If only I could peel away the top layer of my skin and continue to peel back each layer until there was nothing left beneath the scorching shower but my heart, still beating despite being ripped apart. Because that’s where it hurts the most. The muscle that somehow keeps me living makes me feel nothing more than dead—dead without him, dead without his touch, and dead with the knowledge that I will never love again.
Logan
My life over the past two days has been on a repeating cycle. I wake up. I get ready. I go to work. I stare at Jenna’s bedroom window, hoping she’ll see me. But she never does. I finish my work shift. I stare at the window some more. I go home. I have a few beers while I search on the Internet until my eyes are heavy and I can’t keep them open any longer. Then after the two-hour sleep I manage to get in, I wake up and do it all over again.
I’m a complete zombie on day three of this vicious cycle. Bryson mumbles something along the lines of how shitty I look as I walk past him. I ignore his remark and go straight into the kitchen area, where I work for the first half of my day by installing oak cabinets.
As I finish adjusting the last cabinet for the top row, I hear an uproar in the living area. Santino yells, “You can’t be in here!”
A female voice shouts over the loud sounds of hammers and saws going off throughout the house. “Fuck if I can’t. Where is he?”
Santino shouts back, “Where is who?”
She replies, “Logan! Where is he?”
Santino screams, “The kitchen.”
Before I have the chance to step forward and show myself, Charlie storms into the kitchen. My brows draw in as she struts up to me, her hand nudging my shoulder. “You’re an asshole!”
“Excuse me?”
“You know, I really had hope for you. I thought you were different, that your feelings for Jenna were true. But you’re just like the rest of them.” She inspects me; her eyes narrow as she shakes her head disapprovingly. “God, did you prove me wrong. Were you just trying to get in her pants this entire time?”
“What?” Who the hell does she think she is? This time, I’m the one to narrow my eyes. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. It was never that way with Jenna. I care for her.”
Charlie crosses her arms, cocking a brow. “Oh? I couldn’t tell because over the past three days I’ve been taking care of a brokenhearted girl. She’s devastated, Logan. How could you do that to her?”
“You think I don’t know that? My head has been fucked-up the past few days. I’m trying to understand it all!” I snap.
She takes two steps back, breathing out her anger and calming down a bit. “Understand what?” she asks mildly.
“Her illness.” I calm too, defeated. I’m fucking tired and my head is pounding. “I’ve been up all night researching. I want to help her; I just don’t understand it. I keep reading articles and medical websites.” I huff out a laugh. “I’ve watched a dozen documentaries and even a fucking video blog with some guy who has the same disorder. I just don’t know how to help her.”
Charlie’s expression softens. “Being there for her is helping her. Jenna doesn’t have much support in her life. The most important piece of her recovery is for her to know she has a solid team backing her up. It’s not easy all of the time, but she’s worth it. She used to have Brooke and me; now she only has me. Jenna isn’t close with her mother. Her father is barely around. So just being there for her, letting her know that you’re not walking away, that you’re not giving up, that’s a step toward help. And that’s what she needs.”
“You’re right.”
She smiles. “Damn straight I’m right.”
As much as I want to laugh, I can’t. My shoulders deflate. “But how do I know if she’s being triggered or if I am setting her off or something?”
Charlie places her hand on my shoulder. “Talk to her,” she says kindly. “Once she sees that you haven’t given up, that you were just afraid of not being enough to help her, she won’t keep anything from you any longer.”
“Does she tell you everything?”
“No. I don’t push her. Well, except when she has her down days.”
“Down days?” I ask.
“Yeah. She has her really low moments. It’s difficult for her to do anything when she’s suffering from the depressive side of her disorder. Like she is now. She won’t eat. It’s hard to get her out of bed. It’s like she’s a stone, just waiting for life to pass her by. Everything is hard for her to do. So I push her out of bed—literally. She tries to fight back and hates me for it, but in the end it’s worth it. These past three days, though…they’ve been really hard.”
Great. I feel like an even bigger asshole. “Do you think she’ll see me?”
She shrugs. “We can try.”
Placing the hammer on top of the counter, I wipe off the sawdust from my hands and then look up at Charlie. “Take me to her.”
“Okay,” Charlie says. “Oh, and Logan?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you look like shit.”
This makes me laugh. “Thanks.”
“No, I mean it just further proves that I was wrong.”
I raise a brow. “About what? I think you were pretty accurate on the asshole part.”
She twirls around and starts walking. I follow behind her. “Oh no, you’re still an asshole for not seeing Jenna sooner, but I admit I was wrong about your feelings and intentions toward her. I can tell now that you really care about her.”
“Thanks,” is all I can say. “Before we go in, I just need to grab something from my truck.”
“Sure.”
Jenna
Wrapping the towel around my chest, I stand before the mirror. I wipe away the fog and stare at my reflection. “What now?” I say to myself. I guess I just keep going. There’s nothing else I can do. I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, but I need to keep going for today. It’s the only way to regain my strength.
Breathe. It’s the first step, which I do.
After I’m done, I step into my room and freeze. My fingers grip the towel in place; my chest expands too quickly, trying to fight for air as my heart pounds away. I press my lips together, composing myself so as not to launch across the room and cling onto him. There’s no way this can be real.
“Charlie let me in,” he says, standing by the edge of my bed.
I close my eyes tight, willing my head to take the image away. When I open them he’s still there.
He bows his head, looking down at an item held in his hand and then looks up at me. Red lines the rims of his stormy blue eyes, those eyes I’ve fallen in love with.
“What are you doing here, Logan?” I choke over the words scraping up from my dry throat and mouth. This is real. He’s actually here.
Logan wets his lips, hesitant to say anything. We both just stand there, waiting. Finally he speaks first. “Jenna, I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“For everything; the way I acted when you told me about your—” He pauses. “About your disorder. The last few days I’ve been trying to wrap my brain around all of it. And no matter how much I’ve researched and tried to figure out why you suffer from this disorder, it hasn’t changed the feelings I have for you.”
“It hasn’t?”
He shakes his head, taking a step forward; there’s still so much space between us. He goes on, “No. I still care for you. I still want you.”
“But—”
“No. There are no more ifs, ands, or buts between us. There’s no mistaking any of it. I want us to be together. I want your struggles to be mine. I want you to be able to come to me for everything, Jersey Girl. I want to be there for you. You have to trust that I will never give up on us.”