Blame It on the Pain Page 16

  A black mask that is so fucking similar to the one I already have.

  My expression must give me away because she asks, “Are you okay, Jackson?” For the second time that night.

  No...I'm not okay.

  I'm the exact opposite of okay.

  Chapter 18 (Alyssa)

  After Jackson paid the admission and we walked into the club, things got weird.

  For the first half hour, he refused to make eye contact with me and practically ignored me.

  And since neither of us are big drinkers we didn't spend much time at the bar. Not a whole lot of liquid courage for either of us to rely on.

  That only left one thing to do. Dance.

  Which Jackson, of course, said he doesn't do.

  With only an hour left of my actual birthday, a night that started out so good, was turning out to be a bust.

  Which is why I'm currently on the dance floor with some guy wearing a green mask while smoky air and dark sultry music surround us.

  I have no interest in my dancing partner other than dancing but even in the almost pitch black room, I can feel Jackson's eyes on me the whole time.

  Which is odd, because I swear, it seems like every female's eyes are on him.

  And I can't say that I blame them one bit. If only they got a load of how sexy his face is without the mask...I'm pretty sure they'd faint.

  My dancing partner grabs my hips and leans in much closer. Through his mask, Jackson's eyes narrow.

  The D.J changes the beat up a little and cues up Meg Myers, Desire.

  The guy presses flush against me and starts getting really into it...until he's suddenly gone and I'm being pressed against a wall instead.

  I look up and Jackson's staring down at me, my former dancing partner long gone.

  I've never seen Jackson look at me like this before. I don't know if I should be scared or turned on. I choose the latter.

  He leans down, his breath tickling my ear. “I've had about as much as I can take, Alyssa. I don't like watching while some other guy puts his hands all over you.”

  Wow, this sounds a lot like jealousy. Against my better judgment, I decide, to provoke him. “Why's that?”

  I know exactly what I want. And that's him. Now, he needs to decide if he wants me once and for all. This hot and cold business is becoming exhausting.

  He closes his eyes. I don't even think he realizes that he's started swaying to the music. And for someone who claims they don't dance, he's awfully good at it.

  He raises my hands above my head and slowly grinds himself against me. “I think you know why,” he rasps.

  I shake my head and bite my lip. “No. Why don't you tell me? Or better yet, show me.”

  You can cut the sexual tension between us with a knife at this point, but I'm putting the ball in his court. He turned me down when it was in mine.

  He leans his forehead against mine, links our fingers together and thrusts against me. “I want to be the only one who's allowed to touch your body like this. I want it to be me you think about at night when you touch yourself. I want it to be my name you're screaming when I'm making you come. I want you to be mine, because as far as I'm concerned...I'm already yours.”

  I'm dizzy with those words. Our lips are so close, we're almost kissing. And my God, do I need him to kiss me right now.

  “I'm yours. Now kiss me, Jackson.”

  His thumb brushes over my bottom lip. “Everything will change,” he warns.

  And he's right. Everything will change. But I want it to. I want things with him that I've never wanted with another person before.

  I want to give him every single part of me...even the broken parts.

  I take off my mask and toss it, not caring where it lands. “Good.”

  It's not a soft and gentle kiss.

  It's a kiss that ravages me, consumes me. It's a kiss that claims me...effectively ruining me for anyone else, threatening to haunt me if my lips dare to ever touch another's.

  He's putting his mark on me with those lips, branding me with the stroke of his tongue and worshiping me with his every breath.

  I've kissed a lot of guys in my lifetime. But I've never been kissed like this before.

  He nips my lower lip and I let out a groan. His hands are everywhere- in my hair, moving up my spine, lifting and pulling me closer to him.

  I feel his hardness against my stomach and taste the hint of whiskey on his tongue, his heart beating faster than the speed of light.

  We stay kissing for what feels like forever, neither of us daring to ruin the connection we've forged by coming up for air...until someone clears their throat around us.

  I open my eyes and realize that Jackson has me pinned up against the wall, my dress is bunched around my thighs and his own mask has slipped off.

  “This is a masquerade themed Halloween party. You both have to wear your masks. And stay off the goddamned wall,” some big guy in a security t-shirt says gruffly before he walks away.

  I unravel my legs from around Jackson's waist and I know my face is probably the color of a tomato. I've never been so happy to be in a dark room.

  He cradles my face in his hands. “Do you want to stay? We can if you want to.”

  I shake my head and Jackson takes my hand and heads toward the exit.

  “Wait,” I say. We stop walking and he looks at me. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  He laughs as we walk over to where the bathrooms are, making sure to dodge any security personnel along the way.

  “I'll be right outside the door if you need me,” he says. He bends down and I think he's going to kiss me again, but he kisses my forehead instead.

  I turn around but he reaches for my arm. “Hurry up because I'm not sure how much longer I can keep my lips off of you,” he murmurs before he releases me and I enter the bathroom.

  For a second, I think I must have walked into the wrong bathroom because I see the back of some guy’s head as he leans over the sink, obviously snorting some coke.

