❀ chapter twenty-seven | crashing into earth ❀

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I felt Danielle's shock from across the room. Frozen in the doorway, she could only say one word as she found her son and his ex-coworker in the most compromising position imaginable: "Oh."

Meanwhile, I dwelled in the sweet feeling of oxygen in my lungs. Inhale. Exhale.

"Romy, is that you?" she asked slowly.

Out of all the bizarre things that had happened since I got to know Jack, this had to make the top of the list. Even if it was only because of the hilarious expression on Danielle's face. An expression I couldn't help but laugh at, breaking the awkward silence.

"I'll... give you two your privacy," she said, and then promptly left the room.

I covered my mouth with my hand, still laughing. Jack, surrounded by his rumpled sheets, sat absolutely motionless. Silent. If he didn't regret inviting me over before, he sure did now.

"Don't tell me you're mute again," I said.

He turned to give me one of his signature bratty glares, reminding me so much of our flower shop days I almost missed it.

I put up my arms in defense. "Hey, you're the one who told me to get in your bed. Not under it. Plus, didn't you say you've dated people before? I'm sure it's not the first time mommy's found you with someone in your bed."

He shook his head. "I take back what I said about you being considerate."

"Come on, that was hilarious. The look on her face! Are you going to get in trouble?"

He shook his head.

Huh. Maybe this was an over-lenient white parent thing. Or maybe just a guy thing. If I got caught with someone in my bed, I'm sure I'd have to face a lot worse than juvie.

He rose and started, oddly enough, cleaning his room. He picked up a pile of dirty clothes on the ground. Ran his finger along a shelf to check for dust. Without acknowledging that I was still in his bed. Without saying another word.

"Did that rock you gave me mean nothing?" I asked, then almost wished to take it back. I'd meant it as a joke, but it came off like I was... almost offended.

"It's too late for this," Jack mumbled under his breath.

"Do you want to know what I think?" I said before the rational part of me could stop it. "I think that you like me."

He returned one of his books to his shelf. "I do not like you."

"Why did you give me the rock, then?"

"I was feeling... particularly sentimental that day."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I was feeling particularly sentimental that day."

I gave him a look. He gave me a look.

"Okay," I said. "What about the text? The but i like you so much."

"You need to leave," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"You embarrassed me on purpose."

"I couldn't breathe! I had no choice but push you off."

"You need to leave."

"Fine." I threw his covers off me and got up. "I'll go tell your mommy hi while I'm at it. And then go take the bus by myself."

He turned his back on me as I grabbed my things and left the room.

Was I being dramatic? Was he being dramatic? Why did we always find something to argue about?

Downstairs, for the second time, I came face to face with his mother. Who was standing behind the kitchen counter, pouring herself a glass of wine at one in the morning.

She gave me a look. I gave her a look.

No wonders her son was a budding alcoholic.

"Romy," she said, her voice tired. "It's... I don't know what to say. Jack told me he quit."

"I'm not here because of the flower shop," I said.

Her eyes widened. "Are you... is he..."

I wanted to say, I'll leave it up to your imagination, but the little bit of considerate I had left stopped me.

She let out a deep sigh. "I heard about what happened with the business. Greta told me."

"You know what Grace has been up to?"

"Yes. Greta said you were very upset. I don't blame you."

Wow. Was this middle-aged wine mom really the only person on my side? Other than Jack, but who knew after tonight.

"And Romy," she said, "I understand you're going through a lot..."

What was it with her and Jack saying the same thing? Maybe something "empathetic" people said? I had no idea.

"...and you're free to come over at any time. I see that you and Jack have become... close. But could you... could you please ask, first?"

"Uh huh."

"I hope you have a good night, Romy."

"Is this you kicking me out?"

"Sorry, but yes. I have to speak to Jack about some things. His dad was here last week and... we will be dealing with a lot of transitions in our family."

And that was how I ended up outside in the cold. A misty, typical Seattle rain was falling, illuminated by streetlights. I felt as light as the rain. Dizzy for some reason. As if I'd just raced Penelope's sleek white car.

I walked five minutes uphill to the nearest bus stop. Checked on my phone when the next would come—only in another hour. Damn these late night buses. Maybe I should text Talia to pick me up. I didn't care if she told on me and got me grounded.

At this point, all I needed was a ride home.

And then... footsteps behind me. Heavy, stilted breathing. I immediately latched onto the pepper spray in my bag, ready for the thrill of using it again when I turned and saw...

Jack. Out of breath as he dragged himself up the hill and to the bus stop, his hair frizzy from the rain. He wasn't even wearing shoes.

"What happened to your shoes?" I asked, suspicious.

He glanced at his socks as if finally realizing his predicament. "I... I forgot." He looked at the sign beside the bus stop. "When is it coming?"

"About an hour."

He pointed in the direction of his house. "My mom can drive you. I asked her."

"Yeah, no thanks. The last thing I want is getting in a car with her after she just kicked me out."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I should've... told her... you were over."

