Stay (37 page)

“Who?” I asked, though I already knew. Lily took a step away from the cot. The orange pill bottle fell from my hand. Jackson sat on the edge of the cot with his hands pressed to his abdomen. Blood seeped from between his fingers and dripped onto the floor.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

“HEY ADDIE,” HE said through gritted teeth. I felt as if the floor gave out from under me and I dropped through blackness into freezing water.
 
I was drowning. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said with a forced smile.

His dark eyes met mine, reminding me how to swim. I rushed over to him, dropping to my knees. My body trembled. I put my hands over his. “What happened?” I asked quietly, hardly able to get any volume to my quivering voice. I forgot to act like I didn’t care. Even if I had, I couldn’t hide my fear.

“I pissed off Nate,” he grimaced.
 

“So he stabbed you?” I asked, heart racing.

“Not exactly.” Jackson wrapped his bloody hands around mine. He closed his eyes in pain. “Sliced.”

“What?” My voice was shrill and pinched with fear. I raised my hands up bringing Jackson’s with me. The front of his gray t-shirt was saturated with blood. Terrified that I might see his intestines hanging out, I slowly peeled the wet shirt off his skin. “Oh God,” I breathed.

Starting under his ribs and going diagonally down to his right hip, was a very fresh cut. It was straight and the edges were clean. I sucked in a shaky breath.

“How deep?”

“Not very. Barely got the muscle. I think.”

“Think?”

“I can still move,” Jackson theorized. “So it can’t be that bad.”

“Right.” I sniffled, unaware until now that tears were streaming down my face. “Lay back,” I told him. “Lily, bring a towel.”
 

Jackson winced but obliged. I rolled up the hem of his shirt and put my hand over the wound, gently pressing down.
 

“Hurry!” I called to Lily.

“It’s okay, Addie,” Jackson tried to soothe me. “I’ve had worse and lived.”

“You’re not helping,” I told him.

“It’s true.”

I pushed both sides of the cut in, hoping that if I closed it off, the blood would clot and form a scab.

“Will this work?” Lily frantically asked. She held up a washcloth.

“Good enough,” I told her. She ran over and handed me the washcloth. I folded it in half twice and laid it over the wound, then flattened my hand over that and applied pressure.

“How long 'till it stops bleeding?” Lily asked. She chewed on her nails, nervously shifting her weight. “I’ve never seen this much blood before. I didn’t know it had a smell to it. It smells like pennies,” she rambled.

“I don’t know,” I answered. “Soon, I hope.” I could feel Jackson’s abs flex as he started to get up. “No,” I told him. “Do not move. You’re going to make it bleed more. No moving until it stops.”

He grunted in response but didn’t attempt to get up. My hands shook, and more tears spilled. Bloody fingers caressed my cheek. I turned my head to look at Jackson. His eyes locked with mine. His already beaten face had a few more bruises. There was a fresh cut next to his right eye. Blood was crusted on his chin, and the skin on his neck was red and irritated, as if something had been wrapped around it.

I tipped my head into his hand, comforted by his touch. I closed my eyes and felt myself relax a bit. Then I turned my attention back to his bleeding stomach.

“What can I do?” Lily asked.

I swallowed hard and looked up at her. “Is there any rubbing alcohol left?” I asked her.
 

“Maybe. I’ll check.”

“Okay. Bring it.”

 
“Sorry, Jackson, that’s gonna hurt.” Lily hurried away.

He made a face but shook his head. “It’ll be fine.”

“Liar,” I teased and gave a half smile, easing some of the tension. My heart was beating a million miles an hour, and my stomach twisted in knots.

“It’s going to be okay,” he repeated so that only I heard him. “I promise you, Addie.”

“I hope so,” I whispered back.

Jackson put his hands over mine, pressing down on the cut. I slid my hand away and moved up toward his head. My knees screamed at me to stop kneeling on the cement. I ignored them and blotted at the dried blood on his face.
 

“What happened?” I asked.

“Got into it with Nate.” Jackson turned his head so I could clean the crusty blood from inside his ear. “I didn’t realize he had a taser on him. He hits me in the back, and the next thing I know, I’m on the floor being tied up.” He weakly smiled. “I got him though, before he tased me. Punched him right in the jaw. He’ll have a nice bruise in the morning.”

