Kiss The Sun

Chapter 12

"No, Jake. I have to write this song." I was trying to be serious, but a grin snuck upon my face.

"Okay fine," he sighed. I was sitting on his lap in the back room while everyone else went out for lunch. Jake had pretended to be napping and I had claimed to be writing for recording tomorrow, but he snuck back and suddenly I was not writing. Ever since the show the week before where Jake had pulled me into the dark bathroom, we had been sneaking around at every moment we could.

He would pull me into closets, bathrooms, dressing rooms. He would fake sleep or errand running. He would slip me notes asking to meet him somewhere at a certain time. We would "go to the bathroom" in the bar at the same time. And each time, he would make my head roll back, my knees week, my skin tingle. 

And every time, I would end up scrubbing my body until it bled. 

It wasn't that I didn't like the feel of Jake's hands and lips on every inch of my body. I loved that feeling, but the guilt was eating me alive. And some small part of my brain thought maybe I could scrub it off. The guilt, the shame. That I could kiss away my trauma, but I couldn't.

But I never thought of that when I was with Jake. He kissed me and I melted into him. He picked up my guitar from where he had moved it when he pulled me on top of him and set it back in my lap.

"Okay then, baby. Finish that song." He kissed my cheek and escaped out the door. 

I could only seem to write about him. About his hands, my skin. But never in the way I needed to be writing. Never quite the right sound. And now, I had to record tomorrow with nothing but a handful of songs that sound nothing like what I already have. I heard the front door open and close, heard the voices and laughter of my favorite people filling different spaces, moving about, but I stayed put and plucked away on my guitar, trying to write like I normally do. Trying to pretend my life wasn't completely changed. Trying to pretend I wasn't feeling ashamed and conflicted, but also so wanted. 

There was a gentle knock at the door.

Cat peeked her head in. "Hey, how's it going?" She quietly shut the door behind her. 

"It's...going." I sighed.

"Is Jake okay?" She asked abruptly. 

My face flushed and I prayed she couldn't tell.

"What do you mean?" I tried to stay subtle and calm.

"He's been sleeping since we left, right?" 

There was a flicker of suspicion in her eyes. Was I caught? Would that relieve me of the stress of hiding? Or was she simply worried about him? Why was she worries about him? I saw the way they looked at each other. I saw the rage in Jake's eyes when Sam kissed her. 

"Brooklyn?" Cat added, snapping my attention back to her. "Jake's been sleeping for a while, I'm worried he's sick."

Not caught. She was just concerned. 

"Oh, I..." I caught my breath. "He didn't sleep well." I thought of how he woke me up in the middle of the night, hand over my mouth, motioning for me to follow him outside. The way he pushed me against the bus, picked my up, and took me into a small alcove, away from the view of the bus's windows. The feel of the brick on my bare skin, his colds hands against the heat of my body. "He said he couldn't fall asleep. Said he tossed and turned all night."

I prayed she couldn't read my mind, couldn't see what he had done to me. Couldn't see how we snuck back in before anyone woke up.

"Oh okay, that makes me feel much better. I'll let you get back to it." She slipped out as quietly as she had entered. Her concern for him should make me jealous. It should make me angry. But all I had sitting in my stomach was a feeling of sudden doom. Like uncertainty was peering down on me, waiting to turn to panic. Waiting to strike. Waiting to kill.