𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 |𝟏𝟖+ (#𝟏)

𝚃𝚆𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚈-𝚂𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙽 |

27
AMBER JACKSON
--------------------------------------

Do you ever have a dream in which your life flashes before your eyes but it has nothing to do with a near-death experience?

I did. Just this moment.

It was a similar feeling to when the doctors told me that my mother had passed away. I was six years old at the time, but I knew what death was and what it meant in terms of its finality. All of my memories flash before my eyes and vanish nearly instantly. My recollections of her rocking me to sleep even when she was at her weakest, of the way she would sing me comfort songs when I needed them the most, and of her sobbing and begging to God that I'd be okay when she ultimately left me. Loneliness. Coldness. No one.

The scenario wasn't exactly the same right now, but it definitely felt like it. Why does this hurt just as fucking bad?

It was probably due to his quietness, brashness, and indifference I felt when I went into the room, that had become even harsher when our eyes met. Maybe it was because the shattered glass in front of the door made me have to watch my step, or maybe it was because he was slouched in his seat, knees spread, palms scratching fiercely at his eyes in aggravation. It was a mix of factors.

I've never seen a man who was broken. I've never seen a man with so many raw emotions and so low to the ground from the trees he previously stood towering on. To put it mildly, I felt like fucking shit. That was saying something since I couldn't put into words how I felt when I saw a single photograph set upright, pointing to the sky like a fucking archeological discovery. He was gazing right through me, as if I were a transparent ghost standing between his doorway.

He stiffens as a result of the choked cry that bursts from my throat.

If looks could kill, I'd show myself to the gates of hell.

Fuck.

His face is unidentifiable, with a range of emotions criss crossing his features. Seriousness. Anger. Disappointment. Sadness. Annoyance. Fear. Anger. This time it stuck. I hear his shaky breathing and a barrage of phrases that go unnoticed by my brain because my chest is hammering too loudly and overriding my eardrums. I'm at a standstill.

When he starts pacing the room, I take note, wanting to put a foot forward but knowing that any abrupt movement would turn me to ash. Why couldn't I have good things for a longer period of time than usual? Granted, it's true that part of this is due to my own fault, but why was I so fucking unlucky?

"Amber..." he stutters, his rage dissipating and turning my heart into a puddle. I'm sweating. I don't respond; instead, I blink and try to avoid his eyes. That irritates him. I merely want the earth to swallow me up till my brain rewires itself to allow me to have this conversation. "The least you could fucking do is look at me. You definitely owe me that much."

"I can explain..." I trail off in a barely discernible whisper that he hears startlingly, almost as if he's been searching for it in the sea of stillness I've provided him since I stepped in. He's sat down on his desk, staring directly at me, and has stopped pacing back and forth. His ankles are crossed, and his shirt is undone and ripped from his slacks' waistband, revealing his white undershirt. His thumb licks his lips, his eyes low and disdainful like a cat's. "You really don't have a choice. What the fuck is going on?"

"It's not what you think." I practically shout, my voice trembling as the few tears in the corner of my eyes wait for the appropriate moment to fall. "You have no fucking idea what I'm thinking. I ask you for one thing, Amber. Don't fucking lie to me and what did you do?" His hands reach behind him, grabbing photos of me and Jade stepping inside the one building that housed the men that made his life a living hell.