25 unfair

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I WAKE UP EARLY, but I don’t feel tired. I feel . . . awake. Alert. There’s some sunlight filtering through a gap in my curtain, and I become acutely aware of the weight of a hand around my torso, and slow breathing behind me. Jem. His cologne — hints of spiced wood and fresh soap — hits me anew, sending my heartbeat into a frenzied rush.

“Jem?”

He doesnʼt stir. Itʼs an admittedly poor attempt to wake him up, because my voice comes out in just a whisper, but really, I donʼt want to wake him up.

Steadying my breathing, I gingerly place a hand over his hand that’s slung around my torso — he never moved it throughout the night, even in his sleep, somehow, and the thought makes my chest ache a little. I tug his arm off me a little, waking up.

In the dim morning light of my room, and with his eyes closed, Jem looks more peaceful than I’ve ever seen him. He always has a steady look of calm about him, but even then, there’s this sort of . . . mellowed agitation set between his brows that isn’t there now. There’s a slight warm flush to his cheeks, and I notice that his lashes are the lightest shade of brown and that his lips are fuller than usual in the morning.

A small smile finds its way to my own lips, and I realize, quickly, that I’m just sitting on my bed, staring at him. Like a creep. And, honestly, I have few reservations about it. I wish I could do it longer, but if he woke up suddenly, I would melt from embarrassment.

Instead, I tiptoe off the bed and head to the bathroom. I brush my teeth and take a quick shower, and when I get back out, I peek inside my room, but Jem’s still asleep, so I make some coffee for myself in the kitchen.

A few minutes later, thereʼs rustling, and Jem emerges from my bedroom. My heart floats to the top of my throat. In the dark, I couldn’t see him clearly, but now I can. His hair has grown out a little, like he skipped his weekly buzzcut, and it’s messed up a little, sticking up in different directions. His face is slightly puffy, but somehow, he pulls it off.

His jacket is slung on one of our bar stools, which means that heʼs just wearing a shirt, leaving his inked arms on display.

It’s fascinating — seeing him this way. It’s almost . . . domestic and it makes my breath hitch a little.

Jem narrows his eyes a little, trying to read me from my facial expression.

“You good?” he asks, and his voice is so raspy and rough at the edges that I buffer for a second.

“Yes, um—” I swallow, nodding a bit too enthusiastically. “Yeah. Thanks for . . . um — thanks for staying.”

My cheeks warm when I remember whining about my period to him, the memory of his hand splayed on my stomach is now burned into my mind. The cramps have calmed down now, and a warm shower soothed my lower stomach muscles, making me feel miles better.

Jem just nods like my words don’t fully sink in as he blinks the tiredness away, running an inked hand through the hair at the base of his neck. “You got an extra toothbrush I can borrow?”

I nod. “There’s one under the sink.”

He disappears into my bathroom, and I decide to make some hot chocolate. For a brief second, the memory of Jem stealing my marshmallows the night we first met flashes in my mind, bringing a smile to my face. I was such a brat to him that day, and looking back, he wasn’t anything but polite. I add a few extra mini marshmallows in.

Jem’s voice brings me back to reality. “Is this for me?”

I glance up to see him motioning towards the hot chocolate. When I mutter a brief “yeah”, he walks over to the kitchen island and grabs the mug, lifting it to his lips before gulping it down in seconds. He drags his gaze back down to me. “You got more of these marshmallows?”

Slowly, I nod.

Jem is quiet for a second. Then he mutters, “Give me the bag.”

I furrow my brows as I pass him a concerned stare. “You’re just gonna eat them plain?”

He fixes me with a grave look. “The only reason I chugged that hot chocolate was so that I could get to the marshmallows quicker, baby. Now,” he says, “You going to give me the bag or do I have to wrestle it out of you?”

“Wow,” I murmur. “You’re so weird.”

“I’m weird?” His steely gaze lights up as his lips lift. “Never pegged you as one for high school insults.”

I roll my eyes, holding back a smile. “That was hardly an insult.”