“Good,” I whispered and folded the rag to use the clean side. “But why are you down here?” I brushed his hair back.

“Nate likes Lou and wants him to stay. He’ll take over what I did when it comes to the girls. And Zane won’t share a room.”

“Oh, so they kicked you out of your room and back down here?” I looked into Jackson’s eyes, wishing so badly that I could kiss him, comfort him, and ease his pain. I ran the rag over his forehead, wiping away tiny splatters of blood.

“Yes,” he said gravely. “All my stuff is over there.” He pointed to the table. I turned, seeing a torn box of books and a pile of clothes.
 

“At least we’re down here together,” I said with a weak smile. Jackson’s sad eyes said otherwise.
 
Then it hit me. Together.

Shit.
Together.
We were both trapped in this hell-forsaken basement. Jackson would not be picking up the girls anymore. Our plan of escape would not be executed. We would not be free.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

THUNDER SHOOK THE house, causing me to stir from my sleep. I sat up and pushed my damp hair out of my eyes. Jackson’s arm was draped around me, and his leg was hooked over my body. Careful not to wake him, I slid out of his embrace, awkwardly lowering myself onto the cold cement floor.

I stood and flicked my eyes around the basement. Thankfully, we were still alone. I was supposed to stay awake and keep watch, but that obviously hadn’t worked. As soon as the girls left for work, Jackson and I stayed close together, cuddling. One of us always kept watch while the other rested so we could break apart before we got caught. Without Jackson’s warmth, the already cold basement felt even colder. I shivered and turned around, pulling the blue fleece blanket up to Jackson’s chin.

I picked up a mangled bobby pin that I had twisted around the milk crate and crossed the basement. I pinched the Bobby pin in between my thumb and index finger and scraped another line in the drywall that encased the stairs. I stepped back and looked at the countdown. There were four rows, each with seven lines. Jackson had been down here for a month, which meant I only had two left until I would be shipped off to Europe.

It had taken a week for Jackson to recover from having his abdomen slashed. While he had not come close to bleeding to death, losing that much blood caused him to become dehydrated and weak. I was even more thankful that I had snagged the extra antibiotics for him and hoped that, along with curing the disease I might have given him, it would keep his wound from becoming infected.

Those seven days had passed slowly. Every day was full of fear that Jackson would spike a fever, and I would wake up and realize his cut was grossly infected. I did my best to keep it clean. I washed it with soap and water every morning, even though the flower-scented bar of soap that we had was probably not antibacterial. Every night I used what little rubbing alcohol we had left dabbing at the skin around the cut. Though it wasn’t ideal, it seemed to have worked.

Once Jackson was out of the woods, the days started to go by quickly since I was dreading the end of the three months. When Rochelle and Lily were here, Jackson and I kept a friendly distance. We talked, played cards, and sat on separate cots reading but didn’t dare let it go further than that. A few times Lily caught us standing a little too close or looking into each other’s eyes a little too long. She had raised her eyebrows and smirked, but didn’t say anything. I was so incredibly grateful.

It was agony to be in the same room without being able to touch each other. He was so close I could feel his body heat, and I desperately wanted to throw my arms around him and feel my skin against his, to have our hearts beating against each other’s. Instead, I turned away, pretending that I didn’t love him.

Several times Nate had called Jackson upstairs and put him to work. He was gone most of the day and returned exhausted. Just the day before, Nate had him outside doing yard work. Jackson left right as the sun came up and didn't come back until after dark. He was tired and sore and fell asleep as soon as he got in bed.

The lights flickered. I looked up at the single bulb that hung at the base of the stairs. Heavy rain pelted against the small window and water dripped down the wall. Lightning flashed, and the power went out for a few seconds.

“The alarm system stops working when the power goes out. The electronic locks too,” Jackson said, his voice thick with sleep.

I whirled around. “Go fucking figure,” I huffed and shook my head. I went back over to the cot, set the bobby pin down, and sat next to Jackson. He took a deep breath and snaked his arm around my stomach. “Go back to sleep,” I urged, twisting so that I was facing him. I ran my fingers through his hair.

