Jem
THERE WAS A PARTY TONIGHT and I couldn’t care less about it. I decided to stay back at the garage to finish up an engine I’m working on. But alone in the darkness of the garage, empty without the boys, an annoying feeling catches up with me.
There’s a bitter taste at the back of my mouth, and it has little to do with what I had to eat or drink. I’m still in the dark with only the low glow from the generator to keep me company, when my phone lights up.
It’s Mason.
I wipe off my hands, picking up. “Yes?”
“Eli told me you didn’t leave the garage,” he says. “Go home.”
Easy for him to say. He made nice with Ever and I’m pretty sure he left with her for Christmas. They were probably fucking each other’s brains out before he decided to call. I don’t know why I’m being such a bitter asshole about it. If anyone deserves happiness, it’s him.
“You know, Mason,” I say, “you can’t tell me not to be spending nights here when you’ve been doing the exact same thing for months now.”
Mason sighs on the other end. “Yeah, man. I fucked up. But I’m not gonna watch you fuck up, too. And if that makes me a hypocrite, I don’t care. I’m just looking out for you. That’s what friends do.”
I sigh. “Are you done?”
“Don’t be stubborn, Valentine—”
Sighing, I hang up on him. It’s late and I don’t need a lecture. Mason likes to pretend that he’s responsible for all of us, but he’s not. I’m older than him, anyway. Besides, the garage being quiet expect for the hum of the generator isn’t so bad. I’m not leaving until I’m done.
A few seconds later, my phone starts ringing again. My jaw clenches as I try to ignore it. I have no fucking clue why Mason’s being so persistent. Alright, maybe I do. He knows how it feels to not want to go anywhere. Or do anything. Because no matter what you do, there’s always a hollow emptiness only one person can fill. Except you can’t be with that person.
But the difference between me and Mason is that I have a legitimate reason to be staying away, whereas he was just a self-sabotaging idiot. My gaze slips to my screen late and I can’t believe my fucking eyes.
Because it’s not Mason calling again.
Bright and clear, my screen reads, Indigo.
My heart roars to life. It can’t be a mistake, because if it was, she would’ve cut the call by now. The thought that she might be in trouble, and that I might be her last resort flashes white-hot in my mind, and I’m reaching for my phone faster than the speed of fucking light.
I answer before the call can end, holding my phone to my ear. “Indie?”
There’s a soft intake of breath on the other end of the call, like she wasn’t expecting me to answer—like she wasn’t expecting it to be me. It hits me quickly. She doesn’t have my number. So either she got it from someone, or . . . she found it from when I called on her birthday.
My thoughts are confirmed when she says, to check if it really is me, “Jem?”
There’s some background noise that tells me she’s not indoors. And her voice—it hits me like a freight train. It sounds raw. Broken. Like she’s been crying.
“It’s me,” I say, my voice firm. Steady. For all I know, she’s low on battery and I’ll lose her when she needs me. Important questions first. “Are you okay?”
“I—” she stutters, drawing a ragged breath. She’s definitely been crying, and the thought guts me. “I don’t know where I am.”
“Okay,” I say calmly. “It’s okay. Tell me what you see around you. Any street signs? Building names?”
“Amethyst, I think?” Another hiccup as she fights back a sob. “I don’t know—it’s dark.”
I have a vague idea of where she is, and it’s not too far away, thankfully. But I need a little more if I’m going to get to her quicker. “Tell me about the buildings.”
There’s a pause, and she must be looking around. “There’s no paint. It’s just face-brick.”
Perfect.
“Stay where you are,” I say, reaching for my jacket. “I’m coming.”
My mind is swarming. I know so little about her situation—just that she called me. She needs me. I don’t give a shit about much else. Clearing my mind, I think logically. I can get to her in ten minutes on foot. Or . . .
My gaze lifts to Mason’s precious motorcycle parked neatly in the corner of the garage.
*
IT’S FUCKING FREEZING outside. It takes three minutes for me to pull into the street Indie described. It’s dark, but there’s just enough streetlight for me to catch the small figure at the edge of the pavement.
Indigo.
She goes rigid as I draw closer on Mason’s motorcycle, narrow, then her figure visibly calms when she realizes it’s me. I switch off the cycle light, so it doesn’t flash in her eyes anymore.
As I get closer, she becomes clearer. Jesus Christ. She looks so small. So fragile. Still beautiful, though. So beautiful it makes my chest ache. She’s lost weight from the last time I saw her.
