Vicarious (29 page)

“You should eat something,” he says. “Diving burns a lot of calories.” He goes to the minibar and removes a tiny bottle of vodka from the fridge. “I need a drink. This day has been hell. First, I thought those sharks were going to bite us in half. Then we get robbed.”

“I know. Can you believe Gideon sent me here for my own safety?” I snort. “Good thing almost dying on a regular basis pays well. Toss me one of those.” I gesture at the vodka.

“I thought you didn't drink?”

“I'm making an exception for today.”

“Okay.” Jesse twists open a little glass bottle and hands it to me.

I hold the bottle up to my lips, the sharp smell of liquor stinging my nasal passages. I pause, feeling like I'm standing at a tangible threshold—one that maybe I shouldn't cross. Hesitantly, I take a half swallow. “Just because we lost the ViSEs doesn't mean we can't still hunt down Rose's killers,” I say.

“What are you thinking?” Jesse asks.

I take a long drink, the bitter liquid numbing my throat. “The only suspects that make any sense are someone from Phantasm or one of the guys who knew her from a club—some deranged ViSE junkie who thinks she recorded him doing something he doesn't want anyone to know about.”

“You definitely don't think Andy is capable of hurting her?” Jesse asks.

I shake my head. “From what I can tell, he was crazy about her. Plus he seems so harmless. I guess maybe if he was on drugs or out of his mind or something.”

“From what I saw, he definitely drinks a lot,” Jesse says.

I barely hear him. The bottle of vodka trembles in my fingers as I am suddenly consumed by a horrible possibility.
I'm
the one who is sometimes out of my mind. Today wasn't an isolated incident. I've blacked out before. Maybe I'm missing other gaps of time I don't remember losing. Maybe the reason I'm so consumed with the idea of finding out what happened to Rose is because some part of me already knows.

Maybe I hurt her, and I blocked it out.

There's a sharp knock at the door and Jesse rises to accept our trays of food. I gulp the rest of the vodka and grab another bottle of liquor—whiskey this time—from the minibar. I tilt my head back and finish it in a single shot, wincing as it burns a trail of fire down my throat. But at least I'm not shaking anymore.

Jesse signs the white charge slip and then sets my tray on my bed. “What is it?” He settles in across from me and grabs his bacon cheeseburger. “You look like you're going to throw up.”

“What if I hurt Rose?” I blurt out. “What if I killed her?”

“What?” Jesse blinks rapidly. He sets the burger down unbitten. “Why would you say something like that?”

My body is warm and hazy from the alcohol, but my head feels clearer than it has in days. “It just kind of fits. If I could forget cutting myself free today, maybe there are other things I can't remember.”

“Yeah, but—”

“This isn't the first time something like this has happened to me,” I say miserably. “I blacked out during the break-in at the penthouse. I know I stabbed the guy, but I don't remember doing it.” I look up at Jesse. “And there have been other instances of lost time in the past, especially back in L.A.”

“That doesn't mean you hurt Rose.”

“True, but no one besides me seems all that interested in finding her killers. Is it because you guys
know
what happened and are just trying to protect me? Tell me the truth, Jesse. Did I hurt my sister?”

 

CHAPTER 32

“No.”
Jesse shakes his head. “I know what happened today freaked you out, but come on. You loved Rose more than anything.”

I flinch at the past tense of the word
love
. Every reminder that she's really gone cuts me a little deeper. “But one of the figures on the ViSE was smaller—about my size. And I overslept the next morning, almost like I'd been out extra late and didn't remember it. What if I did it and blocked out the memory?”

“Please don't think that.” Jesse downs another miniature bottle of vodka and then comes to sit next to me on my bed. He takes my hands in his, slowly tracing the scar on my palm with one finger. “You would never hurt her, Winter.”