“That feels good,” he mumbled, already falling asleep.
 

I continued combing my fingers through his hair until his breathing slowed, steady and even. Wind pressed into the old house. Fear flickered through me. It was an old fear, one I’ve had since I was a child: tornadoes. My eyes focused on the small window. Now I hoped one would rip through the house, pulling apart the frame, leaving nothing but the foundation. Jackson and I would crawl out of the rubble and run to safety.
 

A boom of thunder made me jump. Lightning followed just seconds later. The worst was nearing.

“Lay down,” Jackson spoke softly.
 

I nodded and stuck my feet under the blanket, snuggling next to him. It was an uncomfortably tight fit on the cot. I felt like I was going to fall off if I moved just an inch.
 

Jackson pulled me on top of him, solving that problem. “Don’t like storms?”

“Storms are fine,” I answered. “I don’t like tornadoes. Though right now, I honestly hope one rips this house apart or knocks down a power line and catches the house on fire.”

“We’re trapped in the basement,” Jackson reminded me.

“I know. Maybe the fire department would get here before we die of smoke inhalation.”

“I’m not willing to risk that.” He began rubbing my back. “We’ll get out of here, Addie. Don’t give up,” he said.

“I’m trying.” I rested my cheek against his chest. “I would have given up if I didn’t have you. After Phoebe died … I couldn’t have done it on my own.”

“Yes, you could. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

“I don’t feel like it.”

He slid his hands under my shirt and traced little circles with his fingernails on my skin. “I think that’s part of what makes you strong. You don’t try to be strong, you just are.” The lights flickered again. “If
I
didn’t have
you
…” he trailed off. “When I told you before that I was close to giving up, I meant it. I’d put a lot of thought into killing myself, not because I wanted to commit suicide, but because I wanted to die on my own terms, not Nate’s. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of watching me slowly die.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Me too.”
 

I raised my head and kissed him.
 
Warmth tingled between my legs as I pushed my tongue past his lips, drinking him in.
 

“I am sure,” I whispered before he had the chance to ask.
 
“I love you, Jackson, so much.”

“I love you too, Addie.” A gust of wind hit the house, which creaked and groaned in protest. Fully knowing what we were risking, I slipped my fingers along the hem of Jackson’s pants. Not only did making love to Jackson feel good, it felt
right
. And it made me feel like I was putting a piece of myself back together, and no one could take it away.

***

I scratched another line in the dry wall, completing the eighth row. Another month had passed and I only had roughly thirty days left. I had been slightly nauseous the last couple days, and seeing that I was getting closer to being shipped overseas made a lump of vomit burn in my throat.

I retreated to the cot, thinking about the girl numbered 261. I wondered what happened to her and where she was. Did the man who bought her use her exclusively himself? Or did he see her as a business investment and put her to work?

Then I thought about Nate. Usually when I thought about him, all I imagined was shoving something sharp and pointy into his chest, but at that moment, I wondered how he became the way he was. Were people born evil? When did he decide he wanted to get into this?

“I don’t want you to go,” Lily said.

I snapped back to reality. “I don’t want to either. As fucked up as it is, I’d rather stay in this basement.”

She looked at me in the mirror and picked up the curling iron. She ran a comb through her red hair and took a small section to wrap around the hot metal. “Your skin looks nice,” she said suddenly.
 

“Uh, thanks?” I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know why it would. I’m as pale as a ghost. I haven’t seen the sun in weeks.” I sighed. “It’s depressing.”

“It’s chilly today,” she said as if it was a consolation. “And windy. I don’t know why I’m even bothering to curl my hair.”

“It looks pretty,” I complimented. I sat back, leaning on the wall. I could hear Jackson moving around upstairs as he cleaned the house. I knew it would take him all day.
 

“Thanks. I think I look older when I curl it. Don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I agreed and was reminded just how young Lily was. Legally, she couldn’t even drive.

My stomach flip-flopped, and I felt like I might throw up. I begrudgingly got off the cot to get a bottle of water. I drank the entire thing and felt almost instantly better. I picked up Jackson’s anatomy textbook and sat at the card table, flipping through the pages.