An Arrow To The Chest

Chapter 29

A wave of guilt washes over me as I realise I hadn't even been looking at Jackson, and instead can't seem to part my eyes from the blood pouring out of Arrow's lip.

It's thick, viscous, dripping down his chin in a stream, and I have this weird urge to reach out and touch it, checking to see if the blood that he bleeds is the same as mine.

There's a sharp, high pitched sound ringing in both ears, and I can hear Khad repeating my name, but I can't tell if I'm imagining it.

"Eloise!"

"Yes, sorry,"  finally, I rip my eyes away from the bust lip, facing Jackson who has two guys trying to restrain him. He's shaking out the tension from his hand, the impact from the punch clearly having hurt, and whilst those hands have held and caressed me a million times, they suddenly look vicious and threatening.

I don't want to bring him back to my room.

Jackson is a rugby player, and I've watched his smash into plenty of males, slamming them to the ground as if they weigh nothing, causing them to limp off the pitch and watch from the sidelines with a broken body. Yet still, I'd never seen Jackson as anything other than kind and gentle. Looking at him now was like looking at a stranger.

I want to be demanding, to tell him to get his ass to my room before I kick him out to sleep in his car, but I know that if I make him look bad in front of all these strangers his temper will get worse. So instead, I take a few shaky breaths, try to calm my shaking hands, and reach out to take his palm into mine.

"Please can you come back with me," I plead, defeat and sadness laced into every word, my bottom lip trembling as It threatens to start crying.

He can tell I'm scared, and to my surprise, he nods, letting me lead the way back to my room and away from the crowd that had gathered around the fight. Khad blocks Arrow as we squeeze past, and I can feel his hot gaze melting holes into the back of my back, the intensity burning through me like a focused laser beam.

I'm too much of a coward to look at him.

The closing of the door gives the illusion that we've fled the crime scene and instead are miles away from the party, yet in reality, it's a mere few metres. Everyone outside is probably discussing the punch in whispered gossips, and no doubt the stories will have escalated by tomorrow making it out as if someone died.

Jackson flops on my bed, massaging his temples with his fingers, and I notice specks of blood on his right knuckle. It makes me feel ill.

"The room is spinning so badly right now," he says nonchalantly, the anger and adrenaline having evaporated from his body.

I watch him from the other side of the room, my arms defensively crossed against my chest, wanting to keep as much distance as possible. Now is not the time to start an argument, I know that, as it would be like poking an already aggregated bear.

He leans up onto his elbows, and whilst he's not sober, it's apparent that the fight sobered him up in some sorts.

"Come here Ellie," he motions his hand for me to get closer, only I don't move, staying rooted at the same spot.

"Well, that was a shit party. Thank God I decided against University," he says once realising that I wasn't going to come running into his arms, and he was trying another approach in getting me to talk. Now was not the time for him to start an argument with me either.

"Jackson. You just punched my roommate, what do you expect me to say to you right now?"

"Excuse me, what? I was fucking defending you- I did that for YOU, Ellie. He was implying that I was cheating on you and making you look like an idiot, and so I stepped up and made him shut up! So don't you dare turn this around and make me look like a monster."

I flinch at the word 'cheating', hating how it's become a trigger for making me feel guilt, yet I remind myself that tonight is about the fight and the open flirting, and him getting too drunk. I was not going to let him manipulate the situation and come off as a hero.

"You hit him! He was pointing out that you were very openly lapping up all the female attention you could get, right in front of me, and then you hit him for it. Arrow was defending me, not the other way round," I yell, and instead of getting angry, Jackson starts laughing- which seems to make me feel even worse.

"Why would he be defending you Ellie babe, he doesn't like you," the words are condescending and patronising, and I blink up at him with a confused expression.

"W-what?"

"I didn't stutter. The prick came up in a conversation with Khad when we went to get beers. He said there was nothing to worry about seeing as Arrow found you annoying, whiny, moody, and unattractive to the eyes. So please do tell me why he would decide to defend you?"

I'm gobsmacked. Not only at the fact that Arrow would say such hurtful, mean, horrid comments about me, but also the fact that Khad was telling other people what he said. They were mortifying, each insult carving itself onto my skin with a blunt knife, hacking away at my self-confidence and self-worth.

He was wrong. Surely he was making it up just to retaliate. Surely Arrow wouldn't say such awful things about me.

I think back to the way he looked at me as we sat under the tree, the trembling hand against my cheek, both of us holding our breaths- It didn't matter that he pulled away, I know he felt something.

He doesn't look at me in disgust. Not when it's just the two of us. But why would Jackson just make it up?

"Whatever," I mutter, not able to meet his eyes, looking down at the floor in embarrassment. I suddenly felt stupid in such a low plunging bodysuit and a face of dolled-up make up, and I slip into the bathroom to scrub the paint off my face.

As I rub my face I can't help the tears that spill out onto my cheeks, the overwhelming emotions of tonight finally catching up to me. Water, mascara, and salty tears mingle into one, streaking down my cheeks like water droplets race each other on a rainy car window.

I scrub until my skin feels raw and looks red, any trace of trying to feel pretty gone, and the reflection staring back is ugly and plain.

When I re-enter the room, I notice Jackson has buried himself under the duvet, his top pulled off and discarded on my floor, but still in jeans and socks. Normally I would sleep in his top, loving the way his smell would surround and fill my senses, only I leave it on the floor and instead pick out something in my closet.

I can tell he's not asleep, despite his closed eyes, as his breathing is silent, and his shoulders are tense. However, I turn a blind eye and instead let him 'fake-sleep' in peace.  I gently pull a side of the duvet and slip inside, remaining as close to the edge of the bed as I can.

Our bodies don't touch, our breathing isn't in sync, and there's no smell of sex lingering between the sheets. 

A/N Sorry this chapter is a bit short, already working on the next. Thanks to everyone who votes and follows, keeps me very motivated to write faster