Jesse: Damage Control, #2

Part One

Fucking retard! Nick backs me up against the lockers at school where everyone can see and hear. Who has problems reading at the age of sixteen, huh? Only you, dumb bitch, making the whole class look stupid like you. You piece of shit.

I cower and shudder, the words echoing in my ears, robbing me of my confidence and self-esteem. It’s not happening now, it was more than three years ago, and yet…

And yet the memory thunders through me, knocks about in my head like a living thing trying to get free. Even though I haven’t heard Nick’s voice since then, since my parents decided to take me out of the school where this was happening and move away.

Chewing on my lip, drawing on the tiny shock of pain, I fight the memory, wrestle it down and lock it away.

I’m okay. I will be.

Not that I haven’t thought of ending it—ending the dark crowding inside me, the self-doubt, the feeling I’m worth nothing.

But I’ve made it so far. Alive. Heart still beating, a voice in my mind telling me Nick was wrong. I am worth something. After all, I’m here and I have my art: my beads and strings to make jewelry. To create beauty. If nothing else, I’ve got this.

And the sad days, the calm days, they sift through my fingers like cool beads. I string them up and hang them around my neck, count them, measure them. Weigh them.

I do this to remind myself I survived. Survived the mindless hatred and violence that shaped my nightmares. That the string of days that is my life lies in my hands, and that it’s up to me to be happy.

Somehow, one day, I will.

~ Amber

Chapter One

Amber

Returning to Madison, my hometown, feels as good as a car collision. Yeah, that good.

Being here makes me feel frightened, unimportant, worthless… and the scary part is that it’s a familiar feeling. The past three years I spent in Chicago I thought I made progress. That I became stronger, more confident. Free and happy.

Now that I’m back, it feels as if I have nothing to show for it. All gone down the drain. As if I never left, and my past is wrapping tentacles around me, leaching the life out of me.

Truth be told, right now I wish I’d never returned, and the reason for my bad decision—the one convinced me it’s be a fabulous idea—is currently making faces at me in the mirror, standing by my shoulder.

Ev… I sigh. "What are you doing?"

Evangeline sticks her tongue out at me and crosses her hazel eyes. Trying to get you to quit scowling. Hey, I think it’s working!

Stop it. My mouth twitches, my mind veering off its true, beaten path of regret and fear. She really does look ridiculous like that, her copper curls all over the place, forefingers pulling at the corners of her mouth. Ev!

She giggles and falls on my shoulder, completely spoiling my efforts at applying mascara to my lashes. Not like I want to, anyway. But apparently there’s going to be a party, and I’m hosting it.

Ev is moving out of the apartment she’s been sharing with her friend Kayla, and Kayla already agreed I could take Ev’s room. Now the two of them are throwing a sort of farewell party for Ev—who’s only moving to another neighborhood and not another continent—but hey, who needs an excuse, right? Getting drunk is a goal all on its own.

And I agreed to the party, but only because I don’t want my new roomie to think I’m stuck-up and weird. I’ve only just moved back to town, and the room is cheap and nice. I should at least give it a chance, right?

Right.

You’ll see, it will be fun, Ev says, smearing glossy lipstick on her lower lip with her fingertip.

Maybe for her it will be. I barely know Ev anymore. We went to school together and used to be besties, back before I ran away to Chicago to hide and lick my wounds.

Since when did you turn into a party animal? I mutter and then bite on the inside of my cheek to shut myself up before I say anything else I might regret.

I didn’t. She adjusts the cleavage, revealing a hint of blue lace. It’s my farewell party.

I stare at her.

She looks pretty as a picture in her short, flared lilac dress and ballerina shoes. She still limps a little from an accident she won’t talk to me about, more than a year and a half ago, and can’t wear heels yet.

And Micah will be there, I mutter.

She gives a smile so bright it hurts the eyes—but softens my heart. Yeah.

You’re happy with him. Not a question. She answers anyway, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

I am.

Good, I say gruffly and adjust my pendant, one of the last ones I made before moving here, and then grab the eyeliner like a weapon. I shake it at her. He’d better treat you right, or so help me God…

She lays a hand on my shoulder and beams at me. He does, Amber. You should never worry about Micah.

But I do. I try to laugh it off, but I worry about men. I worry about people. I don’t understand them, don’t get what makes them tick, what makes them do the things they do. Good things, and bad things.