  I look at the bathroom door and sure enough, it is a women's bathroom.

  My bladder doesn't discriminate, though so I slip past him into one of the stalls and take care of business.

  The guy's still hovering over the sink when I'm done, but I know Jackson's right outside so I walk to the furthest sink away from him and wash my hands.

  It's only when I see his reflection behind me that I jump.

  It's the last person I ever expected to see here.

  Looks like the mayor's son is the next celebrity rehab star in the making.

  The last time I saw him, he and his father were threatening me about going to the authorities after he leaked the sex tape.

  “Dean,” I whisper.

  He wipes off some powder under his nose and sniffs. “Alyssa.”

  In the mirror, I see his reflection eye my body up and down. “You look incredible,” he slurs.

  “You look like shit,” I counter.

  “Yeah. I guess I deserve that,” he whispers.

  I turn on my heels and face him. “No, what you deserve is to have your testicles ripped off by a piranha while being dragged through hot coals.” I shrug. “But hey, not all wishes come true now do they?”

  He staggers forward until I'm pressed against the sink. “Look, you have every right to hate me,” he whispers. “I'm sorry for what I did to you. I know how fucked up it was.” His eyes open wide and he sways. ”But there are things that you don't know about. Sometimes there are things that are far beyond our control.”

  He must be high right now because he's definitely not making any sense. I stay silent for a moment because I'm just not sure how to process the words coming from this poor excuse for a pathetic mess standing in front of me.

  Finally, he slowly backs away from me.

  The door to the bathroom swings open and Jackson walks in.

  “You,” he sneers.

  At first, I think he means me. But he's looking right at Dean. Or rather, looking at Dean's back because he's still facing me.

  Before I know it, Jackson's yanking Dean by his shirt and bashing his head into a wall.

  Dean doesn't fight back for the first minute or so. But then the coke must kick in because he starts struggling against him and attempting to defend himself. Both of them are evenly matched in height, but Jackson's got a solid 30lbs of muscle on Dean. Not to mention, a temper like a raging bull right now.

  I'm torn because a big part of me wants to see Dean get what he deserves...but then Jackson bashes Dean's head into the door of the bathroom and I see blood trickle down.

  Shit. He's really, really hurting him.

  Then it hits me...why the hell is Jackson fighting Dean anyway? It's not like he knows who he is. There's no way he heard our conversation because the door to the bathroom was closed and our voices were barely above a whisper.

  The only thing I can come up with is that Jackson's jealousy got the best of him when he walked into the bathroom and saw a guy near me. If that's the case, and it must be; then his reaction is excessive and is quickly crossing over the line to insanity.

  “Jackson, stop!” I scream.

  It's like he doesn't even hear me. He just continues beating the ever living shit out of Dean.

  For a second, I think Dean's down for the count, but he moves and Jackson's next punch misses him.

  And that only makes Jackson's temper flair up more. I've never, ever seen him like this. He's like a wild animal unhinged.

  I scream and chase after them when they both go flying through the bathroom's swinging door. Not before long, Jackson's on top of Dean and a crowd of people have gathered around us. Some even stopping to record the whole encounter on their phones.

  Jackson's not missing a beat with his punches and Dean's face is starting to resemble ground beef. His body's starting to resemble a rag doll.

  If Jackson keeps this up, he's going to end up killing him.

  “Jackson, please stop!” I scream.

  “You ruined her life and now I'm gonna ruin yours,” Jackson growls between punches.

  What?

  I don't have time to think about that statement, because some girl starts shrieking, “Someone call the police! I think that's the mayor's son.”

  My stomach drops to the floor. I try getting between them, but a large arm wraps around my waist and pulls me out of the way.

  I look up. What the hell is Ricardo doing here?

  Ricardo's smart enough to know he can't stop Jackson in this state. Instead, he waits for the split second in between Jackson's next punch and slides Dean's now unconscious body out of the way and hands him over to two big men wearing suits.

  That seems to break Jackson out of his haze.

  The girl is still shrieking and going on and on about calling the police but Ricardo takes her phone and snaps it in half. “No one is calling the police,” he booms.

  He quickly turns to the three people who have their phones out recording what happened.

  He then proceeds to stomp on each and every one of their phones.

  I watch as everyone looks at him with fear in their eyes, including me.

  The look in his eyes tells me that he'll accept nothing less. He commands power.

  My stomach drops for a different reason entirely then...because I've seen that look in someone's eyes before.

  I shake my head. No. I'm crazy. I'm fucking delusional.

  “Alyssa,” Jackson says.

  I turn my head to look at him, but all I hear are those words that he said to Dean. “You ruined her life and now I'm gonna ruin yours.”

  It's then that I realize.

  Jackson watched the video.

  Chapter 19 (Alyssa)

  We head back to his apartment.

  All that's going through my head is—he told me he would never watch the sex tape.

  I tell myself to calm down...that maybe, just maybe I'm overreacting and Jackson didn't watch my sex tape after all.

  I tell myself that maybe he just blacked out in the middle of the fight and had a flashback of some kind that caused him to say what he did. He did look out of it, like off in another zone completely.

