Omens (wattys2016)

Sixteen.

     "Jackson?" I whisper into the darkened room. I heard him climbing through my window a few moments ago. He stood at the side of my bed as I pretended to sleep before settling down on the floor next to it.

"Yea?" he replies just as quietly.

"Who's Asher and why are you so scared of him?"

     I hear him rustle around on the floor. I turn towards the sound of the movement, surprised when I see him on his knees, leaning onto the bed, his head resting on his arms.

     "I'm not scared of him. I just don't like him. Remember how I told you that sometimes some of us end up with our genes being a bit more warped than the others? Well, it isn't exactly a joyous occasion. Most of the time ones of us ended up gifted, we kind of loose our shit. Liam and Max's cousin Michael was born gifted. He was always a strange kid but it wasn't until Gabe told me about his gift that I began to understand why. Michael could sense things that the rest of us couldn't. Like a lie. He could always tell when you were lying to him. He once told me that each person had a feel to them. That he could always tell if that person was good or bad. Kinda of like our senses, but instead of being able to feel the unnatural, he could feel everything. I didn't think it would be that hard on him. I mean, who wouldn't want to know when someone was lying to them? Or if the girl he was going to ask out was just using him? He never told us how it affected him. He felt the weight of it, of the souls. Of what the person had done. It drove him crazy. He was always surrounded by every bad thing every one had done and it started to take it's toll on him. Asher came and took him back to California. Back to The Sanctuary. That's where him and the others, the oldest hunters, live. They are too old to really help out in the hunt so they are more like a council. They have access to more information about supernaturals than we do."

     "So why wouldn't you want Gabriel to tell him about your gift?" I study his face in the light-less room, hoping he couldn't see how hard I was staring. In this light he looks older than he really is. I had done the math when he had told me the story of how he had ended up at my house that night. He was twelve when it happened, making him nineteen.

     "They took Michael to the Sanctuary about six months ago and no one had heard from him since. I tried calling once but they refused to tell me if he was still there. Asher must have told Gabriel that I had been calling because he spent the whole night lecturing me on 'trusting the elders' or some bullshit like that. Don't get me wrong, they have never caused us harm or threatened to. They have never forced us to go on a mission. I just get the feeling that they are hiding something. I don't want to end up like Michael, pulled out of his bed in the middle of the night never to be heard from again."

     I understand what he means. It is the same reason I had not told Dr. Hughes that I was still suffering from depression. That sometimes it took everything I had just to pull myself out of bed each morning. I hurt for Jackson, knowing exactly how he is feeling. Like there is something wrong with him.

     "You don't have to sleep on the floor," I say. I roll over, turning my back to him. I don't want him to see how red my face has gotten. Or the look I will make when he says no.

     He doesn't say anything. I hear the rustling back on the floor and assume he is making himself comfortable down there. Oh well, I tried. It's not like I actually expected him to willingly climb into bed with me.

     I feel the bed begin to sink as he makes his up to the empty space next to me. He pulls the blanket over him, laying on his back. I watch him, my heart pounding in my chest, watching him stare blankly at the ceiling. Moonlight streams into the room, revealing Jackson's bare chest. I hadn't realized until now that he isn't wearing much of anything.

     My eyes glide over his smooth chest, down to the well defined abs that move heavily with each breath. Black ink covers covers most of his skin. I can't see exactly what they are but my hand moves without my permission, fingers tracing over the strange designs. His breath catches in his throat and he turns to face me. My fingers continue their movement, gliding their way down his sides to where his hips indent. His skin is so warm, so soft. I know I should stop, but I just can't. 

     Jackson pulls the blanket down slowly and I feel the cool air crawl over my skin. His hand moves to my waist, sliding under the hem of my shirt. I hear myself gasp and he stops, resting it on my hip. He bites his lower lip, his eyes beginning the glow their neon color. Our lips are inches from each other and I can hear his ragged breaths.

     I press my lips to his, no longer able to deal with the tension growing between us. I half expect him to pull away, to stop me. He moans into the kiss, pressing his body tightly against mine. My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling at the soft locks. He nips at my lower lip and I a soft groan escapes my mouth.

     His hands are on the move again, gliding up my shirt to my chest. He cups my breast and his lips move from my mouth to my neck. He stops at my collarbone, his mouth teasing at the sensitive skin there. My hands travel down his back, digging my nail into the skin. I hear him moan again, brining his lips back to mine. I can feel his heart beat matching mine, both racing like crazy. My head is spinning and I am drunk on his kiss. One hand still cups me as the other rests under my head. My fingers find the waistband of his jeans, slowing popping the button to them open.

     He stop, pulling himself away from me and rolling to his back. His bring his hands to his face, pressing his palms into his eyes. Jackson lets out a frustrated sigh.

     "Omera," he says, steadying his breath," We can't"

     I pull the blankets back up, suddenly aware of how undressed I am. My stomach twists into all too familiar knots. Of course he doesn't want to. He had pulled my shirt enough to expose the bright scars underneath it. He must have felt them and...god...I really am disgusting. Why would someone as flawless as him ever be interested in someone like me. He had gotten carried away, probably used to girls throwing themselves at him. Embarrassment washes over me in thick waves and I bite back the tears forming under my now closed lids. I roll over, turning my back to him.

     "I understand," I say quietly. I choke on the words and Jackson places a hand on my shoulder. I shrug it away, tightening my grip on the blanket. "Don't worry about it. I wasn't thinking. I shouldn't have...I shouldn't have kissed you like that. I get it Jackson, really I do. The scars, they're gross. It's cool."

     "It's not that. It's just I-"

     "Goodnight Jackson," I interrupt. I don't want to hear his excuses or apologies. Tears silently stream down my face as I feel him lay back down.