Mainly the bad things.

Ev shakes her head. She knows bits and pieces of what happened to me back when I was sixteen, but nobody knows the whole truth. Not even my father who yanked me out of school and moved me a hundred and forty miles away, give or take a few, to get a fresh start. He knew enough, though, to decide the move was necessary, and Ev does, too, so no need to scratch old scars and open wounds that I’d rather forget all about.

If only I could.

And what difference would it make? My past is in the past, although this town is drenched in it.

You’re making a mess. Let me. Ev grabs my hand, and I automatically jerk it back, before I can process her words.

Oh shit. The eyeliner flies away and hits the floor. As if in slow motion, I see the black liquid spill on the beige carpet. Like blood, dark and viscous.

I’m shaking. I’m cold. In degrees, my senses return, and I realize Ev is still holding on to me.

I pull my hand again and it’s suddenly free.

Crap, I mutter, my pulse thundering in my ears.

Oh God, I’m sorry, Ev whispers, dropping to her knees and gathering the small bottle, then starts blotting the ink with a tissue. I shouldn’t have.

Shouldn’t have grabbed me like that. Yeah, she shouldn’t have, but it’s not her fault I’m not normal, is it? I suppose I was a girl like any other once—shy, kinda chubby, and always doodling or crafting one thing or another to keep my restless hands busy.

But that’s in the past, that past in which my life is now steeped, and we’re in the now.

So I apologize, insist I’m too clumsy to live, and that Ev should help me with my make-up. Honestly, it’s not as if I have much experience with eyeliners and mascaras anyway.

Ev accepts the task with obvious relief, which makes me wonder how big of a mess I was making of it. I sit primly as she runs the brush through my long dark hair until it’s a shiny fall, paints my blue eyes with black, and dabs red on my mouth.

It’s like war paint, I think randomly, my hands clenching in my lap. I fight the itch to grab the lipstick tube and draw red lines on my cheeks and nose.

Don’t, Amber.

I can do this. Pretend to be normal. Pretend coming back to Madison isn’t killing me, bringing the past to life. Maybe, if I pretend long enough, it will come true.

Ev’s former room is now officially mine. I moved my stuff there this morning and spent the rest of the day helping with the cleaning and preparations for the dreaded party.

At the last moment, of course, Ev decides we need paper napkins and sends me out to get some. I’m more than happy to escape for a while, walk about on my own. I find the small grocery store she mentioned and take my sweet time returning.

To my shock, I find the party is in full swing when I arrive. Ev told me it wasn’t supposed to start until after ten, and I didn’t expect to have to wade through hordes of guests at half-past nine to get to the kitchen, the package of napkins clutched to my chest.

Should’ve known better. I mean, I did go out on occasion in Chicago. There were certain student apartments you could drop by any time of the day, any day in the week, and always find a party happening. No beginning and no end.

Fun… so not.

Loud dance music plays over the speakers, and I wonder if anyone thought to warn the neighbors sleep isn’t in the cards for them tonight.

Swallowing a sigh, I abandon the napkins, Ev nowhere in sight. Returning to the living room, I take off my coat, drape it over the back of a chair, tug on my pendant nervously, and search for familiar faces.

There has to be at least twenty people crammed inside the tiny living room, standing or sitting on the sofa and one armchair, a girl in the lap of one of the guys, sharing a bottle of beer and sloppy kisses with him. He has a hand on her ass, and I wince inwardly as I continue my search.

More people are leaning by the window, talking in loud voices and swigging beer as if it’s water. A guy with a blue Mohawk nods at me from his perch on the dining table, a wild-haired girl between his legs. A tall, muscled guy with blond hair and tattoos climbing up his neck is standing beside them. He lifts a brow at me, and I send a brittle smile their way.

A dark-haired boy and a sandy-haired girl are totally sucking face in the hallway, and I edge past them, tugging on the hem of my short dress, cursing inwardly. A hint of panic is creeping up on me.

It’s this town, I tell myself again, and push my shoulders back. But I won’t let it drag me down.

Nevertheless, I sag with relief when I finally spot Ev and Kayla talking by an open door.

