[chapter eleven]
Disclaimer: If you've heard of them, I don't own them. Everything else is mine, so no stealing, pretty please. ;-)
This story is gonna be darker, and deal with serious, sometimes disturbing
issues. Just so everyone knows. Okay? Okay.
**
~Jimmie's POV~
I will kill him.
Absolutely kill him.
Him, me and a dark alley and that punk dies.
Instead of voicing all of that, I reach over and take her hand gently in mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze, to let her know she's not alone.
She's not.
"Why lately?" I ask after a few minutes.
She shakes her head. "I don't know. I don't know if I'm just…if I'm just not as willing to take it, or if it's because of the stress on Jeff's whole team, or if it's because of…" She trails off.
But I know what she's thinking.
Because of me.
Because of her spending time with me.
Oh god…
"Faye, I'm so sorry. I don't…I don't really know what to say to make it better."
"You don't have to say anything." She smiles softly. "But thanks for listening. Really. Thanks."
"Of course." I murmur, looking out into the darkness. "Listen, Faye…"
"Yeah?"
"I just want you to know…you've got friends. Anything you need, anything you decide…you've got friends." I look over at her and squeeze her hand again. "And this is what friends gear up for."
She turns away, thinking I wouldn't see the tears welling up in her eyes.
But I did.
God, I wish I could make her not hurt.
Physically.
Emotionally.
Mentally.
She just needs to not hurt.
A few minutes later, she leaves, tugging on her sleeves to hide the bruises from sight, the gash in her left arm from a knife or something. She has to go - Matt is going to be home soon.
I look around my house for a few moments, trying to remember to breathe.
But then I forget when I smash my fist into the closest wall, screaming in frustration, in pain.
In anger.