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Was it completely fucked up to be mad at a dead woman?

Because I was.

I mean, she willingly left her son — after fighting to live.

She willingly put him through hell. It infuriated me that she couldn't see the pain her decision was still causing.

Jackson had a ghost of a smile on his face as he scratched Tormenta's head — who was now in my lap. I was frozen in place, staring down at the little fluff.

I'd seen how quickly these demons could turn on someone for no reason, so I sure as hell wasn't going to give it any kind of reason — by not moving a muscle.

"You know you're allowed to breathe, right?"  Jackson forced out a laugh.

He was trying his best to act normal, but his facade was slipping. His half assed smiles couldn't hide the pain in his eyes.

I thought I wanted to know his past, but I wasn't prepared for this; I wasn't prepared for my chest to hurt like it was happening to me.

I'd always been an empathetic person, but this had to be more than empathy.

"The name can be a little deceiving, she's actually harmless," Jackson picked her up from my lap, his hand grazing my upper thigh in the process.

I know it was accidental, but that didn't stop my stomach from flipping.

"Elliott tried to rile her up like she was a fuckin' dog the first time he came here, and all she did was purr."

Elliott's been here before? Has he shown this to anyone else?

Why am I upset that I'm not the first?

"I'm assuming Elliott knows about..." I trailed off, not wanting to pour salt in the wound.

"Kinda," Jackson mumbled as Tormenta tried to climb him to nuzzle under his chin.

Okay, maybe the little demon isn't that bad.

"He knows about the cancer — I've never told anyone she killed herself," he winced as the words came out. "That feels weird to say."

"Wait, hold on," I stood up as my mind went into overdrive, turning to face him. He looked down to where I was sitting then up to me with a small frown.

"No one knows? You haven't talked to anyone about this? What about your family? A therapist?"

He pinched his brow together as he watched me, like he was trying to figure out what he was willing to give.

Stop thinking and just fucking tell me.

I was starting to think I was addicted to pain.

I had to be. Because even though I already had plenty of my own, I'd take all his pain for myself, just so I never had to see the look on his face now.

"Papa doesn't believe in therapy," Jackson laughed humorlessly, making me frown in confusion.

"Mama's familia lives in Mexico. They know what really happened, but they never approved of Papa, so they only stayed long enough for the funeral. Why bother comforting a child from a man they never liked, right?"

And I thought I was mad before. Now I'm furious.

He was just a kid. How could they not care enough to make sure he was okay?

"Why didn't they approve?" I asked quietly, sitting on the ground in front of him.

As soon as I looked up at him, I felt like a little kid sitting down for story time. But Tormenta immediately jumped from his lap to curl up in my own, and I didn't want to make her angry.

The corner of Jackson's lip tilted up as his eyes flicked between Tormenta and I, then he sighed.

"He wouldn't move back to Mexico, so Mama stayed here. They're proud of who we are, and where we come from — but if it were up to him, I probably wouldn't even know where Mexico is on a map," he shrugged, watching as I gingerly lifted my hand to pet Tormenta's head, which she happily leaned into.

So he was raised by a man that's embarrassed of his own heritage?

This just keeps getting more fucked up.

"Where was he when you...found her?" I asked slowly, as if I were talking to someone with a loaded gun in their hands.

"On a business trip," he said vaguely.

He was by himself? Holy shit.

I couldn't even begin to imagine going through something like that now, let alone as a freaking child.

I wanted to travel back in time more than anything, so I could wrap my arms around young Jackson, and never let go.

I wanted to wrap my arms around the Jackson in front of me now, but the warm ball of fur in my lap kept me in place, so I settled on resting my hand on his knee — earning a half smile from him.

I had a feeling I'd only scratched the surface of his mind, but I'd already heard enough to drive any normal person insane.

If he's never talked about this before, did he even get to fully grieve? How was he still functioning if he's held it all in for this long?

The universe can be cruel. But somehow, we still survive.

There had been many times I felt like I was just here — just surviving. I didn't like the idea of Jackson feeling that way, because I knew firsthand how much it sucks.

Why couldn't he talk to me when I was right there years ago, instead of pushing me away?

How was now any different?

There were still so many questions about our past, but right now, all I wanted to focus on was him.

I wanted him to stop hurting.

"What's her name?" I asked, and his eyes softened slightly.

"Liliana," he said smoothly, his smile stretching wider. Like just saying her name lightened his mood.

"Liliana," I tested under my breath. "That's beautiful."

"She was," he whispered and placed a hand on his leg, lightly running his pinky across the side of my hand.

I never thought such a simple touch could have my eyes fluttering closed, as I resisted the urge to lean my head forward to rest it in his lap.