Micah is with them—I’ve seen pictures of him Ev sent me. Tall and handsome, his blond hair falling in his eyes, his blue eyes following Ev’s every move. A soft smile tugs at his lips. As I watch, he wraps an arm around her and tugs her to his side. She also smiles up at him, and all that’s missing is rose petals drifting down and violins playing.

Wow, I’m nineteen and already a cynic. Great. They do look happy together. One bad apple shouldn’t spoil the bunch. Not every guy is like Nick Harris. Not every guy is a bully.

One more thing I need to keep repeating to myself.

Hey, Amber. Ev pushes off Micah, throws her arms around me and drags me into their little group. I want you to meet everyone.

So I do, nodding and smiling.

First is Micah, of course. He knows who I am and seems interested in the fact I’m into art, which reminds me he’s a tattoo artist, and how cool is that? Thumbs up for Ev.

Then, just as I start to relax into the conversation, talking about tattoos, scarification and jewelry as ways of body modification with Micah, she hauls me away to meet her other friends and Micah’s co-workers.

Now, isn’t it weird that she’s the one introducing me to them, instead of her boyfriend? Though, it seems they’ve become good buddies with her, too.

Lucky girl. Seriously.

The guy with the Mohawk is Zane, the blond guy standing next to him Dylan. Then there’s Rafe, who has rakish golden hair and eyes like a cat, his big hand wrapped securely around his girlfriend’s smaller one. The girl’s name is Megan, and after giving me a blinding smile, she gently disengages her hand from her boyfriend’s—with some difficulty, I note with amusement and a bit of unease, as he doesn’t seem inclined to let go—and wanders off in search of someone.

Next in line are some of Micah’s closest friends—the blue-haired Ocean, who’s also a tattoo artist, and Seth, who’s one of the three apprentices at the tattoo shop and works in the evenings at a nearby movie theater.

Her voice fades into background noise as I take these boys in. Jeez… Ocean’s hair is the hue of his eyes, and Seth is all dark exotic eyes and broad cheekbones, a light scruff dusting his jaw, and... holy crap. Hot boy overload. I hope I’m not drooling. I check my mouth to make sure it isn’t hanging open, and find Seth’s eyes on me.

He nods and smiles, probably trying not to laugh as he catches me in the act of discreetly wiping my chin.

Dammit!

So you’re the friend Ev mentioned, he says. Any friend of Ev’s is a friend of mine, and same goes for my cranky cousin Shane, if you happen to see him hiding in some corner. He’s the long-haired, grumpy one in the family. Seth’s eyes crinkle at the corners. His teeth are white but slightly crooked, and one of the incisors is chipped, I notice. Cute. We both owe Ev a lot.

Ev and Seth share a look I can’t decipher. There’s history in that look, history I don’t have a clue about—but never mind. Somehow I like this guy. His affection for Ev shines through his eyes, and his smile is kind.

The black studs and silver bars that shine in his ears are interesting, too, as are the tattoos visible on his neck and arms. One cool boy.

Then he turns to say something to Ocean, and I notice a stiffness in his movements. That reminds me of something Ev mentioned, about one of Micah’s friends getting beaten up by her crazy ex. I wonder if it was Seth. He has a pinkish scar on his jaw, now that I’m looking more closely, and his nose is slightly crooked, as if it was broken at some point in the past.

Before I can get a better look at his tats or ask Ev about him, she steers me away.

I want you to meet Cassie, she says, and Cassie turns out to be a fairytale-pretty girl Ev used to work with, at a sports store downtown. Cassie is here with her best friend, a long-legged brunette with the most amazing dark, long-lashed eyes I’ve ever seen, and jeez Louise, is everyone picture perfect in here? I’m starting to feel like the ugly duckling.

They both smile politely – two porcelain dolls, one fair, the other dark. They ask if I’ve been to Madison before and how I like it here—

—and by the time they turn away to talk to someone else, the living room has turned into a porn movie.

Or what I imagine a porn movie to be like, anyway.

Bodies writhing on the sofa. Bodies writhing against the walls. Bodies humping and grinding in corners, leaving a few odd ones out who are uneasily swaying to the music in the middle of the room.

Crap.

But Ev doesn’t even bat an eye at the mess. She drags me inside, past a threesome on the coffee table, and keeps moving.

So if Micah and you are moving in together, who is Seth moving in with? I ask as she tugs me along.