Bits of snow descend from the sky, catching in her hair. Her curls are gone—straightened out. I don’t know if it’s the cold that makes her look pale. If those are dark circles or just smudged make-up.
I kill the engine after I edge the curb, and I’m off the seat in seconds, turning to ask her what the hell is going on when she rushes into me. She’s pressed against me, her cheek against my chest as she takes small fists of my shirt in her hands.
My mind flashes back to the party all that while back. But this time, she’s not drunk. This time, there’s no warmth. She’s cold to the bone. And this time, there’s no one to rip her away from me.
She shakes a little, and initially, I think it’s because of the cold, but—she’s crying. And refuses to lift her face from my shirt.
She doesn’t want me to see her cry.
I bring an arm around her midriff and settle the other on the crown of her head. It’s surreal, that she’s here, right now, in my arms. But she’s no more herself than I am me.
“Indigo,” I murmur softly, “What happened?”
She doesn’t answer, just tries to control her breathing. I give her the time. Then, finally, she speaks. “He cheated.”
She doesn’t have to elaborate. Suddenly everything makes sense. Why she’s in the middle of upper Manhattan, all alone. Why she called me—her friend must still be at that party. I know her words should make me happy, but she’s so fucking miserable that I can’t help but sympathise with her.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, running a thumb across the crown of her head. Then, anger courses through my veins as a thought crosses my mind. Settling my hands on her shoulders, I separate her from me, scanning her body for any signs of injury. “Did he hurt you?”
She goes quiet, turning her face slightly and not meeting my eye.
My rage only intensifies. “Indigo, if he laid a finger on you, I swear to God—”
“He didn’t hurt me.” She lifts her head so that I finally get a look of her face. I suck in a breath. Other than her puffy, slightly red eyes, there are no bruises. But her skin is so pale. And her eyes are welling up again.
There’s little I hate more, I quickly realize, than seeing tears in her eyes. She must notice something in my face because she looks away again to hide the tears that run down her cheeks.
Quietly, almost too quiet to catch, she murmurs, “But it still hurts.”
I frown. “Where?”
She looks up at me in surprise, not expecting me to have heard. And then, like it hurts to look at me for any longer, she goes back to staring at the ground.
“Here.” She puts her hand over her heart, clutching a handful of her shirt like she wants to rip it off. “Everywhere.”
My heart cracks right down the center. Fucked. I’m so fucked. Gingerly, I reach for her hand, so she’s forced to let her shirt loose. I know the type of pain she’s talking about. The type that hurts so much you wish you could rip it off—so much you wish you could rip your heart right out of your ribcage and throw it away.
She sniffs. “Can you take me home?”
I nod tightly, clearing my throat. “Ye—”
“Not to my place,” Indie says, cutting me off. Her cheeks light up as she meets my gaze. “Scarlett might have . . . someone over.” She chews on her lower lip, clearly nervous, and her eyes grow bleary again. “Can I . . . I’m really sorry to ask this but— can I stay at your place for the night?”
I lift a hand to my temple to soothe ache that’s starting there. Because why did she have to ask it that way? Like there was any chance of me saying no.
I shrug off my jacket.
“Put this on,” I order, my gaze narrowing on her bare shoulders. “Why are you dressed like Tarzan?”
She mumbles something along the lines of “not dressed like Tarzan” under her breath but takes my jacket anyway, her hold weak. Tsking, I pull it out of her hold, clenching my jaw. “Put your arm out.”
Her big brown eyes slide to me, only a hint of defiance there. Not enough. I know she would normally refuse the offer, but she’s clearly exhausted because she listens, and I slip the jacket over one arm, then the other. She drowns in my leather jacket, but it makes me feel a little better that she won’t freeze any more.
I get on the bike, and she stands awkwardly on the sidewalk. I glance at her, lifting a brow. “You coming, sweetheart?”
She swallows and takes a deep breath, wiping at her cheeks with the backs of her hands. Then she gets on behind me. Immediately, what little warmth her body has to offer softens my back. Around us, the snow falls more rapidly. I get the faint scent of her—sweet like coconut cream, and it gives me a heady rush.
I can’t count the nights I dreamed of that scent. Of running my tongue down every square inch of her body to see what it would taste like. I clamp down on my jaw and clear my throat, adjusting myself on the seat hoping she doesn’t notice.
It doesn’t exactly help that when I start the engine, she has no choice but to set her hands on the sides of my torso. It feels like I haven’t been touched in forever, and getting it from her with only the fabric of my shirt between her skin and mine—
I curse under my breath and start driving.
