Indie

I’M TRYING TO GET SOME work done to catch up with the schedule I had planned months ago. I’d been religiously following my spreadsheet until recently. The screen in front of me flashes with the changing slideshow as my professor drones on, but my mind keeps drifting to how Jem’s doing.

It’s been three days since we had to rush back from Houston, and I know it’s been taking a toll on him.

It’s evident when he sends me these one worded monotonous replies like don’t worry and I’m fine, and everything’s okay.

They don’t put me at ease. If anything, they make me worry more.

He’s been at the hospital for hours on end, and I just wish he’d let me be there for him.

Right now, it’s raining. Normally I’d find this to be the perfect day to sit down and study, but today, I can’t find it in me to concentrate. All I want to do is close my laptop and fall asleep on my bed. I watch the rain drops trickle down my window.

The storm outside is loud and harsh, and I almost miss the knock on the door. A frown finds my lips. Scarlett’s not home, and I’m not expecting anyone.

I check my phone for any surprise messages from Mae, but there isn’t anything. The knock comes again. With my heart floating up to my throat, I pad over to the door, dressed in a sweater and knee socks.

Standing in the corner of the doorway with, I call into the dark, “Who is it?”

The person on the other end speaks, low and assured, and I recognise the voice, even over the rain.

“Indie.”

Jem.

I open the door, and sure enough, he’s there.

It’s pouring outside—and he’s drenched. But his eyes are red, and I know—I just know, that it’s not just rain sliding down his cheeks.

“Hey,” he says, “Did I scare you?”

I place my hands behind my back and shake my head. “No. Come in.”

Jem’s sneakers squelch across the wooden floors, and I close the door behind me. He sits on a barstool, dripping over the hardwood floor.

I leave him briefly, returning with a towel. He’s silent as I pat his face dry, as I run the towel through the short, wet strands of hair. The normally blonde strands have grown darker with water.

His storm-grey eyes are glazed over as he stares up at me. My hands pause, still grasping the towel.

“Jem,” I say, “What’s wrong?”

His brows cross, raw pain etched in his face. and his voice is hoarse when he says, “She’s gone, Indie.”

Just three words, and he crumbles.

His arms come around my waist as he buries his face in my chest. There’s a painful knot at my throat, and my eyes are tearing up. No. No way. It can’t be.

She was supposed to have more time.

I can’t even begin to imagine what he’s going through right now. Him—the boy who sacrificed so much for his mother.

My broken, beautiful man.

“I’m sorry,” I manage, stroking his hair, the scruff at the nape of his neck. “I’m so sorry.”

“She’ll never get to see Gianna and Poppy grow up,” Jem says, his voice muffled, “And Gianna—she looks so much like her and I—”

His body shakes, and I snap out of it. I help him peel his drenched shirt over his head, and he tugs his jeans off. I collect the soaking material, dumping them in our washing machine.

When I return to my room, Jem’s sitting at the edge of my bed in just his boxers. I blink back my tears and walk over to him, cupping his face in my hands. I place a soft kiss on his forehead.

“It’s okay,” I murmur, gently, “It’s going to be okay.”

And I place another kiss to his face, his cheeks, the side of his mouth. And finally, I let my lips touch his. Just once. He tastes like salt.

I straddle his hips, pulling him into my arms, trying to warm him up. He groans under his breath, pained and anguished. Blood rushes to the surface of my skin.

Our breaths mix, growing more fervent. His gaze meets mine, red-rimmed and desperate. And then he’s pulling my sweater over my head, and our skin’s touching everywhere.

It feels soft. Sacrilegious.

He discards his boxers and flips me over on the bed, his fingers pulling the material between my legs aside before he slides inside me, and my head tips back.

It’s rushed and slow at the same. A lilac haze over reality, and I realize that I want it just as much as he does.

When it’s over, Jem goes rigid, a deep line forming between his brows as he stared down at me.

“That shouldn’t have happened,” he says, quietly.

I frown, anxiety brewing in my chest. “What do you mean?”

And when I glance up at him, at the disappointed look on his face, my heart burns in my chest.

Because that look can’t mean anything good.

“Jem,” I say, “You won’t feel this way forever.”

But he just shakes his head. “I never say or do anything I don’t mean, Indigo.”

The tears bubble out of my eyes and down my cheeks.

His face is pained.

“Don’t cry,” he says, running the back of his hand over the crest of my cheek, and then the front of his hand once over again. “It fucks me up to see you cry.”

“Then don’t make me cry!”

His jaw is tight, and he adverts his gaze.

“I don’t think I’m ever going to be the same again. I’m not going to be okay for a while. And I —” He sighs. “I’m not going to use you to deal with my pain, Indigo. I can’t . . . I can’t do that.”

I curl my hand into a fist against his tattooed chest, the memory of us all those nights ago, at the bar, when he’d said two words to me. Desparation running through my veins, looking up at him, I repeat the exact same words.

“Use me.”

His features crumble.

“I can’t.” Jem blows out a harsh breath. “I won’t.”

“Please,” I say, shaking my head as tears cloud my vision.“Don’t do this.”

“Indie…”

“Jem.”

There’s a resolute silence, and I feel myself breaking as each second passes, digging my palms into my eyes to wipe away my stubborn tears.

“I love you, you know,” Jem says, quietly. “I think I’ve loved you for a while.”

My chest constricts to the point of pain. And somewhere between it all, anger slithers up my spine and curls its fingers around my throat.

I shake my head. “That’s just cruel, Jem. That’s cruel, and you know that.”

“It wasn’t meant to be,” he says, “I just wanted to tell you when the time was right. But the timing was never really right with us, huh?” He passes me an empty smile. “And now I have to tell you,” he says, “In case I never get the chance again. In case you ever doubt it.”

I love you, too, I want to say. So much. Please don’t leave me. Please don’t ever leave me.

But as I look up at him, I know my silent pleas are worthless.

I thought that I’d learnt all I possibly could about heartbreak from Kade. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Because now, staring up at the boy I love, I’ve never felt anything more painful than the way my heart rips.

Right down the middle.