He isn’t. He’s getting a new roommate. She stops, glances around. Man, can’t see Jesse, but there’s Shane. Let’s go say hi. Don’t let him scare you off. He’s your typical tall, dark, silent type.

She links her arm through mine and pulls me across the living room as if the porn scene unfolding around us is perfectly normal.

Maybe it is, and the hot, dark current zipping under my skin and sending an ache through my core only makes me more uneasy by the minute. I feel like a voyeur, and it makes me wish for something I’m too scared to chase after anymore.

How sad is that?

Hey there, Shane, Ev trills. Glad you could make it.

Shane tilts his head to the side, regarding us. His hair is long and shiny black, caught in a ponytail. A silver dreamcatcher hangs from one earlobe, and if anything, he’s even more exotic-looking than Seth, with his almond-shaped dark eyes and tanned skin.

Micah promised beer, he says, his voice deep like a gong, sending goosebumps over my skin. He lifts his beer bottle in evidence. How could I say no?

Right. Of course. Ev shakes her head and rolls her eyes. Have you seen Jesse? Can’t seem to find him anywhere, and I thought he came with you.

He takes a swig from his bottle and then frowns as if in thought. Chicks.

I’m sorry?

Shane waves his bottle at the room and the hot, grinding bodies. Plenty of chicks here. He must’ve caught one.

I gape at him. Is he seriously talking about girls as if they’re fish on a line?

I see. Have fun, then. Ev drags me away as I try to decipher Shane’s expression, to detect any glimmer of humor in his eyes, but his face is still, as if carved in stone.

Is he always that witty and entertaining?

Always. Ev giggles and then squeals. Joey! Oh my God, you made it. Over here!

And she ditches me between a couple humping against the wall and another writhing on the couch.

She ditches me in order to wrap herself around a hottie with dark hair and sparkling eyes.

What in the world?

He laughs and returns the hug easily.

Evie, you dork, I hear him say as I approach them. He pulls back and ruffles her hair. You look real pretty, you little shit. Look at you, all dolled up. How’s it hanging?

Okay, who’s this guy, and what’s going on? I glance around for Micah, expecting him to come punch this asshole off his feet, but Micah is grinning from ear to ear, heading our way.

Joel, man, what’s up? Micah and this Joel guy shake hands and clap each other on the back. You here alone?

Yeah.

Ellen couldn’t make it? Ev blinks innocently at Joel, her eyes a tad too wide.

Nope.

You didn’t ask her out, did you? Be honest.

He scowls, and I seriously consider turning on my heel and going to look for a beer, because I have no clue what’s going on and what they’re talking about.

Amber. Ev comes after me before I take two steps. Come meet my brother, Joey.

Blinking, feeling a bit stupid and a whole lot annoyed that I didn’t guess as much, I do my best to grin at Ev’s handsome brother and assure him it’s a pleasure to meet him.

They don’t look one bit alike, but oh, Lord, I’m so glad I didn’t open my mouth earlier. So glad I didn’t immediately think he was insulting Ev and didn’t attempt to kick him in the nuts or slap his handsome face.

Crap.

Stammering an excuse, I make my escape and go look for that beer. I’d leave, but this is my apartment now. Nowhere else to run and hide.

So beer it is. Or wine, or whatever such buffer I can place between myself and the real world. A door with a lock would have been preferable, all things said and done.

And why the hell not? This is my apartment, my bedroom. If I want to lock myself inside, if I want to be antisocial and stand-offish, that’s my right, isn’t it?

I’m actually heading that way, the pull of peace and quiet too strong to withstand—when the bathroom door is thrown open in my face, missing me by an inch. As I jerk back, it bangs against the wall, and someone stumbles out into the dim hallway.

I back away, but the hallway is three feet wide, tops, and the guy, because it is a guy, tall and broad-shouldered, bends toward me from the waist, his lips curling into a grin like the sin of the angels. Lazy. Sexy. Beautiful.

Dangerous.

What have we here? he whispers, his eyes going half-lidded, bright against his tanned skin, a startling blue-green in the shaft of light falling through the open bathroom door. A girl.

Holy crap.

My throat clicks. My lips move. No sound comes out. Could be because he chooses that moment to straighten, and I finally notice he’s bare-chested, flaunting the most perfect abs and washboard stomach I’ve seen outside of magazines.

