Indie
THE NEXT MORNING, from the heavy sunlight slipping through the curtains, I know it’s late when I wake up. Jem’s body is huge and warm as a furnace under my sheets, and so much of it is touching me. His arm is slung over my midriff, snuck under the grey t-shirt I slipped on last night and splayed over the skin of my stomach.
My skin burns up at each point of contact his skin makes with mine. Which is many, many places. And when everything plays back in my mind like a blurry film reel, my cheeks practically boil with heat.
When I move, Jem must sense it, because he stirs from his sleep.
I panic, lifting up the sheets and covering my face as I hide under them.
“Indie?” His voice is raspy. Heavy with sleep and entirely delicious.
My voice is muffled by the sheets, my heart lodged in my throat when I answer. “What?”
He huffs a laugh. “Quit hiding your face.”
A nervous sound bubbles up my throat. “I can’t. Go away.”
Jem just laughs harder. “Christ, you’re so fucking cute.”
He whips the cover off me and I let out a squeal of protest as the cold air rushes in, but he ignores it, pressing his mouth to mine in the kind of kiss you get from a puppy.
“Jem, stop,” I groan, “I still need to brush my teeth.”
He rolls his eyes. “I don’t care.”
He looks down at me, and for a moment, all the humor in his gaze burns away as it turns serious, and there’s a storm roiling in the grey of his eyes. Then, I blink, and it’s gone. He pauses to take a quick glance at the clock at my bedside. “Shit, I’m going to miss my flight.”
And then I remember, amidst all the flashes from last night – he said he was flying out to see his dad and sisters for the weekend. My heart sinks in my chest, even though I know he’ll be back soon. There’s a big part of me that wants him to stay right here, in my bed, forever. But he’ll be back in just a few days. I shove down the senseless feeling of being abandoned and give him a hard look instead. “You should go.”
He frowns as he stares down at me. “You don’t want to come?”
“It’s not that I don’t want to – it’s just…It’s your family, and you should be there.” I give him another nudge. “Go.”
“Yeah,” he says slowly, “I need my shirt back.”
“Oh,” I say, cheeks flaming. “Right.”
My hands go to my sides as I pull the shirt over my head. It’s halfway off me when he mutters, hoarsely, “Keep the shirt.”
I pause, frowning. “What?”
He clears his throat. “I just needed an excuse to see those again.”
My mouth drops. Is he talking about my boobs?
Quicker than light, I pull the shirt back down. Only to find him grinning. I give him a flat look. “You—”
“I’m leaving,” he chimes.
“Good,” I mutter, but I don’t really mean it.
At my bedroom door, he turns. And there it is again, that vulnerable look on his face, like he’s dying to say something to me, like it’s on the tip of his tongue, but for some reason, he just can’t. “Indie, I—”
“Go,” I say.
He clenches his jaw. Nods once. And then he’s gone.
I exhale, taking a few moments to gather my frayed ends, and then because I start to drive myself crazy with overthinking, I pull on a pair of sweatpants and go to the bathroom to brush my teeth and give myself something to do.
A few minutes later after Jem leaves, there’s a knock on my door. I open it up while still brushing my teeth, fully expecting it to be Mae, after the series of texts she sent to me this whole morning. My heart stutters, because it's him again. Jem. With snow lightly dusting his hair and his cheeks flushed, he’s breathless as he stares at me.
“I can’t,” he says, “I can’t leave you. I thought of you spending Christmas alone and it rips my fucking heart out. So get in the cab, Indigo. You’re coming with me.”
My mouth drops, brows pulling together. “Are you insane? I haven’t packed anything! I’m still brushing my teeth!”
Jem just grins at my toothpaste filled mouth, and when he notices my very unimpressed look, he steals it back. “You have five minutes, Indigo.” He doesn’t look back at me, tapping away on his phone instead. When he realises that I’m still very much rooted to the spot, he raises an eyebrow. “Get a move on, will you?”
I almost hurl my toothbrush at his face. “I don’t even have a ticket!”
He shakes his phone in the air. “Now you do.”
He already booked a flight? For what seems like the hundredth time today, I'm stunned into silence. “You can’t do that.”
“Just did.”
My mouth opens. And closes again. And opens.