Rose told me once that when we first came to St. Louis, the doctors wanted to keep me in the hospital because they thought I might hurt myself or someone else. Gideon wavered. Rose refused to let it happen. The two of them could take care of me better than some overworked nurses, she said. They fought about it and eventually Rose threatened to hurt herself if Gideon sent me away. That way we'd both be sent away and we'd still be together. She loved him, but she chose me. She said she always would. I don't even remember any of the fighting they supposedly did. More lost hours. Hours so far gone I didn't even realize I was missing them until this moment.

What if the doctors were right and Rose was wrong?

“Do you want me to call Gid?” Jesse's voice is full of concern.

“No.” I set my tray of uneaten food on the nightstand and sink back to the mattress.

Jesse reclines next to me. “Come here.” He pulls me close and kisses me on the forehead.

I nestle into the crook of his arm. “I feel lost. I don't even feel like myself without her.”

“I know.” He rubs my back gently. At first I tense beneath his soft touch, but then I relax.
You run toward your fears.
I focus on the sensation of his hands moving across the thin material of my T-shirt.
You would never hurt her.

“You don't think I hurt her?” I ask.

“No.” Slowly, his touch grows firmer.

He shifts his body until we're both on our sides, lying face-to-face. His eyes are closed, but the corners of his mouth twitch slightly. I'm close enough to see the tiny grooves in his lips. He runs one finger across the narrow strip of skin that exposes itself when my shirt rides up in the back.

I don't know if it's the alcohol or the adrenaline of the day or something else, but I'm not scared. I press my face into Jesse's chest, inching closer to give him better reach. I want to be normal. I want to be connected. I think of Rose telling me I need to experience what it's like to be with a guy who cares about me. Maybe she was right. Maybe if I just let whatever happens happen, it'll break the curse and I'll be able to feel things and trust people.

“Say it again,” I whisper.

“You didn't hurt your sister.” Jesse's fingers slide beneath the hem of my shirt. He's using both hands now. No one has ever given me a massage before, and it's as if he's kneading out eighteen years' worth of knots.

I exhale hard, my breath hot against his skin. I feel a tremor move through him. He presses his lips to my hairline—another chaste kiss, the kind Rose used to give me at bedtime at the orphanage. I angle my head upward and trace the contours of his chin and jaw with my mouth, the texture of his beard stubble fascinating me. My hands find their way beneath his T-shirt. I explore the muscles of his chest with my fingertips.

Groaning softly, he glances down at me. “You probably shouldn't do that.”

“I want to,” I say. Jesse shared his secrets with me and he didn't judge me for mine. And whether or not it's true, I could tell by the look on his face that he thinks it is absolutely impossible I had anything to do with what happened to my sister.

Rose was right. He really does care about me. I want to care about him back. I want to let my guard down, to be touched and not filled with dread. I want something decent to come from the horror of the past few days. It's not wrong to crave a bit of comfort after enduring so much pain. My sister would understand. She would want this for me. My lips make their way around to the other side of Jesse's face, trailing gentle kisses from his chin up to his disfigured ear.

His body goes tense. At first I think it's because he's not used to being touched there. But then he pulls away. “Winter, you're drunk.”

“No, I'm not. I had two drinks. Just enough to relax for once.”

“Okay. But you've gone through a lot lately. I know you're in a vulnerable pl—”

I place one finger on his lips. “Stop protecting me. It's sweet, but it's not what I need right now.”

Jesse swallows hard. “What do you need right now?”

“I need to feel human.” I pause. “Whole. Connected.” I lean in to kiss him.

He moves away. “We should talk first.”

“
Now
you want to talk?” I ask. “About what, exactly?”

“About you and me.” Jesse sits up suddenly and reaches for a half-empty minibottle of liquor on the nightstand.

I slip it out of his fingers and set it next to my uneaten food. I'm afraid he's going to tell me about how much he cares or how he's liked me for months. I'm not in the same place as he is, not yet anyway. I don't want talk of serious feelings to ruin this moment. I don't want to change my mind. “Let's talk later.” I pull him back down to the bed with me.

