I sat on the chair in the corner of our bedroom, staring out the window, watching the sun replace the moon. I hadn’t slept most of the night and allowed my fear to dictate my thoughts. And to be honest, it pissed me off. I shouldn’t allow him to scare me anymore. I wasn’t a child. I was a grown woman, and I was capable of protecting myself.
But he was evil.
And I knew he would come after me. After us. I had to talk to Jackson when his mind was clear before the whiskey clouded his thoughts and controlled his every waking move.
I’d been sitting in this position for what seemed like hours, watching and waiting. Patience was never a virtue I possessed, and waiting for Jackson’s alarm to go off drove me insane. After a few more minutes of bouncing my knees up and down, wiping my sweaty palms on my pajama pants, I finally decided to wake him myself.
“Jackson…hey, Jackson, can you wake up, please?” I spoke quietly and tapped his shoulder, waiting for a response.
He began to stir, and for a brief moment, I caught a glimpse of the boy I used to know—the one I had fallen in love with. It was fleeting, though. His brow crinkled, and the man that replaced him came to light.
“What is it?” A sleepy whisper escaped his lips, glancing around the room before looking my direction.
“I need to talk to you. Can you wake up please?”
“What time is it?” His eyes squinted, and he grabbed his cell phone from the side table, still not looking at me.
“Six thirty.” I let out a sigh, hoping he didn’t bitch about me waking him earlier than necessary.
“Something wrong?” He cleared his throat, and the scent of whiskey oozed from his pores. I didn’t think I would ever get used to that smell. The morning after was always so much worse than the original.
“He’s awake.” My throat constricted around the words, but I knew they needed to be said.
“Who?” He looked at me with confusion written all over his face. It aggravated me that I had to say his name. I knew we hadn’t spoken of him in many years, but he should know. I shouldn’t have to say it.
Dammit.
“Duane.” One simple word. But the most difficult word to force past my lips. God, I hated him. I hated the things he’d done. I hated what he did to Mama. I hated the way he made me feel weak and inferior. I hated that his evil ways still held such a tight grip on my emotions. I hated that he didn’t die that day in the ditch.
I hated that Jackson made me say his name.
“Really?” He cocked his eyebrow and stared past me for a moment before releasing a “Hmph” and laying his head back down on his pillow, closing his eyes.
His reaction felt like a knife in my chest. His nonchalant response stirred anger inside me that I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt. He had to realize what this meant. I shouldn’t have to spell it out for him.
“That’s it?” My voice was laced with disgust, and I couldn’t hide it—I didn’t even try.
“What the fuck do you want me to say, Rach?” he spat, throwing his forearm over his eyes.
“I want you to realize what’s happening!” My voice rose as I crossed my arms over my chest and shifted my weight from one foot to the other.
“And what’s that?” The elevation of his own tone matching mine as he propped himself up on his elbows with a smirk across his face. He squinted his eyes, and then he just stared and waited for my response. Waited for the words to fall from my lips. He knew my fear—I’d let it be known repeatedly after the wreck. But it’s like he wanted me to say it. He was trying to hurt me, I could feel it.
“He knows. He saw us.” My lip began to quiver, and the tears that threatened to fall stung my eyes. Son of a bitch.
“Who cares?” He turned on his side without a bit of worry or empathy.
The murders.
Their pictures were burned into my memory. He had to see the resemblance. He had to put the facts together. He had to realize what was happening.
He was playing a game. He was coming for us.
“He’s awake, Jackson. He recovered. He’s out of the hospital. He’s on the loose.” Panic coursed through my veins. With each word out of my mouth, my pitch got higher.
“And?” He let out a sigh, and I wanted to attack him, physically hurt him for being this way.
“He’s going to come for us,” I cried as tears slid down my cheeks, one after the other.
“Don’t be stupid.” He let out a small laugh, and I knew I had to get away from him. I’d never felt this way toward him. Most days, I felt sadness. Some days, I felt pity. Other days, it was even disgust. But right now, in this very moment, rage filled me and threatened to bubble over.
“Fuck you, Jackson,” I shouted before turning my back on him.
I walked into the bathroom that was connected to the bedroom we shared, slamming the door before locking it behind me.
“How dare he? What the fuck happened to him?” I whispered to myself, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My skin was splotchy, red-rimmed eyes, and a runny nose. Pathetic.
I turned on the hottest setting of the shower and climbed inside, praying he didn’t knock on the door. I didn’t want to hear an apology. I wanted distance.
The old Jackson would have comforted me and promised to protect me. But the man he was now simply laughed and called me stupid.
My clenched fists hung at my sides as I tried to relax while letting the steaming, hot water wash over my naked body, hoping it’d comfort me, but to no avail.
I remained in the shower until the water went cold before finally emerging into the steam-filled bathroom with fog surrounding me. I sat on the edge of the tub for a few minutes, not ready to face him but needing to get the hell out of this house.
I finally grabbed my terrycloth robe from the hook attached to the door and wrapped it around my body just as a sudden chill covered my skin.
When I got the nerve to exit the bathroom, I found an empty bed and let out a sigh of relief. I shuffled my feet over to the window and glanced at my single car in the driveway.
“Thank God.” I shook my head and walked into the living room to make sure the door was locked, including the chain.
He might have thought my paranoia was ridiculous and unwarranted, but I knew better.
Different thoughts of ways to protect myself ran through my mind. I always considered getting my handgun license and now seemed like a good time. I would ask Sara who she used for an alarm company and get estimates on my lunch break. If Jackson would no longer be my protector, I’d damn sure protect myself.
It’s what I should have done all along.
Fuck him for calling me stupid. I wasn’t stupid. I wouldn’t be caught off guard, and I sure as hell wouldn’t let any man hurt me. Not again.