Daughter of the Demon (I)

Daughter of the Demon-28-Used

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Chapter 28: Used

~Jemma~

The home phone rang sometime later after I got back from Jacob’s. In fact, it was Jacob talking. I answered it.

“Jemma?” He asked.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“You don’t have to do too much talking because of your surgery, but do you mind if I come over? I have something I need to tell you.”

My heart skipped. “Sure,” I rasped.

“Okay. Thanks.” Then he hung up.

I went up to my room and sat on my bed. I had a feeling I knew which way he was coming in.

And, sure enough, a few minutes later he climbed through my open window panting. I stared at his bare feet. “Did you run here?” I asked as softly and quietly as I could. Jacob nodded.

“I’m flattered,” I replied.

A flicker of a smile appeared on his lips but then it was gone. 

I didn't like that.

“Jemma, come here,” he said, grabbing my arm and pulling me to the side of my bed, sitting me down next to him.

I looked at him with a questioning look and he squeezed his eyes shut. Whatever he was thinking about was putting him in some serious pain. I hated it.

“Jemma,” he said, reaching for my hand and lacing our fingers together. I stared at them, intertwined, and I shivered.

“I want you to be honest, Jemma,” he began again. “But I know you won’t have any trouble with that, because I know I can trust you of all people with the truth.”

I nodded once, encouraging him on.

“I thought about . . . last night a little bit, and I’ve realized some things.” He swallowed hard. “Jemma . . . I don’t think we should see each other. At least, not for a while.”

I blinked at him. What was he talking about?

“The thing is . . . in your current state . . . I was told you find something secure and strong to latch onto, and you use that as your anchor. But once you’re healed and over-with you let it go and never go back.” He seemed uncomfortable. Well, so was I. Was he saying that I was . . . that I was using him?

Because I would never.

“I don’t want you to think I don’t like you,” he said quickly, meeting my eyes and using the hand not holding mine to brush loose strands off my nose. “But I just don’t think you feel the same way. I mean, at least, not right now. The depression is speaking, not you.”

How did he know? Did he have a discussion with a psychologist or something when he got home? I averted my eyes and found that oh-so-familiar spot on the floor. Well, shit. I felt terrible. How could I do that?

That hadn’t been my original intention . . . it really hadn’t.

“I’m sorry,” Jacob said again, but I shook my head. I felt a sob rising up in my throat but I worked to suppress it. I stood up and wrenched my hand from his grasp, backing up, finding myself against my wall. Jacob was looking at me with pain and sadness and confusion in his blue eyes. I hoped he couldn’t read what I was feeling.

“Jemma,” he whispered, reaching out for me. I shook my head harder again, feeling tears fall from my eyes.

“I wasn’t . . .” I tried to get out louder, more clearly. “I wasn’t trying . . . to hurt you.”