The Bends - JJ x Kiara

Prologue 2

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(Kiara)

I had gotten JJ up from the ground. He and Pope stood on either side of me, not uttering a word. Pope stared at the ground. JJ was staring ahead. Determined.
I felt Pope's hand slowly intertwine with mine; I didn't pull away. I didn't have the strength to.
So I let it happen.
I could feel JJ's jealous eyes scan the small gesture. And with that, unexpectedly, he took my other hand in his. His hand was much bigger than Pope's; JJ's hand had tons of these rings. It was calloused. Scarred. His knuckles felt rough and scabbed. I wondered how he got those scabs.
Why was I stroking his hand?
The difference between their embrace, though, was that I could feel the warmth of Pope's hand against mine. But JJ's....
It felt cold.

"Kiara!!"

My mother roughly took my arm, ripping me away from my two boys.
I found myself staring one last time.
Pope still had his eyes locked on the ground below him.
JJ was now staring at me. Through me.
His eyes were really pretty. They looked like rough crystals.
I knew I'd see my boys tomorrow.
But leaving them was hard. Leaving them vulnerable.
Especially JJ.
I felt weak. The rain caused by the tropical depression was beating down on the tent. Where we were standing. Along with the goddamn SWAT team, of course. And somehow, I couldn't feel the cold air.
I just felt...
Numb.
Some men in suits were talking through walkie talkies, and tuning the radio.
If I felt nothing, then why did JJ's gaze send unwanted butterflies down my stomach?
It was probably the rush of the situation. Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.
Pope's parents were taking turns giving him hugs. Stroking his head and rubbing his back.
JJ never received any affection. His father couldn't give two shits about him.
I knew what would happen if he went home.
And the thought made me feel sick inside.
My parents led me away from the tent, and we were immediately soaked by the heavy rain.
I caught one last glance over at the tent.
I was secretly wishing JJ was still there. I felt like I needed to watch over him.
But he wasn't.
He was gone.
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(JJ)

I watched her disappear into the storm. The sky was black, with occasional bright streaks of lightning.
I felt a hand squeeze my shoulder. Pope was looking at me reassuringly, as he pulled me in for a hug.
"I'll see you soon, man. We'll... figure this all out."
And with that, I was alone.
I didn't have any adults to comfort me. To tell me that I'd be okay. Stroke my hair softly, or rub my back.
I was used to it, though.

I made my way home.
Home.
Was it actually home?
I mean, the only good thing about that run down place was the bathroom. Where I was able to jerk off as many times as I wanted when Dad was asleep. Or completely blacked out on the couch.
And, it was the only door in that fucking house that had a lock on it!
Some erotic thoughts of Kiara popped into my mind.
Fuck. Not the time. Not right now.

I really didn't want to go back to my Dad's. I knew what was waiting for me. And I didn't feel like having another black eye, or two.
I changed direction towards the beach.
Where the chateau was.
Where my best friend once lived.
My clothes were fucking drenched. I needed to shower. Or, maybe I'd just take a dunk in the deep blue. Go commando. Let the freezing water numb me inside out. Maybe let it kill me. Suffocate me.

Nah, I was too tired. Even too tired to smoke a blunt.
The blue and white striped hammock was still hanging in the same spot. It was blowing back and forth slightly due to the wind.
I found myself tampering with the doorknob, so I could let myself inside the house.
John B always left the door unlocked.
He knew I'd need to crash at his place. Many times. The worst part though, was that it looked exactly the same. Everything was untouched.
The tears I tried to hold back earlier came rushing back.
"GODDAMMIT!!"
My vision blurred. My fists had minds of their own.
They continued to strike the wall, again and again, until my scabbed knuckles were vulnerable and open. Bleeding again. The blood trailed down my arms, all the way to the floor.
The physical pain made me feel good. And bad. I had a love-hate relationship with beating stuff up.
There were a few stray beer bottles scattered around the couch. I needed a pick me up.
I downed maybe two, or three.
I chucked the last one at the ground.
God, my fucking body hurts.
Glass was scattered around the place. Blood was smeared on the walls; you would think this was an episode of goddamn American Horror Story.
Kiara hated watching that with us guys. She hated the violence.
My mind wasn't clear. Bad thoughts were swirling around my mind, grey and dark. Thunderous. Dangerous.
But, there was also hurt.
I hurt.
So, so fucking much.

I reached for the end of the broken beer bottle.

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