Hollows In Time (✔️) | 'Hollows' Book Ⅱ

Chapter Forty-Four

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When I pushed open his door, Jameson went from his previous hunched over position at his desk, to a wild mess that pounded over to me.

"Sky, I am so sorry." Jameson looked between my ice pack, and back to my eyes, his eyes frantic and worried, as if he had caused some irreparable damage.

I moved past him, so that I had entered his room fully. Jameson followed me like a lost puppy.

I sighed, "It's fine; it was an accident." Wasn't really the direction I wanted to go in with this—even if I knew that it would be easier for him to hear.

I sat down on his bed. "You shouldn't have taken it that far." I began.

Jameson nodded, frozen in front of me. "I know I–"

"Because this is what happens when you do." I interrupted him, gesturing to my face. It went silent for a while. Until Jameson spoke up again.

"Can I see it?" He asks me in a strained voice, his inner manly pitch coming out through the stress as his tone seemed to deepen.

I shook the memories away. I really need to stop slipping into the past.

I looked up to see Jameson staring down at me, waiting for a response. I suddenly regretted ever bringing my bruised face to such attention.

"Please," he begged, "I want to know the damage I caused today—I need to learn from my mistakes." He told me. I paused. Why? For so long I had wanted to show him how much damage he had caused me. Now I had the chance. Sure, the damage was minuscule compared to the damage he had brought upon me me in those five months, which would leave me, undoubtedly, scarred for a long time.

So, as I asserted myself, a short burst of confidence ran through my veins—and off came the ice pack.

Jameson stared at my face for a few moments longer than he needed. His eyes rotated around all of my features in a cycle that seemed to never end. First, they would land on my bruise, then they would trail over to my eyes, down to my nose, then back up. They would start at my hair as he absorbed the damage that the swelling had done to my overall appearance, then, down to my lips.

Then back around. Again, and again, and again.

After a few cycles of this, his eyes stopped. But he wasn't done. He kneeled down, and his cycle continued, except he had a better view this time.

In front of him, with him so close, I felt exposed. With my wound to add to the equation, I felt like I looked like an atrocity. It made me feel uncomfortable.

Jameson's hand reached out hesitantly. I flinched, but I let him lean in. His hand touched my bruise and I jolted away slightly as he ran his thumb across it.

"I'm so sorry." He whispered, face crumbling. I stared at him, his features becoming jaded as they twisted into a look of sorrow. As tears came to his eyes, I found that I couldn't look away.

Then he leaned in.

His palm slid down my face, cupping my cheek gently. My eyes widened. Well crap.

Thinking quickly—and frantically—I held my ice pack in a fisted hand, swung, and punched Jameson right in the jaw.

He went reeling backwards, throwing a hand out to stop him from crashing to the floor. I jumped off his bed, scurrying away from him. Instead of escaping from his room, I stupidly ran towards his bathroom, and by the time he had recovered, I no longer had any time to flee.