And each time, I come up with nothing.
Light enters his eyes, and he opens his mouth in fake shock, mocking me. I lean forward and punch him in the shoulder. “Jerk.”
I take the quickest shower of my life and when I get out, I shove a few essentials and two outfits into a duffel, the whole time wondering how the hell he persuaded me into doing something so last minute and unplanned.
And now we’re here. Houston, Texas. There’s no snow, and it’s definitely warmer here than the city.I stare up at a picture perfect, white picket fence house with a giant garden that is so foreign to me as a New Yorker. It’s not different from what I pictured, which surprises me. I’m normally disappointed when the picture of something I have in my mind doesn’t match reality.
Jem is right next to me, paying the cab driver. He’s always finding small ways to touch me. Like in the plane, he held my hand and didn’t let go, drawing tiny circles in it with the pad of his thumb. And now, he comes up behind me with my bag and splays his hand on the small of my back as he gently urges me toward the door.
Before I can take my bag from him, the oak door in front of me is swung open and a small figure flashes past me, attacking Jem’s left leg. In the rush, i only make out a few details. She has tanned skin and grey eyes, and is dressed in a dark shirt that goes all the way to her knees.
“Hey Gigi,” Jem says, bending to meet her. Her attention stays on him long enough before she sees the extra bags in his arms preventing him from properly hugging her and finally the extra person that tagged along.
“I’m Gianna.” Her silver eyes narrow at me. “Who are you?”
“Oh–” I look at Jem with wide eyes. “I’m–”
“I know who you are.” Gigi tilts her head at me, “You’re Jem’s girlfriend.”
“Well,” I look over at Jem who shrugs his shoulders and glance back at her with a small smile. “Yes.”
Her face contorts as she begins to scowl at me and then at my bags in Jem’s arms.
“Gianna,” Jem warns. “Be nice.”
She pouts, storming back into the house. Not too long afterward, an even smaller figure barrels towards Jem, hugging him and the luggage around him. Her brown eyes peer up at Jem as he tugs on one of her little blonde pigtails.
“Hi Pops,” Jem says softly, picking her up so that we’re on eye level. She gleams up at Jem with her pink sweater all rumpled. I figure she must be Poppy, younger than Gianna. Jem talks about the two often, and it’s obvious that despite not living together, they’re close. Jem meets my gaze before tilting his head, telling me to follow him inside.
Once we’re inside, Poppy turns her gaze to me, still in Jem’s arms.
“You’re pretty,” she says softly.
My eyes go wide and I can’t help the smile that tugs on my lips.
Jem grins. “Yeah, she is, isn’t she?”
“I don’t think so,” Gianna mumbles from somewhere behind me.
“Don’t be mean, Gigi,” a girl says. She has light hair, tanned skin and soft brown eyes. Practically an older clone of Poppy.
“Hi,” the girl says, coming into view, “I’m Kendall.”
She wraps her arms around my shoulders, bringing me in for a hug. She’s warm, and reminds me of Jem, a lot. I remember him briefly mentioning that she’s a freshman in college, studying art.
I extend my arms around her body. “Indigo.”
She breaks free and places her hands on her hips, with a sneaky smile playing on her lips as she turns to her brother. “I thought you said things didn’t work out.”
He shrugs, feigning nonchalance and telling her to shut up all in one glance. “Things change.”
Meanwhile, after Jem sets Poppy down, she edges closer to me, clinging to the bottom of my jacket like a baby duck. My chest softens. She’s the cutest thing ever. When I look down at her, her cheeks flush and her eyes go wide, and she lets go, running down the hallway.
I chew back a smile, and turn my attention to a display cabinet against the wall.There’s a picture of what has to be Jem, but is also the furthest possible thing from him. He looks shorter, leaner, and without tattoos. And – a gasp escapes my lips.
Jem’s brows quirk. “What?”
“Your hair,” I say. “It’s grown out in this picture. You look like a golden retriever.”
He really does. His hair is all blonde under the sun and it flops over his forehead. Without all the tattoos, and the muscle, and the buzzcut … He looks …cute. I still see flashes of that boyishness in him now, like when he smiles hard and his eyes crinkle, or when he laughs. Even his stubbornness, sometimes. But now, there’s a harshness to him. Like something inside him hardened over time.
