Breaking the Ice

twenty-one

That night, I floated to sprawl half-naked on the couch, gorging myself on Rocky Road straight from the tub and watching some shitty romance movie on the living room T.V. All while the rest of my family was fast asleep, dreaming of Jen and Ian's glamorous wedding and sickeningly sweet relationship.

I was bitter. I'll admit it. I was confused and angry and scared and jealous and I had maybe ten unread notifications from Beau to boot. I saw he'd called me an hour ago and just ended up turning my phone off and shoving it in the depths of my nightstand, never again to see the light of day.

I had pretended to be asleep when Ma called for dinner then waited for everyone to go to bed before creeping from my room. My dad was on another business trip, so the house was quieter than usual this late—a perfect place to brood.

It was around 10 p.m. that a loud knock on the door startled me from my depressed stupor. Ready to ignore whatever psychopath was banging at it this late at night, I turned back to my movie and dug my spoon back into my ice cream.

The next time, the knock was louder. And then the next time, and the time after that. And eventually, I got so fed up with whoever was on my apartment floor banging on my door that I just gave up on my safety and decided to answer it.

Wrapped in nothing but baggy sweatpants and a blanket slung over my shoulders, I pulled the handle to find Jason on the other side, kicking the door loudly as a thin cloth bag occupied the space between his arms.

"What the fuck?" I asked.

"Thank God. You weren't picking up your phone," he sighed, looking up at me. Upon seeing his face, I was taken aback.

Jase's right cheek turning green and swollen, a thick sheen of sweat blanketing his face. The arm he had wrapped around the circumference of his bag was trembling and I could see his hand wrapped in haphazard gauze under the ripped sleeve of his sweater.

"What happened?" I asked, opening the door wider and beckoning them to come in. "Your mom?"

"Paul," he murmured, stepping inside with a tiny limp. "The twins are okay, they won't touch them. He just slapped me around a little."

I took his bag from him and grabbed at his free wrist. "What's with the gauze?"

Jason frowned. "He tried to get me with a bottle—nothing major. I'm fine."

"Did you get all the glass out?" I asked, closing the door and leading him to the kitchen.

"I don't know," Jase groaned, then paused at the mouth of the living room. "Jesus Christ, this looks depressing. Did you break up with your secret girlfriend or something? Was she the one that busted your cheek?"

"Long story," I sighed, passing him a glass of water. "Let me help you with your hand before it gets infected. Is there anything else you need? Food? Toilet? How's your leg?"

"My leg's fine with the pain meds they got me on, just a little limp-y. And I dunno'. Do you need anything? A hug? More ice cream?"

I gave him a deadpan look. "Very funny. Let me call Jen—"

"No," Jason clipped, whipping around. I raised a questioning brow at him and he was quick to elaborate. "No, because she might tip off the police. I can't make Kylie and Peter leave, they could be thrown into the system because I won't be able to afford to take care of them. They're safe there, and I can handle myself. It's for the best."

I bit my lip as my heart sank. "Jase..."

"Just trust me," he said, a plea glistening in his eyes, in the blood that dripped slowly into the collar of his sweater and turning the yellow fabric a coppery red. "I promise I'll be okay. I know how to call 9-1-1."