Snow in Texas

Chapter Twenty-Four: Jenny. Colin.

Twenty-Four

Jenny

"Riley, please..."

Jenny woke with a gasp, staggering out of a nightmare she'd had too often...but which never failed to put her in a cold sweat. She opened her eyes to her dark bedroom and fought to get her bearings, the ceiling spinning overhead.

It was just a dream, just a dream, just a dream, she told herself.

Slowly, her heart rate eased, and she was able to take a deep breath. Her eyes adjusted to the dark.

It was the wee hours, that period of night when the cool set in, and all but the most nefarious of creatures sought sleep. Speaking of nefarious...

Where was Colin, she wondered. In his dorm bed? At the Armadillo? With someone warm and willing in his lap.

She flexed her fingers and the bruise on her wrist grabbed just beneath the skin; she imagined she felt his grip, still, the warm solid pressure of his hand.

She shivered beneath the sheets, and tried to tell herself it was just the perspiration drying.

Time. Yeah, she needed some time. Away from Colin, alone with her thoughts.

Then again, she'd had seven years alone with her thoughts, and she wasn't any smarter for it.

With a deep sigh, she flopped onto her back again and willed sleep to return.

It didn't.

~*~

Two Weeks Later

The problem with sex, Jenny reflected one afternoon at work, is that it was just as addictive as alcohol. You could go without it for long periods, but suddenly, when you'd had it, and it was a prime vintage, and sent you flying, having it taken away made you almost feverish with want.

After two weeks, she was a little bit stir-crazy. She told herself it was just a physical restlessness. But really, it had a lot to do with those dark-eyed, wounded, kicked-puppy looks Colin sent her way when he thought no one was looking.

They'd run into each other in the hallway a few days before, and Jenny had glanced down at her toes and muttered, "Excuse me," stricken with the sudden, overwhelming terror that she wasn't going to be able to keep her distance much longer.

"I miss you," he'd said, in that low, smoky, Cajun-accented voice that stirred heat in her belly.

She'd tilted forward, had caught herself just before she'd reached for him. Because she couldn't do that. She felt awful for torturing Colin this way. But it wasn't about Colin. It was about her allowing herself over and over to be abused by men. And she couldn't fall back into that trap.

At night, when she couldn't sleep, a tiny voice in the back of her mind liked to remind her that he hadn't meant to hurt her. He'd just been overcome with emotion.

Wasn't that the case with every wife beater?

"Jen," someone said, snapping her from her thoughts.

She jerked. "What? Oh. Chelsea. Hi."

Her fellow waitress rolled her eyes. "Daydreaming about your biker man again?"

"Oh, no..."

Chelsea hooked her arm through Jenny's and turned her away from the register. "It's okay, I'd daydream about him too," she said, conspiratorially. She began to tow Jenny forward. "I haven't seen him in a while, though. You guys have a fight or something?"