I pointed at his chest. "You give me whiplash, you know that? One moment you're telling me to get out of your room, and the next you're asking me to come back."

"You give me whiplash."

"Oh, really?"

"I don't know what you want from me."

I took a step toward him. "Just for you to not regret it when you talk to me."

He raised his chin. "I don't care if I talk to you anymore."

"You say that because you're drunk."

"Not anymore."

"I just saw you down half a bottle of whiskey. And look at yourself—you're a hot mess. Are you saying you're so much of an alcoholic your tolerance is so high you don't feel it?"

He didn't answer. I couldn't believe him talking to me right now wasn't giving me the same rush it usually did. Had I gotten used to the sound of his voice already? I'd never get bored of his accent, though. He had spoiled me with all these words, and now, despite everything, I felt that familiar need for... more.

I got closer to him. "And if you're not drunk, then how are you talking to me? Why didn't you call me instead of chasing after me in the rain?"

"No," he said, his tone aggressive, and I found myself smirking. He suddenly grabbed my shoulders. "Now you answer my questions. What do you want?"

I leaned into his touch. A gust of wind chilled me through my jacket, sending droplets across both our faces. "What do you mean what do I want?"

As if realizing the diminishing space between us, he let go. Took a step back. "What is your motive?"

I took a step forward, laughing. He took another step back. "My motive for what?"

"Your motive for bothering me, talking to me, agreeing to come over."

"You were the one that invited me," I said. I took another step forward, then grabbed his arms before he could take a step backward and end up falling down the hill.

"But why did you agree?" he asked, glancing behind him at the fall I'd just helped him avoid.

"Maybe you're amusing to be around."

"I'm amusing to be around?" he asked, voice low, and straightened his posture so his height over me was even more apparent. He didn't even pull his arms away. "Do I amuse you, Romy?"

When he said my name, with an hhh sound instead of the rrr sound at the beginning, it was as if I hadn't heard him speak tonight until now. Hadn't heard him speak ever, his low, aggressive tone entirely new to me. Something fluttered in my stomach.

"Yeah," I breathed. "You do."

His eyes became unfocused. After a few seconds, he let out a deep breath and looked at me again. Really looked at me. "You helped me when I was drunk at Eli's party... you invited me to that race we could've died at... you let me take you to the park after you were upset... all because... I amuse you?"

"What more did you expect?" I asked. His face fell, all aggression momentarily lost in the one a.m. rain, as if I'd just taken his heart from his chest and squished it in my hands. But even now, his expression seemed cartoonish, fabricated, like he'd memorized the appropriate facial expressions for his feelings—angry, sad, disappointed—and could now replicate them so others understood.

"I am not an object," he said, thinking over each word, similar to how he'd agonized over his texts to me before, "to be used for your amusement. Is it like that with everyone else? Seth? Your friends? Even... that girl from the race. You spend time with them because they're amusing to be around? That's it?"

I took a step back, both physically and mentally. I forgot about him for a second, the cold rain on my face, the lingering tipsiness from the whiskey.

He was right. All my "relationships" with people were based off of how much amusement I could get from them. I had never been close to Dad or Greta because they were boring as hell, and Talia was too much of a goody-two-shoes to have fun with half the time.

In came Jack. A complete puzzle. Trying to figure him out was both frustrating and exhilarating. Getting him to talk to me was like a game. Getting him mad amused me like nothing else did.

But then I thought of other things. Him holding my hands outside the flower shop. The way his presence had calmed me down even though I had no idea how to lift the weight of our unsaid words. The way I'd effortlessly told him more about myself than I'd told all the psychologists unlucky to get my stubborn ass as a patient.

Jack was right, but not completely.

He observed my face, trying to read me—as much of a puzzle to him as he was to me.

"You're right," I said. "But that's... that's not all you are. To me."

I wanted to catch the words in the air as soon as I said them. I wanted to shove them back in my throat and pretend any feelings associated with them didn't exist.

"What else am I, then?" he asked. "To you."

A wave of something rushed through me. Something I didn't have the words to describe. The space between me and Jack, the mist of rain, the cars occasionally rushing past on the road, even the atoms that made up the air—they connected us somehow. Even when he had walls and walls separating him from the world. While I was so detached from it I never needed walls in the first place.

We were closer than before, my hands still on his arms. He broke our eye contact to briefly glance at my lips. Everything about the hot mess that was Jack Michel felt like getting hurled back to Earth.

I inched my head closer to his. Closer and closer, slow and hesitant. My eyes closed. 

I tilted my head to the side, and Jack's breathing got slightly quicker.

The buzz of thoughts in my head dulled. No more room to think. He put one hand under my chin, raising it slightly.

"Walk with me to the car," he said. 

And with that, he pulled away. 

My eyes shot open, greeted by his blank expression.

Was this boy really trying to play games? 

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A/N: What do you think? Is Jack trying to play games? Do you think he'll keep talking to her after tonight (without the influence of alcohol?) 

This chapter is dedicated to _fragments for making a nice graphic for this story ❤️ ❤️

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