  I don't know what to think right now. I feel like I'm grasping at straws because it's better than the alternative I'm faced with.

  I mean, why would Jackson do that to me? He knows how much pain that video caused me.

  “I'm gonna go clean up,” he whispers before heading for the bathroom.

  Those are the first words that either of us have said since we left the club.

  I want to ask him...but I don't want him to lie to me.

  There's only one way to know for sure if he watched the video.

  I have to look at the history on his laptop.

  I'm not proud of myself. Jackson's been my boyfriend for all of an hour at this point...but I need to know. I have to. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

  As luck may have it, I notice his laptop on the couch in the living room.

  I flip it open and say a silent prayer.

  A silent prayer that turns right around and bites me in the ass when I see that I don't have to go through Jackson's history after all.

  Because it's right here in front of me. Still on the fucking screen.

  He watched it recently. Very recently.

  And that makes it even worse. I could forgive him for watching it when he didn't really know me. I could even understand it...he is a guy.

  But the fact that he watched it after I already started opening up to him.

  After I told him things I've never told anyone. After I had convinced myself that Jackson was different. That he wouldn't hurt me.

  That kills me. Wrecks me.

  Another thought hits me and I want to fucking cry. No wonder Jackson got physical with me tonight.

  Two days ago he was telling me that I wasn't a whore and that it was best to just be friends until I discovered my self-worth.

  Then tonight...after he watches the video, he's talking about wanting me to scream his name and pushing me up against walls while he kisses me in a club.

  I'm so stupid.

  I know exactly how Jackson feels about me deep down inside. I know how he sees me now.

  Just like everyone else in the world does.

  And just like that...the scab comes off my wound and I feel it.

  I feel all of it in a single rush.

  The pain, the heartache, the despair.

  There's only one way to cope when I shatter. I go to that place inside myself. The place that screams for me to acknowledge what I truly am and punish myself for it.

  I also want to punish Jackson for what he's done. And there's only one way I can think of to accomplish both. The only weapon I have in my arsenal.

  I slam the laptop and put it back where I found it, feeling myself morph into the person I've come to know so well.

  “You only did it to yourself, Alyssa,” I whisper to myself.

  “I think we should talk,” Jackson says.

  I stand up and face him, putting on my game face. I throw my purse, not even caring where it lands and take off my jacket. “I don't want to talk.”

  “But—”

  Jackson doesn't get a chance to finish that sentence because I jump on him and start kissing him.

  I kiss him so hard I back him up against a wall.

  It's nothing like our first and last kiss. I don't let myself feel anything. I shut everything off. I only focus on what needs to be done.

  “Whoa,” Jackson says pulling away from me.

  “What?” I question. “Didn't you say something back at the club about not being able to keep your lips off me?”

  “Well yeah,” he says. “But that was before the fight and—”

  I put my finger to his lips silencing him. “I don't want to talk about that, Jackson.”

  I kiss his neck. “I just want you—” I run my tongue along the shell of his ear. “To get naked for me,” I whisper while my hand ventures lower and I grab his package. I smile when I feel him start to thicken in my hand through his jeans.

  “Jesus Christ, Alyssa,” he groans. “I think we should slow down. Especially since you don't want to talk about what happened. We need to talk about what happened.”

  “Take off your shirt.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “What?”

  I lift my chin. “You heard me. Take off your fucking shirt. I want to see you naked, now.”

  He gives me a look that I hate. “No. Stop and talk to me, Alyssa.”

  I shake my head. “I don't want to talk. I'd much rather suck your dick instead.”

  His eyes open wide. “Not like this...not when you're acting like—”

  I smile because it would be so much better for me if he said it. Like throwing another log into the fire. “Like what, Jackson? Tell me.”

  “Not like you. Not like Alyssa. My Alyssa.”

  I'm going to actually have to work for this. “You're right. I'm sorry.” I walk over to him and kiss him sweetly, tenderly.

  Then the worst thing of all happens. I start responding to his touch. I start losing myself because it's no longer my kiss...it becomes his kiss.

  He cups my face as his tongue parts my mouth and I fall into him. His hands run along my hips before resting on my behind and I can't help but moan.

  And just when I think I'm going to float to another dimension...he pulls away and kisses my forehead. “Now let's talk.”

  I don't want to hear anything he has to say. Nothing will change what I know to be true.

  I kiss his neck again before whispering, “I don't want to talk. I just want to be close to you. I need to be close to you right now, please.”

  He looks contemplative for a moment and I think he's going to reject me. But instead, his thumbs brush over my cheeks and his lips find mine.

  I reach for the button on his jeans but his hand lands on top of mine. “Stop, baby. Why are you rushing things?”

  The term of endearment sounds so sweet and loving coming from him I have to fight off a shiver. And I have to remind myself why I'm doing this.

  My other hand reaches down and starts rubbing along his length. “Let me do it, Jackson.”

  He bites his lip and closes his eyes. I've seen that expression before. He's fighting a war with himself right now. “Not tonight,” he says.

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