Earth (Complete)

Thirty eight

His voice echoed in my head, mocking me, taunting me, reminding me of how much he didn't want to be with me anymore. And yet, he called to me, concern threaded through his voice. I heard him as clear as if he was right here with me. Funny enough, I thought I was dead. Maybe I was in heaven. But as soon as I felt a hand on my shoulder...

"Jane? Janie... Wake up. Please. Please wake up."

My eyes drifted open, the colors blurred like smudged paint on a canvas before them, his voice was muffled, the green of his eyes mixed with the cream of his skin and the brown of his hair.

"Fuck... Jane? Please wake up. Please."

Things began falling into place. I saw his eyes as they were, his spikey hair and beautiful skin fell into place. Everything made sense besides why he was here. I blinked a couple of times, making sure it wasn't just my eyes, making sure he really was here and that I didn't just imagine him.

I lifted my now bandaged arm, reaching for him and there was his arm, real as ever. It was difficult to believe. After all this time... he was here. He shifted back on the bed, careful not to touch me and let out a heavy breath in relief.

"Jane." He ran a hand through his hair, a small smile curving up his face. "How're you feeling?"

"Shitty thanks." I croaked. My body ached from my skin, all the way through to my bones. I felt like I'd been asleep for a hundred years, my body cracking as I moved. He helped me sit up, lifting me up from under my arms, then shifted back immediately. "What are you doing here?"

"Sydney told me you came to the house. I thought something was up. And apparently, I was right. What the fuck happened to you? Didn't your mom ever tell you not to play with razorblades?" He tried to joke, but his face remained serious, he didn't smile or laugh and neither did I. Because as soon as he brought up that woman, I lost it for a split second. When I started aching again, I realised getting angry wasn't going to do me any good.

I glanced down at my wounds, all bandaged up now and then my eyes fell at my door. The door had disappeared completely and all that was left was shards of tinted glass on the floor and a chair lying on the other side.

I smiled fondly, "You broke my door."

He moved forward so I would look at him as he said, "Janie, baby, focus please. What happened to you?"

I sighed. "Funny enough, it was Mary that came at me with razor blades. Just in the form of three inch nails and teeth."

He hesitated, rising anger lingering close beneath the surface. "You – your fucking mother did this?"

I nodded "Yup." I pulled my face into a sadistic smile. Dylan, however, wasn't smiling at all. He breathed slowly through his nose, his fists clutching onto the sheet beneath us.

"And your little bitch of a father? What the fuck did he do?"

Another breath slipped past my lips and I prepared for the worst as I answered, "Stood back and watched."

He breathed through the next few seconds with great difficulty. I knew he would blow... any minute now. Suddenly, he couldn't take it anymore. He shot up and began pacing around the room, running his fingers through his hair, which looked longer than usual, tugging it, and then, in an instant, he let out a loud scream and his fist went through my bathroom door and then I didn't have a bathroom door too. I left him to take his anger out on my room, let him rage and ruin the whole fucking house if he wanted.

Reason being, I couldn't do it myself. And I would. God, believe me I would. I'd get Peter's fifty thousand dollar golf clubs and rage around the house, smash shit up, his cruzer in the garage, Mary's glass jewelry box, Peter's flat screen in his office and Mary's special plate collection. I'd become an article of chaos and destruction. But right now, I could barely move. So smashing up shit was out of the picture.