Earth (Complete)

Twenty two

A/N:

Short chapter ahead. sorry guys -- writers block is a bitch.

Jade

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Confusion: defined as an uncertainty about what is happening. That is how I currently felt. I saw someone who was willing to work for love during the day, but spent the night with another who didn't have to work to get it. How had this become my life?

A month ago, I had no idea this is where I would be. Twenty years old. Cheating. Slut. Maybe I was what mother accused me to be. But was it really cheating if I hadn't fully given myself to my allocated other?

I told Cass about what happened with Dylan. Obviously, she was thrilled. But that was just Cassy. She tended to do things without thinking about the consequences, like sleeping with my brother, who was promised to someone else, as was she.

I tried telling Cody about mom and dad but he wouldn't believe me.

"Stop being dramatic, Janie." He told me.

"I'm not being dramatic, Cody!" I snapped and he gave me a look as he swung around in my desk chair. "Dad looked like a psychotic, murderous convict. Mom was crying her heart out on my shoulder and I had no idea what to do." I told him in a rush. "And when mom came to me, weeping like a mad woman, dad saw and he looked at me like... like he wanted to kill me."

He scoffed. "Impossible. Dad will never wanna kill you. You're his golden child."

"No such thing. Dad hates children."

"Ah, and yet, he has two of them." Cody agreed sadly as he thought about it for a while. He sighed, "Don't worry, J." He stood, walked over to me and placed a kiss on my forehead as he sat next to me on my bed. "I'm sure this is just another thing they're going through."

I considered it for a moment, then took a heavy, disbelieving breath. "It seemed pretty big, Codes."

He shrugged. "Just like every other time."

"No, no. This one was different." I pressed. "He really seemed angry this time. And mom... she really looked hurt."

"I'm sure, whatever it is, they'll work it out. They always do."

I sighed. "They haven't been able to in a while, though."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Cody, mom and dad have been fighting ever since I can remember. And recently – it's just gotten worse." I told him. "Mom threw something at him. He was bleeding." His face fell instantly.

Like me, Cody liked to keep himself oblivious to these things. It was never a nice thing to see your parents constantly fighting. And for it to get this bad... who knows what will happen next.

We went to bed without more words to spare on the subject. Cody looked utterly traumatized and it unsettled me. I had to remind myself sometimes that even though we were only a few minutes apart in age, I was still older than him, which meant I had to protect him as much as he had to protect me. And currently, I had no idea how to do that.

The rest of the week was quiet. Everyone trudged around aimlessly, like ghosts without a purpose, doomed to remain in the same place for the all eternity, all alone, and avoiding other signs of life. Jeremy grew more insistent on seeing me more often, as well as Dylan. And where Dylan craved to see more of me in the daylight, Jeremy wanted to start playing in the dark.

My entire being was being torn between my head and my heart, between what's expected of me, and what I truly wanted. And even though neither of us have said those three words, I could still feel it coming off when Dylan slipped into my bed every night.

Things had died down a bit. The heat that initially began every night had dissipated into something I couldn't quite understand. And while the movements remained the same – fast, energetic, sweat tinkling down my back – I think we both could tell, it was something a little more than just physical pleasure.

His soft lips touched my neck and large hands wrapped tightly around my back as I moved. Back and forth, up and down. I clung onto his hair as he moved deeper inside me. Bite marks covered my neck and collarbones. My hips had turned into permanent shades of blue and purple and his back had thrashes so deep, you'd never think fingernails would be the cause, but rather, whips with spikes.

Night by night, we'd break each other a bit more, adding another bruise to my waist, or another scratch to the collection on his back. Each night, getting deeper and deeper into something we couldn't pull out of.

But what did that matter anyway? When you have someone in your bed every night, and you're screaming his name at the top of your lungs, nothing else really did matter.

And I was fine with that. For now.

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