The Cunning (18+)

55

Jase returned from the hospital in the early hours of the morning, his hand wrapped in layers of clean bandage.

"You were right. I needed stitches," he muttered, closing the bedroom door quietly.

"How are you feeling?" Madison asked.

"Tired." He pulled his t-shirt off with one hand from over his head, leaving it on the desk as he rounded his side of the bed, taking out the rolling equipment from the drawer. Not that he needed to smoke, the pain medication the doctor had given him left him pretty waved as it was. He looked at her, sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, then looked back down to the paper he was pulling from the card packet. "Thanks for what you did down there. The others are fucking useless," he said.

Madison shrugged. "Perks of growing up with a dodgy dad."

Jase watched her for a moment. Sam had raised a question in the waiting room at the hospital; how did Madison remain so calm in so many situations that would have most girls hysterical? Jase recalled asking her about why she knew how to pick a lock, she'd told him her dad had taught her. It wasn't until Sam had questioned her demeanour that the dots started to connect.

"How old were you when he went away?" Jase asked. The colour drained from Madison's face and he laughed. "What, you thought I wouldn't figure it out?"

Her heart rate spiked, palms instantly sweaty. Someone had to have told him because she had been so careful. Her mind raced, thoughts of the past however long she'd been there fluttering around like shredded paper. Half conversations, people at the showings that might recognise her, her ID, it had her new name on it, right? She couldn't picture it. This whole time, had Jase known who she was? Was he more evil and cunning than she could have considered-

"He's in prison, right?" His follow-up question stopped Madison's panicked spiral. She blinked, snapping out of it. Unless he was a total psycho, and she was at least 60% sure he wasn't, if Jase knew who her dad was he wouldn't be so calm. He had just made an educated guess that she had a dad who was in jail, not who her dad was. She relaxed.

"About thirteen." It was a lie. She couldn't have him doing the maths.

"Sorry you grew up around stuff like that." His words were sincere. The adrenalin from the attack had wiped him out, his movements were drawn out and sluggish.

"It had its advantages," Madison replied.

Jase sprinkled the weed and tobacco into the paper, a dozy smile infiltrating the heaviness of the conversation. "Yeah? What else did he teach you?" he asked, licking the paper, folding it over, and tapping the end on the bedside drawers.

Madison counted on her fingers. "My rights, how to hotwire a car, a bunch of stuff about body language. How to load a gun, pick locks-"

Jase interrupted her. "He taught you how to load a gun at thirteen years old? Jesus Christ." It was the first time Madison had seen him look taken back.

She rolled her shoulders awkwardly. She didn't inform him that she was actually loading guns from the age of seven. Although she wasn't allowed to shoot one until she was nine.

"Your childhood wasn't perfect either," she replied defensively. Jase tilted his head, considering her words. It was far from perfect, but no one was letting him play with loaded guns before his balls dropped.

"You're right. But why was he teaching you that kind of thing?"

She could hardly tell him that there were weapons in every room of her childhood home without it sparking more pressing questions. It was a continuous argument between her parents. Her dad's idea of compromising was ensuring Madison's safety by teaching her how to use them, which she thought was fantastic. Days spent shooting targets in the woods, learning how to make small explosives with everyday items, and getting an insight into a different way of thinking had been their way of bonding.