The car is quiet. Too quiet for my liking. But I can't find it within myself to fill the silence. Drake sits behind the wheel. When I glance out the corner of my eye, I see his jaw is tight and his grip on the wheel is nearly crushing.
He's not mad. No, he doesn't show anger. He's worried. I can feel it in the air like a humid cloud. It hovers over me and creates static electricity on my skin when I move. But the question is... what is he worried about? My best guess would be me. That's the thing though — I don't want him to be concerned about me because if he is, he will give me his all. And he will lose a bit of himself for that time.
I don't want that for him.
I squirm in my seat under the heavy silence, which gets Drake to peer over at me. I try not to look back. I suck in a breath, but all I taste is bile.
Shit. That has to be my worst moment. When I shut my eyes, I see the shock in Drake's eyes and the disgust in Mal's. Captain called for someone to help clean up the vomit and he told Drake to bring me home. This time, he demanded I don't show up until Monday — at the very least. No exceptions. I saw his regret, I assumed from letting me come back so early in the first place.
"So, you're not going to say anything?" Drake asks, snapping me out of my embarrassing memory. My brows curve as I look over. "You're not going to explain what happened?"
I sigh, rubbing at my arm. "I just felt sick, that's all." There's truth somewhere in the lie.
He scoffs lightly, shaking his head. "You've been acting so weird lately, Jen." His eyes meet mine and I regret it immediately. "Weirder than just getting hurt on the job."
My jaw clenches. "All everyone has done is question me when I'm just trying to deal!"
"Jenny, we're questioning you because you pushed so hard to get back to work right away. We're worried."
I cross my arms and look out my window, tears beginning to poke at my eyes. "I'm fine."
"Really? You've never gotten sick on the job, not even at the crime scenes. How are you fine now?"
You know what!? I whip my head back. "You wanna know? You really wanna know?"
He looks at me, surprised at first. Then he nods. "Yes!"
"I —" I snap my mouth shut, my teeth biting into my lip. Hard. I turn my head away, lifting my hand to my mouth to wipe at it.
I... can't tell him. Part of me thinks he wouldn't believe me, or he'd think I'm losing my mind, possibly from the head injury. And if he knew I was even remotely believing in what Aaron Jackson is telling me, he'd probably take me in himself.
After another minute of silence, Drake sighs. "Jenny..." I can feel his eyes on the side of my face but I refuse to look. I can't. "I care about you. I want to help."
I squeeze my eyes shut. "That's the problem — I don't need help." My voice gets heavy. "And you shouldn't care. We've been down that road and it didn't end well."
Part of me expects him to fight back — to defend himself and his feelings. Hell, even to say anything. But he doesn't. I force myself to keep my eyes on the window because it might kill me to read his expression right now.
We weren't always like this. When we were partnered up after my transfer to homicide, I thought he was too pretty to be a cop — like one of those actors on a procedural drama series; dark, mysterious eyes and a captivating smile. And I quickly found out he wasn't only the nicest cop I ever met, but also the nicest person I ever met.
It also wasn't a downside that I could read him pretty well. For a while, those eyes of his hid a bit from me, but as we spent more time in that cramped car of his, he opened up. Soon, there wasn't much of anything he could hide.
Not even his feelings for me.
You could say I was taken aback, but that's quite the understatement. My heart fell to my feet and I lost sense of time and space. I didn't want to believe it — mostly because I was worried I would lose my best partner. But the more I thought about it, I could feel it too. That warmth in my chest, the lovesick feeling in my stomach that made me want to call him. To see him.
He didn't know that I knew. But of course, in his usual Drake way, he could tell something was bugging me. At the time, we had traveled to Pennsylvania chasing a suspect. We were sitting at the hotel bar, trying to blend in. But I guess we got a little lost in our roles because we were having too much fun laughing and talking. And I, with my stupid impulsive self, leaned in and planted a kiss on him.
His eyes went wide and his mouth parted. All he managed to say was, "Jenny..." And that only made me want him more.
Let's just say we barely made it to the room before we took each other's clothes off.
But in the morning, the room smelled of regret. I could feel it on him and it burned inside of me. For Drake, he crossed a line. He thinks hooking up with a coworker is a recipe for disaster. But for me, I didn't want to ruin the one good thing in my life. Sadly, that one good thing happened to be him.
I could tell he wanted to see if we could make it work. But it was my idea to cut it off there before we returned to New York. "If we stop now, no one will get hurt," I said. But it might've been too late because sometimes I catch that look in his eye or hear that strain in his voice.