The snow doesn’t stop, falling the whole way through, seeping into the fabric of my shirt and numbing my skin. Luckily, the drive is short. I wouldn’t have risked not bringing helmets if it wasn’t. I couldn’t find Mason’s helmets. The fucker’s always hiding shit around the garage because he thinks we’ll ruin or break his stuff if we find it.
Pulling into my place, I kill the engine. I get off, offering a hand to Indie. She takes it, strangely quiet. I figure it’s what people must feel when I don’t speak. Her hair’s covered with pieces of snow, and I want to dust it off, but I clench my fist to stop myself.
I can’t.
I want to, but I can’t.
I’d like to say that seeing her is enough, but it would be a lie. Seeing her means a lot—but it’s not enough. I want to touch her, hold her. Hell, I want so much. I want everything.
It’s too soon.
Way too soon.
She’s barely had time to lick her wounds. Nothing might ever happen between us. I make peace with this fact and set clear boundaries in my mind as I open up my apartment.
When I turn, I notice her shivering, so I crank up the heat on the thermostat. “You can take a shower,” I say to her, “I’ll make something to eat.”
She cautiously takes off my jacket. “Uh, it’s okay.”
It’s less defiance than her trying to be overly polite. I stare at her blankly and she blinks. “I don’t have anything to change into.”
“I’ll find something.”
Indie’s reluctant, but when she figures I’m not about to back down and watch her shiver for an hour, she nods. “Okay.”
A few minutes after she disappears into the bathroom, I hear the shower running. She listened. Good. Shoving a frozen pepperoni pizza in the oven, I head to my room. I pick out my smallest shirt, a white AC/DC band shirt, but I can’t find small sweatpants or socks. If she rolls them up, it should do.
I realize that it’s been a while since the shower stopped running. Frowning, I walk over to the bathroom door, knocking once. “Indie? Everything okay?”
“Yes!” she pipes, too quickly, and I’m about to turn when she says, “Wait, no. I – uh, I need a towel.”
It slipped my mind that she’d need a new towel. I cough. “Right. Yeah.”
Getting out a fresh towel, I knock at the bathroom door again.
“Come in,” she mumbles.
I catch a flash of her silhouette behind the shower curtain before I set the towel down and leave. My nerves are on end and frayed as fuck. I head back to the kitchen and take out the pizza as I try to shake the image, but it’s futile. It’s burned into my brain, and it’s torture. The clear-cut boundaries I set in my mind hiss and whine.
The bathroom door opens and it’s a while before I hear soft padding down the hallway. I set down a plate on our small dinner table as I lift my head. Indigo fidgets with her fingers as she glances at me from across the room, still nervous.
My clothes hang on her, but she still somehow manages to pull it off. Her hair is tied back into a ponytail, so I can see her face clearly. I swallow as she walks over tentatively, taking a seat at the small round table.
She looks up at me, face fresh and clean of any smudged makeup or tears. Her eyes are still puffy, but her freckles are clearer now, and somehow her lashes seem longer and darker without the makeup.
“Thank you,” she says.
And this time I’m the one to avert my gaze. “Eat,” I grumble, “before it gets cold.”
Indie smiles a little, like what I’ve said amuses her, before reaching for a slice of pizza. My gaze traces the movement — bad idea, because she lifts the slice to her mouth, and I have to supress the urge to groan. It can’t be helped— her lips are bare and impossibly full. They look soft. So soft.
I look away again.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” she asks.
“Hm,” I grunt, pulling out my chair and taking a seat before reaching for my own slice. I finish three slices in the time it takes her to eat one. When she finally finishes, she looks better. No more tears and shivers, at least. Some color has returned to her skin and she looks warmer with my clothes on and the heating up.
Then my gaze catches on my shirt.
She’s not wearing a bra.
Shit.
“I’m going to shower,” I mutter, standing abruptly. “You can have my bed. I’ll take the couch.”
“Jem, wait—” Her brows pull together as she looks up at me. “I’m not going to get any sleep, so you don’t have to give up your bed.”
I narrow my eyes. “Have you not been sleeping?”
“No, I—” she stutters, “I mean—”
“Have you been eating?” I ask. It’s a dick question, and none of my business, but it’s too late to take it back.
Her gaze turns defensive. “Yes,” she says, not meeting my eye.