Silver hoops decorate his small, brown nipples. Black lines and colorful shapes wrap around his thick biceps and corded forearm. Tattoos, I realize, curling on his smooth skin. A worn leather bracelet encircles his strong wrist.

I can’t breathe. Oh, God. It’s as if someone has sucked all the oxygen from the room.

Oblivious, he leans on the doorjamb and folds his arms over his chest. Know what? You remind me of someone. Have we met before?

Of all come-ons… Not that I can speak. Not when he’s looking at me with interest sparking in his gaze.

What’s your name? he asks. When I don’t answer, those startling eyes narrow, and vaguely I think they must have been many a girl’s downfall. Then he thumps his chest with his fist and drawls, Jesse. He points at me and lifts a brow. Jane?

A choked sound leaves my throat. Is he for real?

You’re drunk, I say breathlessly, and why the heck am I breathless? Just because this guy is too beautiful to be real doesn’t mean I’ll pant after him, like, like…

Jesse? A woman appears at the bathroom door, right behind him, adjusting the straps of her blouse. Come back here and finish what you started.

I’m quite finished, he mutters, his eyes never leaving me.

My face turns to stone. Panting after him like this woman. Like a bitch in heat. Yeah, not in this lifetime.

We weren’t done yet. She drapes her arms around him, and I notice she’s wearing shorts that are just glorified panties and that her cleavage is so deep one of her nipples is winking at me. Her long blond hair is tangled, her lipstick smeared.

Jesus on a pogo stick.

Yes, in fact, we were, he counters, his voice so low and throaty it lifts the fine hairs on my arms. Very, very done, Natasha.

It’s Veronica, she mutters and pushes off him, glaring at his back. Asshole.

Whatever. He waves a hand at her, his gaze still on me.

He’s a dick. The most beautiful man I’ve ever set eyes on, and he’s an arrogant douche.

Figures.

Maybe all the beautiful ones are like that. God knows Nick was pretty, and he was a monster inside. The shinier the package, the dirtier the soul, it seems.

I step away from this Jesse guy and the disgruntled girl he obviously just fucked and forgot about, turning to go.

So with my luck, it makes perfect sense that Ev blocks my path right in that moment and points a finger at Mr. Beautiful, smiling brightly.

Jesse Lee. I see you’ve already met. He’s the third apprentice at the tattoo shop.

Yup, makes perfect sense that the asshole I never want to meet again is best friends and colleagues with my best and only friend’s boyfriend. Which means I’ll probably get to see him all the time.

Awesome. And I’ve only just returned to town.

Jesse Lee, according to Ev, is a good guy and a hell of a friend. When her psycho ex attacked Seth and then Micah, beating them up badly, Jesse stood watch over Seth at the hospital and offered to go hunt the son of a bitch down and drag him to the police station, after bashing his face in.

Sounds violent. But also fair.

Watching him talk to the other guys, waving his bottle of beer in the air, those stunning eyes crinkling in the corners when he grins, is addictive. The way his long mouth curves, the way muscles ripple in his arms with his every move, the way his green T-shirt stretches over his chest, molding over perfect pecs... Oh dear God.

Too bad I don’t lust after men. I don’t chase after them. I don’t need them. They can’t be trusted. In fact, few people can.

I desperately force my attention back to a story Micah is telling us about this customer who walked into the tattoo shop—Damage Control is the shop’s name, and talk about weird, as names go—who first refused to take a seat and then folded down into a dead faint when he saw the needle of the tattoo gun, before it even touched him.

A fucking mess. Micah rolls his eyes. I have this guy sprawled on the floor, and customers peeking into the cubicle, all pale and stuff, preparing to run before I get my hands on them, too. Zane had to go lock himself up in the bathroom because he couldn’t stop laughing, and Tyler was left to block the exit and calm everyone down.

Kayla, my new roommate, throws back her head of blond-streaked hair and laughs. The sound has a nervous edge to it, and she keeps glancing in Jesse’s direction. I wonder if he’s the reason she’s acting all giggly, flaunting her shiny earrings and long legs, or if she’s always like that.

Not sure which of the two is worse.

When I turn toward Ev, who’s telling the story of how she met Micah on the street one winter day, I find Jesse has switched from the blue-haired guy he’d been talking to, Ocean, to another busty blonde. He has her cornered with a hand braced on the wall next to her