He cracks a grin, but it’s quickly replaced by a stone-cold sobriety.

“Indigo,” he says, calmly, “Give me the bag.”

I don’t do anything of the sort. I just chew back a smile, holding the bag behind me instead. He sighs, and I think he’s going to let it go, but suddenly, he lunges for the bag.

I pull away quickly, but in the rush, I miss my footing. A startled gasp bubbles from my throat. Since Jem doesn’t anticipate it, we both go falling to the floor in a tangled mess.

Somehow, Jem manages to place his arm under me, bracing my fall. He lifts his weight of me off me, but I can still feel the weight of him pressed against me in so many places. He pulls his arm out from under me so that my back meets the cold floor.

I still have the marshmallow bag in my clutches, and Iʼm about to lift a brow as if to say, ha! I win, but he just grins, and I know he’s going to get it from me now. He has me caged. And he’s obviously stronger than me. He just needs a second to get what he wants. I know I canʼt win this fairly. So I play dirty.

“Wait, Jem,” I say, “I bruise easily.”

Instantly, he loosens his hold on me. My lips lift, and I cross my ankles at his lower back, taking it as my chance to flip us over so that I’m straddling him, pinning him down instead. His incisor digs into his bottom lip as he realizes.

Oh you’re going to pay for that shit big time, Gallagher girl.”

I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Yeah, right.”

“Mhm.” He nods, leaning up on his elbows. I can’t believe that I still have the marshmallows — that he still wants them so bad. His silver eyes sparkle. “Just means I’m going to have to spend some time learning your pain threshold.”

The words pain threshold send a strange flutter up from the pit of my stomach all the way to the top of my throat. I’m trying to play cool but heat pulses between my legs. A red haze takes over my mind at our close proximity. His silver gaze lowers to my lips, and I find myself lowering, drawn like a moth to a flame.

We’re so close that we’re breathing each other’s air. So close. Too close. The scent of his cologne and the minty fresh smell of toothpaste infuses my senses. Anything could happen, and I want it to happen. I want it to happen so bad—

But at the last minute, Jem adverts his gaze, swallowing.

I blink back to reality. Right. It’s too soon for ... any of this. Taking a quick breath, I get off him, and a rush of cool air hits me. Jem stands too and I brush off imaginary dust from my plaid pants before handing him the marshmallows. “Here.”

Jem takes the marshmallow bag and sets it on the counter. He clears his throat. “I’m sorry, you know.”

I furrow my brow. “For what?”

“That I couldn’t be there for you.” Then, he adds, “As your friend.”

Oh. He’s talking about the previous night. I must have been a real mess if he looks this guilty. I wave a hand, averting my gaze. “It’s fine. I had to cross that bridge by myself anyway. Or burn it down. Whatever.”

I meet his gaze again, and he holds it, unwavering. Thereʼs an intensity to his gaze that I canʼt match.

I want to tell him so much. I want to tell him how much I missed him. I want to ask him how he left me craving his company after only knowing him for only a few weeks, to the point where I wished I never met him instead.

I say nothing.

“I missed you,” he says.

My world tilts on its axis, and I stare up at him with wide eyes. Can he read my mind? Thereʼs no other explanation for him saying exactly what I want to say but somehow canʼt, the words that settle an at the top of my tongue then fizzle away.

My throat is dry.

Jem nods tightly, playing it nonchalant when I know he wanted me to say it back. It makes me want to slap myself, but the momentʼs long gone.

He checks his phone for a few seconds before pocketing it. “I’m gonna head back to my place to take a shower and pick up some stuff from the garage to fix up your heating.”

“Jem,” I sigh, “You don’t have to—”

He passes me a stubborn look. “Either you let me fix it, Indigo, or I’m here every day to keep you warm at night.”

My cheeks warm at the insinuation. Even if I like the idea, I can’t expect him to be my 24/7 human heater. Sighing, I give in. “Fine.”

We stare at each other for a few lingering moments before he breaks the silence. “Iʼll be back soon.”

And all I can do is nod, slowly, as he turns, walking out the apartment.