I sigh, running a hand down my face. “Indigo, you need to sleep. You need to eat. These are things you need to do to survive. You’re in med school, you should know this.”
“I know,” she says, exhaling a frustrated breath. “It’s just—I don’t want to be an inconvenience. I swear you won’t see me again after tonight. I’ll never trouble you again.”
Does she think she’s some sort of burden to me? My lip curls. “What the hell are you going on about? Stop jumping to conclusions. You don’t want me to sleep on the couch? Fine. But if you don’t want me to sleep on the couch, then you’re not sleeping on the couch either. You take my bed and I’ll take Eli’s.”
Her eyes go wide. “No!”
I frown, and she’s quick to explain.
“I saw him at the party and I,” she pauses, “I think he’s having a rough time with something.”
I clench my jaw. Is she seriously worried about Eli’s fucking sentiment right now? Annoyed, I clear up the dishes and leave them in the sink before heading to my bathroom to shower.
When I get out and walk into my room to change, I half expect her to still be out in the lounge, but a few minutes later, she walks into my room. Her eyes are wide as she sees me, and unsure what to do with herself, she perches on my desk chair. I don’t turn my light off.
Her gaze falls on the papers scattered on my desk. I didn’t think I’d have anyone over anytime soon so I didn’t clear it up.
“Can I look?” she asks gingerly.
I nod, and she sifts through the pages delicately, like she doesn’t want to crumple the paper or smudge the ink. Scoffing, I resist the urge to tell her that she doesn’t have to be so careful. She looks genuinely enthralled.
She turns to me with brief brightness in her eyes. “Are these hand-drawn?”
I hum in response. “When I dropped out I lost access to the design software. Ace said he could get me access for free, but I told him it was a waste of time.”
She pulls her hands to her lap and goes quiet. After a while, she says, “Why didn’t you tell your mom you dropped out?”
The question gets me off guard. I get into my bed, but I don’t switch the light off, and I’m quiet for a while before I choose to answer. “She was so proud when I got in. Always telling the nurses. If she knew . . .” I sigh. “It would break her.”
Indie’s gaze is soft as she considers me from across the room. “There has to be some other way . . .”
“For me to study?” I shake my head. “Can’t have my bread buttered on both sides. Trust me, I’ve tried. I need to be working full time to keep up with the hospital.”
She looks down at her lap.
“How is she?” she asks, “Your mom. How is she?”
“Getting better,” I lie.
Then she lifts her eyes to meet mine. “How are you?”
“Fine.”
A half-lie. I’m half of everything these days. Half of myself.
Quietly, Indie rises from the chair and walks to the other side of the bed. She slips under the covers, flooding my senses. She used my body wash, but somehow she’s made the scent entirely her own. There’s still hints of coconut layered under my usual Old Spice.
“I’m sorry for calling you,” she says, next to me but not facing me, “But my only other friend is Mae, and I couldn’t tell her. And I can’t go to my place. It’s complicated, and you might not believe me but —”
“I believe you,” I quip.
A soft silence ensues.
“I’m not going back to him,” she says, “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
“Good,” I say. And I mean it. Even if I never get to have her, if it meant her not going back to him, I would take the deal. I just want her to be happy. Even if it’s not with me.
“I’m not supposed to be here,” she says, “With you. I just broke up with him and it’s not fair.”
“To him?” I scoff.
“To you,” she admits quietly. “I’m a mess. I’m sorry.”
“Stop,” I grunt, switching the night lamp off. “Stop apologizing. You’re not a mess. Go to sleep.”
But she stays upright, not resting her head on the pillow like she should.
“Fuck,” I curse under my breath, pinching the bridge of my nose. And in the dark, I feel her turn to me with wide eyes. “Do I really have to spell it out? I want to be the one you call. I want to be the one you need. I want so many things.”
I swallow. “But I’ll wait until you want them too. And I’ll understand if you don’t —want me, that is. If you never did. If you never do. But you need to understand this: you can’t be a burden if I want you. And I’ll always want you.”
She sucks in a shocked breath.
I press my lips into a tight line. “Good night.”
She doesn’t say anything. I turn away from her, because it takes a surprising amount of strength to not pull her body into mine. To not flip her into her back and press into the soft spot between her thighs. To not peel my shirt off her body to see more than just an outline.
I stay awake until I feel her breathing slow. Then I let myself fall.
.
.
.
.
.
a/n:
i made a playlist for jem! check my spotify @yuenwrites
until the next chapter,
stay gold,
yuen