Tormenta made a sound that reminded me of a small motor as she stood from my lap suddenly, going back over to the can of tuna.

Now there was nothing holding me back from giving into the temptation — except the voice in the back of my mind, telling me he'd probably freak and leave me stranded here.

"Tell me about her," I urged quietly. He pulled his hand back a little, his brows lifting quickly before knitting together.

"Really?"

"Yeah," I smiled. "I wanna get to know her."

He squinted his eyes and watched me intently for a moment, and I began to question why I opened my stupid mouth.

Then he leaned forward and rested his forearms on his legs, dropping his head with a breathy laugh.

"Um. She was very passionate," he said softly as he lifted his head, eyes roaming my face. "Everything she did, she gave her all. But only for a little while — she went through hobbies like crazy."

"There was one she kept up with, though," he continued, and my heart faltered in my chest when he slowly lowered himself to the ground.

"What w-was it?" I stuttered as he leaned back against the tree, stretching one leg out next to me, while the other was bent on my other side, calf resting on my knee.

"She loved growing lavender," he smiled, making a small one stretch across my own face. "The whole house always smelled like it."

"That takes a lot of skill," I said, laughing slightly as I thought of my very short lived dream of having a bedroom full of plants.

"I know — I tried," Jackson cringed.

The image of Jackson taking care of little lavender plants had me pressing my lips together to keep the goofy smile off my face.

Then I cleared my throat, tucking my hair behind my ear before pointing at the box behind him. "So you write her letters?"

"Yeah," he dropped his gaze, like that was something to be embarrassed of.

But honestly, I was trying to figure out if him writing letters to his mother, or buying a homeless man groceries touched my heart more.

"Maybe I should write her and introduce myself," I said in an unsure tone, making Jackson look back up.

"Since you're living with my family and all," I added quickly when I noticed his widened eyes. "I mean, a mother deserves to know the people her son is staying with, right?"

"¿Por qué me haces esto?" He mumbled under his breath, running his hands down his face. Then he stood, making my stomach drop.

Fuck. I shouldn't have said anything.

"It's gettin' dark, we should go."

Why would I even suggest that?

Write a letter to his dead mother? That's something a girlfriend would suggest.

I was just trying to let him know it was nothing to be ashamed of, dammit.

I wanted to stay here and listen to him, but I just had to open my mouth and ruin everything.

So now I had to go back to reality — back to worrying about my own problems.

Eating dinner with my family tomorrow.
Jackson pushing me away again. 
Caring if Jackson pushed me away.
Kallie.

"She'll be fine," Jackson reassured, mistaking my hesitation as worry for the cat.

I couldn't tell him the real reason I was hesitating was because I wanted to be alone with him longer, so I nodded my head and gripped his hand when he offered it.

We slowly made our way out of the woods, the flashlight on Jackson's phone leading the way. As we trudged up the hill toward the opening, I gripped the back of Jackson's hoodie to keep my footing.

Jackson stopped walking and reached back to grip above my wrist. He kept it there until we made it to his truck.

I guess I didn't ruin everything completely.

I licked my dry lips as I buckled my seatbelt, cursing myself for not bringing my water. My mouth was bone dry from crying earlier, and now all the damn walking.

"So, did mine beat yours?" Jackson asked as he drove away from the park, making me wrinkle my nose.

"What?"

"My sob story," he shrugged. "Did it beat yours?"

Is he trying to make me feel guilty? Is that what this whole thing was about?

"I didn't know we were comparing sob stories," I responded defensively.

"Well, not exactly. But it took your mind off yours at least, right?" The corner of his lip twitched upward as he glanced at me briefly.

I forced air out of my nose in response.

"Can I ask you a question?" He asked lightly, scratching the side of his neck.

"You just did," I said blankly, and he glared at me playfully.

"Well, can I ask another one?"

"You just did," I repeated, laughing softly this time.

"Okay, smart ass," Jackson chuckled.

I leaned back in the seat with a huff. "Fire away."

"Do you want to get better?" He asked softly, and my breath caught in my throat.

I had to admit, the smile it put on his face when I ate almost made it worth it. Whenever I saw his eyes shining proudly, it was easy to give in momentarily.

But who was I kidding? He only wanted me to eat so he could stop feeling guilty. He wasn't proud of me, he was proud of himself.

I worked hard to get to where I was now. I wasn't going to let some guy get in the way of my progress, just because he decided he wanted to be nice at the moment.

Even if that guy was Jackson.

He's the reason I started doing this, why should I give him the satisfaction of stopping now?

Besides, I wasn't fat anymore, so what was there to fix?

"What do you mean? I'm fine."

"You're fine," Jackson deadpanned, looking at me when he stopped at an intersection, so I nodded.

And just like that, the conversation was over.

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