightmares are just my brain's twisted way of reminding me about the accident. Because I never actually remembered fully what happened, my mind just kind of twists the little things that I do remember. I don't like that.
"And it's—it's so fucked up," I whimpered. "I hate it."
"Oh, Hannah," he murmured. I didn't like the way he sounded helpless, but I couldn't help myself from crying pathetically into the phone. "What can I do to make it all better?"
I tried a smile. "Just be here with me," I told him. "It's more than enough."
"It doesn't feel like it is."
"I already feel a little better now that I'm talking to you."
He sighed softly. "Will your parents kill me if I appear on your doorstep right now?"
"What do you mean?" I asked in confusion.
"I'm just two minutes away," he said. "Is there any chance that I could see you? If I climb up your window will your father wake up and beat me up as if I was a burglar?"
"You're joking."
"I'm not," he said, dead serious.
"It's three in the morning..."
I heard a screeching sound, and I noticed it as the sound of tires against the asphalt. "Alright. I'll just—go back—nevermind..."
Guilt started to seep into my chest when I realized that he was actually already on his way here, probably speeding his way to my house, at three fucking a.m. in the morning. "No, don't go back. Tell me when you've arrived. I'll come down."
"Are you sure?"
I nodded even though he wouldn't see me, and wiped the remaining tears on my cheeks. "Positive."
"Okay." I heard the sound of the car starting again. "Are you alright?"
"I am now," I told him. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me—I'm not there yet," he said, and I lightly laughed. A few while later, he finally said, "Alright, I'm here."
I was already walking downstairs quietly, making sure not to make a sound. I had my cardigan over my tank top and I immediately ran to get into the passenger side of Jonah's car to seek warmth again.
I put my phone away. "Hi."
Jonah immediately reached out to hug me. I buried myself into him, relaxing as I felt his warm hands rubbing against my back softly. "Hi. I'm here."
"I know," I murmured. "Thank you."
He pulled away and cradled my face in his hands, his eyes searching and worried. He spotted my swollen cheeks and red eyes, and his face immediately fell.
"I'm alright," I reassured. "I'm fine."
He nodded, and then gave me a light kiss on my forehead.
"You didn't have to come," I told him quietly. "I'm fine. I'm a big girl, you know?"
He cracked a smile. "I know that," he said. "I'm just doing it for myself. I needed to see that you're okay."
"Well, I am now." I smiled.
I let him brush the hair on my forehead and study the scar there. "Did it hurt?"
I shook my head and shrugged. "I don't know. I don't remember much."
He kept on brushing his thumb softly over the scar.
"Apparently, I instantly passed out. I was in a coma for about two weeks or something."
Jonah froze at my revelation. A shadowy look crossed over his face. "That bad?"
I shrugged and lifted my head down. "I almost didn't pass a year because of that. It was a very long recovery."
He was frowning. "When did it happen?" he asked quietly, pulling his hand from my forehead to hold my hand.
I swallowed. "About four years ago."
Jonah was quiet. Almost absent-mindedly, he just kept on stroking the back of my hand.
"I'm completely fine now," I told him, slightly chuckling. "The only things left from that night were just the nightmares and this scar." Then I added, a bit insecure, "I've got some other scares too, all over my body. But you can't really see them."
He looked pained when I brought up about my other scars. His voice wavered when he spoke, "I don't like thinking that you were hurt."
"It's in the past," I reassured him. "I just wish the nightmares would stop."
He brushed the hair that fell on the left side of my face. "You know that I'm insomniac, right?"
I nodded.
"I don't know if I get bad dreams the way you do. I don't know because I don't sleep at night."
I frowned.
"And I don't know if that's better or worse than your nightmare. Sleeplessness is so fucked up. You just simply can't bring your eyes to fall shut," he mumbled. "Every little damn thing keeps you awake. The sound of the light rain on your rooftop, the sound of your mom's footsteps down there in the kitchen, the sound of your cat purring in her sleep three doors down," he said. "Even the sound of your own breathing. Everything is so loud."
I brought his fingers up and pressed my lips onto them.
His forehead knitted in frustration. "And your own thoughts... they're killing you slowly," he said. "They just never stop coming. They won't shut up, no matter what you do. Your brain loves to keep reminding you all of the things you don't remember. It's fucked up. I would give anything to be able to fall asleep like a normal person would every night."
I smiled ruefully. "And I would give anything to not to ever have to fall asleep again so I wouldn't have to face the nightmares."
"It's fucked up," he repeated.
"Maybe we're really meant for each other."
He slowly smiled. "I guess so."
I leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "I like you a lot, Jonah Gibbs."
His eyes softened. "Why, though? Why do you like me?"
I managed a grin. "I like your face."
He shook his head slightly, a twitch of a smile playing on the corner of his lips. "I'm not a good person, Hannah."
"You are."
"I'm not," he insisted, looking straight to my eyes. "There are things that I've done that I regret—that I will always regret for the rest of my life."
"You're a good enough person to know that it's wrong and regret it," I said. "Whatever it is."
"Is it enough?"
I nodded firmly. "Yes."
He tried to smile. "Well, I like you too, Hannah Taylors." He pulled my body into his arms. "I like you a lot."