Like I did a few moments ago.
The car pulls into the parking lot of my apartment complex. Drake parks and turns in his seat. He starts to reach out towards me but stops before he crosses the center console completely.
"I can walk you in. If you want," he says softly.
"No," I say with a shake of my head. "I don't think that's a good idea."
Before he can say anything, I open the door and step out. I walk to the doors, reminding myself that it's okay to give him the cold shoulder. Before someone gets hurt. But which one of us?
When I get to my floor, I pause in my tracks. Right outside my apartment door is a large box. And I mean fucking huge.
Oh shit. I completely forgot about the new mattress I ordered. I had to replace my old one from the blood. It's still in my bedroom; I don't know how to get rid of it yet.
Down the hall behind me, a door creaks open. I turn around to see my neighbor Reese step out. He offers a friendly wave.
"Hey, Jennifer," he says, then points to the box. "I hope you don't mind, but I signed for your package. The UPS guy needed a signature and said he wouldn't leave it without one."
I cross my arms apprehensively. "Why'd you do that?"
"I'm sorry! I know your car isn't big enough to bring it home, and if nobody signed, you would've had to go pick it up."
Shit, I didn't think of that. I would've been screwed. "Thanks, Reese." I've always liked him. He's a nice guy, if not a little too nice. I've seen our neighbors step all over him when he offers to help them.
"Do you need some help moving it into your place?" He asks, motioning to it.
I try to hide my smile. Typical Reese. "I wouldn't want to put you out —"
"Come on, I don't mind! You protect and serve. Let me serve you for once." He pauses, his cheeks flushing. "T-That came out wrong —"
My smile breaks through and I laugh. "Okay, sure. Thank you."
Reese walks over to my door and, once I unlock and open it, he helps me carry the box inside. Inside, partially out of breath, he asks, "Where do you want it?"
"The bedr—" My heart jumps into my throat. "J-Just here is fine!"
We halt in our tracks just in front of the couch. He glances around the side of the box. "You sure?"
I nod. "Yeah, I got it from here."
He helps me lower it to the floor. Stepping back, Reese puts his hands on his hips, admiring the work he did.
"Hey," I motion to the kitchen. "Do you mind grabbing the boxcutter for me? It's in the first drawer on the left."
"Sure," he says and heads over, opening the creaky drawer and returning with the tool. He hands it over and it presses into my palm.
I lean over the huge box and slice at the tape along the edges. "Can I ask you a question?" I ask him, feeling rather curious.
Reese nods. "Go ahead,"
"I swear every time I see you around, you're offering to help people, but I never see you ask for favors. I mean, you've helped me a handful of times and never asked for anything. Why's that?"
He shrugs. "I never gave it any thought. It's just how I am — how I prefer to be. And I don't need anything in return, so don't bother offering." He smiles broadly. "Think about it, if you go around helping people with the thought of getting something back, you're doing it wrong, or at least for the wrong reasons."
I tilt my head. "I wish more people were like that." I wish I were more like that...
"What is it anyway?" He asks, pointing down.
"Oh," I clear my throat and hide my face under my hanging hair. "A mattress."
He looks down at me inquisitively. "Don't you want it in your bedroom?"
I motion with my thumb over my shoulder. "I haven't gotten the old one out yet." My sudden honesty causes a brief ache in my stomach. Should I really be telling him?
"I can help you with that!" He says eagerly, starting to walk over to the room. I straighten up fast, the blood that has rushed to my face pulsing under my skin.
"Wait!" I call out but he's slid my doors open and cautiously stepped further inside.
My eyes shift to where he's staring — the bed. The mattress is bare. The blood from the sheets had seeped through and left large, almost puddles of stains. They're a dark reddish-brown. Stark against the eggshell white of the mattress.
I peek over at Reese, whose face is almost green. His jaw is slack.
"W-What...is that?"
As I glance around, I feel a stirring in my gut. No. Not now. The magnet edges around my insides, directing itself towards where Reese is standing. And the longer I stare at him, the heavier the boxcutter feels in my hand.
Do it, Jennifer. Free him. Free yourself.
My thumb presses against the slider of the cutter, extending the blade. It clicks loudly, and Reese's eyes snap down before meeting my gaze. Reflecting in his glassy eyes, I see myself but I don't recognize her.
"Jennifer," Reese says uneasily, taking a step back and putting his hands up. "Wait!"
But I don't listen. I lunge, aiming just above his chest, plunging the blade so deep I can feel his heartbeat against my hand.
Total word count (as of end of chapter 11): 22,880