Jesse looks like he's going to protest, but I trace my lips across his earlobe, exhaling against the skin of his neck. His whole body convulses. His eyelids fall shut as our mouths tentatively brush against each other. And then there is only heat. Our lips connect. Break apart. Meet again. His tongue gently coaxes my mouth open. I embrace his warmth, pull him tight against me.

“You are incredible,” he whispers between kisses. He rolls onto his back and positions me on top of him, my shirt still riding up, our warm skin pressed tight together. My whole body is liquid. No, my whole body is helium. I'm flowing, floating. For once the pain is fading. Jesse's hands are in my hair, on my back, on the curve of my hip. He slides my shirt up over my shoulders. I freeze up, suddenly aware of how exposed I'll be.

“The light,” I say.

Jesse reaches over and flicks the switch. The room goes dark and I can breathe again.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yes.” I let him tug my shirt over my head. He drops it to the floor of the hotel room. I stare deep into his hazel eyes as I trace one finger along his scar.

“Nothing has to happen,” he says. “I can just hold you.”

Everything feels so right, as if my body has been waiting for this. “I want things to happen,” I murmur. I tug at his shirt, pulling it over his broad shoulders and flinging it to the floor. I bend low, pressing my lips to his eagle tattoo on his chest. “I want you.”

Now it's Jesse's turn to go tense. “Winter?” He runs one hand down the bruise on my face. “Are you sure?”

“I'm sure.”

Jesse's whole face lights up and he shakes his head in disbelief. He pulls me down against him, tangling his hands in my hair again.

Tears well in my eyes, but for once they're the good kind. One falls, splashing down on his neck, finding its way into a crevice between two hard tendons.

He reaches up to trace the hollows of my eyes. “You're crying.”

“I'm just happy. It'll be the first time since…” I trail off, not wanting to empower my sexual assaults by acknowledging them in this moment.

“It'll be the first time,” Jesse says firmly.

Our mouths find each other in the dark. His kisses deepen and his hands caress me. I am a thousand swirling emotions, like no one has ever touched me before. He tugs gently at the drawstring of my sweatpants. My brain starts pushing panic buttons, but I silence them one after the next. This is Jesse. This isn't some slimy businessman, some stranger who paid to own me for a couple of hours. Jesse cares about me. I reach out for Rose's words.

Jesse loves you.

Jesse loves you.

Jesse loves you.

But then, without warning, Jesse pulls away from me.

“I can't do this,” he says.

 

CHAPTER 33

I open
my eyes. “What's wrong?”

“I just can't. I'm sorry.”

“Too much liquor?” I ask.

He makes a mock offended face. “No. Trust me, I
can
. I just—it suddenly feels like a bad idea.”

I inch away from him on the bed. “Oh. So you changed your mind.” I can't keep the hurt from leaching into my voice.

Jesse buries his face in his hands for a few seconds and then raises himself up and swings his feet around so he's sitting on the edge of the bed. He rakes both hands through his hair. “It's not that I changed my mind. I'm not sure I've ever wanted anything more in my whole life.”

I focus very hard on a spot on the ceiling. “So then what's the problem?”

“You,” he pauses, struggling for the right phrasing, “got so tense.”

“What?”

“It was like you went rigid, like you just wanted it to be over.” He sighs. “I don't want it to be like that.”

“Sorry,” I say, which is probably the stupidest thing ever. Who apologizes for being afraid to have sex? I swear under my breath. I went so many years not wanting anyone to touch me, and now that my head is finally able to cope with being touched, my body is finding new and creative ways to push people away.

“Don't apologize,” Jesse says. “I shouldn't have rushed you.”

“You didn't rush me. I wanted to.” Certain parts of me still want to.

He flicks the light back on. “I don't know what to do. I would hate it if we were together and you regretted it later.” His eyes soften.

I curl the sheet tight around my body. This is about who I used to be. Jesse said he wouldn't judge me, and he's not, but he's always going to treat me like I'm fragile.

Like I'm damaged.

I think about how different it is from the way Andy treats me. To him, I'm normal. Just another girl.

Is it wrong that I am desperate to be normal?