Jem rolls his eyes, reaching above me and flicking his fingers so that the frame falls forward and the picture disappears from my view. “I was way too damn scrawny.”
“Jemmy,” a male voice sounds. I turn to find an older man reaching out to hug Jem. He has salt and pepper hair and isn’t bad looking, for his age. He shares some of his features with Jem, like his nose and jawline. And once, probably, his hair color.
“Old man,” Jem mutters, and I can tell it’s clipped, but he accepts the hug his father offers nevertheless.
It’s palpable, the tension between them. Strange, too, that it seems to come mostly from Jem’s side. He’s not one to be this way, standoffish and stoic. I knew things weren’t the best with his dad, but seeing it in person is a whole other ball game.
“Dad, this is Indie,” Jem says, motioning to me, “She’s gonna stay for the weekend.”
“Lance,” Jem’s dad says, extending a hand my way in introduction. “Nice to meet you, Indie.”
I take his hand, conjuring up a polite smile. Kendall brushes past me to steal a cucumber slice from the bowl of freshly cut vegetables on the kitchen oasis. The house is literally alive and thrumming with energy, and it takes a moment to get used to.
Jem nods over to the kitchen counter. “We’re having hamburgers for dinner?”
His father nods at him and a not so silent yessss from Gianna echoes from behind me. Jem leaves me at the door after squeezing my hand, and pops his head into the kitchen.
“Hey, Jo,” he says, and a soft voice answers him.
“I’m heading upstairs to settle in, shout if you need me,” Jem calls out. He doesn’t offer me a warning or much time to think before he takes my hand and leads me upstairs to his room to drop off our bags. He opens his bedroom door and I’m greeted with a view of his room. He pulls my puffer jacket off my arms to sling it over his desk chair.
“I haven’t really changed this room since I left,” he says, lunging forward to pull down a poster of what looks like a naked video game girl and scrunch it into the paper bin. I chew back a smile.
He’s right. He has outgrown this room. I’ve been to his apartment in the city, but somehow, getting access to this room feels like knowing a different side to him, and I can’t help the giddy, candyfloss-like feeling I get on the inside.
It’s so…angsty. The walls are painted black and lined with posters, but it seems like a DIY job. There’s an entire bookcase filled with video games and comics, and what looks like basketball trophies at the very top.
“I didn’t know you were that good at basketball,” I murmur.
He shrugs, sitting on the edge of his bed. “I was alright.”
But I get the feeling he’s being modest.
Just then, his phone buzzes with a message and he pulls it out, his mouth etching into a frown as his eyes scan his screen. Whatever it is, it’s obvious that it can’t mean anything good.
I frown, edging closer to him. “Is something wrong?”
But he just sighs and shakes his head, then reaches over to ruffle my hair.
“Thank you for being here,” he says, “You make everything better.”
My insides go a little soft, and I press my lips together. But I don't miss the way he glided over my question. I know him, and I know he doesn’t like sharing whenever something is troubling him. Maybe it’s to protect himself or to protect…me. Either way, he’s the one shouldering it all, all the time. I shift on the spot. “Are you sure I’m not intruding?”
“I practically dragged you here, you know.”
Suddenly, he pulls me toward him, so that I’m standing between his legs, and his hands come up the backs of my knees. “You’re still wearing my shirt, you know,” he says, playing with the hem bottom of it. “I want it back.”
Swallowing down the nerves, I scoff. “Sweet dreams, Valentine.”
“They are sweet,” he mutters, “Very, very sweet.”
He glances up at me with something sharp swimming in his gaze. A spiral cuts through my stomach.
It’s strange, because here I am, in a ferign state, a foreign house, meeting people I’ve never met in my life before. But I feel … normal. It’s hard – almost impossible – for me to be uncomfortable when he’s around. It’s like he’s a beacon, a focal point of energy who calms me. I can blot out the background as long as he’s in the picture.
It scares me, because this thing between us …it’s fresh. New. Vulnerable.
And as I look down at him, I hate that every single instinct is telling me to run.
Because I know, with certainty, that if he breaks my heart, I will never fully recover.