You Have My Attention

Nineteen

« Kason's POV »

She found the book.

When I'd found her with it last night, I wasn't sure how to react. Did she understand my past? How far did she read? She's innocent, naïve. But how naïve? Did she click the pieces together yet?

Revealing my past is touchy. I feel as if that if I talk about what happened from the point of Sam's death and forward, I might relapse. Hearing it in my head, I can deal with. It's a constant reminder of pain, but I handle it. Hearing other people talk about her is worse, but I once again manage. But if I were the one telling her story, I'd break down. There's no use in opening shitty-stitched wounds.

It's obvious that I have a minor set of feelings for Clumsy. Why else would I want to have sex with her? I haven't wanted to with anyone else, not even for meaningless hookups. But I refuse to let myself feel any further than slight emotion.

Let's put it this way: I care enough that I feel like shit for getting her sick and keeping her out in the cold, but I wouldn't jump in front of a bus for her. I'd have to say see ya on that one.

But yeah, as much as I hate admitting it to my damn self, I care about her a little. And I'm intrigued. I have to stop myself now before I get any stupid ideas.

I let myself stare at her sleeping figure, though. I guess it's creepy. I don't know. Call it whatever the hell you want. But I let myself have just this one moment to really look at her, since she wouldn't catch me dead doing it when she's awake.

She really is gorgeous. Those soft features: eyes, lips, button nose. She's an innocent type of beautiful, something I don't see very often. I'm afraid that if I touch her, all the angel-whiteness will turn a satanic, coal-like black due to my own demons. Any part of her could be corrupted by me.

At the thought of this, I stop my hand from reaching out to brush a strand of hair out of her face when it was midway from doing so. I bring it back down to my side and turn onto my back again, swallowing as I look up at the ceiling.

I've been suicidal for so long. I figure that Emily isn't happy here anyway. She'd be much better off with a couple like Kyra and Justin. In fact, that was the plan. Before Clumsy came in, I was going to just kill myself that day, and no one was going to try and save me this time. Since Kyra has always wanted a child but has had trouble conceiving, I figured I'd help her start out with Emily until she could give her a little brother or sister.

But of course, Sam (I assume) got in the way and stopped me from ending my life. I made her a promise that I'd try to move on. It's so hard to keep it though. I can't. I need her again. I need to see her.

I glare at the book and snatch it off the desk, throwing the covers off of me. I don't wake Winter, not wanting to take her from her ill slumber. I open the window and throw the book outside, all the way until I see it splash into a puddle of muddy water.

Good riddance.

I glare at the ground and shut the window before taking one last intent gaze at Clumsy. Then, I shake my head frustratedly and walk out, heading into the kitchen to make breakfast.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I mutter to myself. "I'm not going to have these stupid motherfu—"

I stop talking and freeze when I notice Emily sitting on a bar stool, writing something down. I clear my throat as she raises an eyebrow, expectantly waiting for me to finish speaking. She reminds me of a mother waiting for her child to conclude a nasty-mouthed sentence.

"Hey, Em," I grumble, choosing to not curse in front of her. I walk to the fridge and pull out some orange juice. I grab a glass cup. "When did you get here?"