My nerves are on end, senses heightened by Jem’s presence. I try not to think too hard about what happened last night—what happened moments ago. But every few minutes, my mind draws back to the scene, and my skin heats.

An hour after Jem leaves, I’m laying on the couch watching Euphoria when Scarlett walks out of her room. It’s still pretty early, and it seems like she really doesn’t know what happened out here between Jem and I. She was probably sleeping throughout it.

She doesn’t wake up early, and she’s not really conversable without caffeine in her system, so I don’t say a word to her as she makes her coffee.

I still havenʼt spoken to Mae about Scarlett, with everything thatʼs happened between that party and now, but I make up my mind to bring it up when sheʼs back in New York.

A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. It’s probably Jem, back with his tools to fix the heating. I walk over and openim it, and for the second time, I’m not right about who’s at the other end.

Kade.

He’s holding a bouquet of flowers.

The air leaves my chest, and I try to shut the door on him, but he holds it open, pushing himself in. Cold air rushes in, icing my skin. “Indigo, please. We need to talk.”

I turn to Scarlett, but she seems to be minding her own business and making coffee, not even bothering to check whoʼs at the door.

I frown as he uses my two seconds of indecision to edge into the apartment. Clamping down on my jaw, I snap. “What are you doing here?”

Kade doesn’t look good. There are dark circles under his eyes. His dark hair is ruffled, his shirt creased. “I’m sorry, alright? I made a mistake.”

“I don’t care,” I say, and I want to convince myself that itʼs the truth, that his worn down appearance doesnʼt phase me, but I loved him once. And itʼll take a long time for me to truly not care. I meet his gaze evenly. “You need to leave.”

His face twists. “Are you seriously not even going to hear me out? That’s so fucking unfair.”

“Unfair?” I furrow my brows. “You cheated on me, Kade. I never left you even when I wanted to. I stayed. Right till the very end. I stayed, even when you made me feel miserable. You donʼt get to stand there and tell me Iʼm being unfair.”

He sighs, like this is all just some big inconvenience to him. “Indigo, just listen to me, alright? We can get ice cream and talk—”

The image of him taking me to the parlour just to be served by the same girl he cheated on me with leaves a bitte taste in my mouth. “I can get my own fucking ice cream.”

Pain flashes in his green eyes as he reaches for me, but I take a step back — but he only takes another step toward me, clasping his hand around my arm. Hard. “Indigo, please—”

I furrow my brows, trying to wrench out of his hold. “What the hell are you doing? Let go!”

“Then stop running away from me, Indigo, just listen—”

Scarlett peers up from the kitchen, taking two steps closer to me, but still paces away. “That’s enough,” she says, pinning Kade with an icy glare, “Get out.”

Surprisingly, even Scarlett’s death glare doesn’t get to Kade. He doesn’t listen. Thereʼs a crazed look to his face, and itʼs like heʼs possessed. I try pulling away again, but he just holds on tighter. The pit at the bottom of my stomach grows, and my skin burns unpleasantly at his touch.

“Indigo, stop fighting me—”

Tears prick my eyes as pain courses through my arm. I try to get his hand off me, but he won’t budge. “Kade, let go! You’re hurting me!”

Scarlett is monumentally pissed. Which isnʼt good. She sets down her coffee mug so hard Iʼm shocked it doesnʼt shatter. Sheʼs two seconds away from walking over and gouging Kadeʼs eyes out with her acrylics or something, but before she does, I catch sight of a figure at the door.

Jem.

His gaze is cloudy and white-hot anger lines his jaw.

The tears lining my eyes fall down my cheeks. Jem actually came back, like he promised. I donʼt know if his timing is good or bad. Or how much of the conversation he caught. Behind him, a snow storm rages, and his body blocks most of the cold rush of air from outside. 

Everything happens too fast. Jem drops the duffel bag in his hands. Then, he crosses the space between us in two long strides and flings Kade off me, still holding onto Kade’s shirt as he towers above him.

And the sound of bone crunching fills the air as Jem swings his fist into Kade’s jaw.

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