Heartstrings

Chapter 25: No, Thanks

Emma's Perspective

I woke up to the very unglamorous realization that the skin of my face and chest were suction cupped to Jake's warm, damp skin. Hm, they don't show you that in the movies.

Slowly peeling myself off of him, I still smiled. We hadn't even done that much the night before, but it was still the first time any guy has seen so much of me or even kissed my body like that. I felt like a flower that someone had finally stopped to smell.

Sliding off the bed and clumsily throwing my shirt back on, I made my way over to my dresser to change. But as I looked at my reflection in the mirror, I realized with horror - it was the third Thursday of November. Thanksgiving.

Every fiber of my being tensed and my appetite ceased. Thanksgiving in this house was always miserable, at least for me. That was half the reason I'd wanted to visit my dad so badly.

It was always the same - I slaved away in the kitchen, trying my best to help my mom who inevitably got angry at me over silly things to the point of yelling.

The unkind things she'd said to me over the years still followed me around - "Get out of here! I don't want you, no one wants you!", "Would it kill you to put a different shirt on? You look like a whore at our family dinner." She probably didn't mean it, but it didn't matter - the words were already carved into the far corners of my mind.

I sank my head into my hands as I stood there in front of my dresser.

- Hey, woah. What's wrong?

Jake's voice was laced with worry as he sat up from the bed and walked over to me, still very much shirtless. Gently turning me around, his warm hands cupped my face as my eyes lifted upwards, drinking in every rippling muscle of his torso along the way - with a view like that, who needs coffee?

Despite the momentary distraction though, my body writhed with dread.

- I hate this day.

- What? Why?

- Thanksgiving.

- Oh.

There was a long pause as he reflected on what I meant - he'd been present for plenty of my mom's annual hysterics. In fact, last year, my mom had furiously sent me to my room without dinner and later that evening, I'd woken to a knock on my door. I hadn't answered, I'd just lain still in bed, pretending to be asleep. My eyes were sore from salty tears and my head ached from weeping for so long.

A figure had opened the door, walked in hesitantly, and laid a plate of food on my bedside table. I'd thought it was Sam, but the figure stared down at me for a minute before placing a warm hand on my shoulder, rubbing the skin gently with his thumb. I could tell then, from the electrical charge of the touch and the smell that had lingered in the air that it was Jake.

And now, a year later he stood in my room comforting me once again-

- I see. But you're not... upset about anything from last night, though, right?

I shook my head "no"-

- Far from it. That might be the only thing that gets me through the day.

I shut my eyes tightly with trepidation and he wrapped his arms around my head as I was pulled into his chest.

- I'm here. I'll help out, too. And with me there, I don't think she'll be as hard on you.

Relief prickled through my veins and breathing came easier. It wasn't just the plan he proposed, it was the way he knew exactly how I felt - he knew the history, and had seen it with his own eyes. I didn't have to go through the grueling discomfort of explaining it. It was as if reading me and my emotions was as instinctual for him as writing his name.