He’d made it painful.
He’d made me want to vomit every time he touched me, but the guilt had been worse than the sex, the guilt that I’d been a horrible person to him, the guilt that he would take more pills if I didn’t do what he wanted.
Tristan might be right about me trying to fight who I was, but if he truly knew how horrible I’d been, he wouldn’t be encouraging me to try to discover my true self. No, he’d be helping me bury that demon or, as he’d said last night, kill off that personality for good.
“So, anger…” Jack sat opposite me in the booth and shook the rain from his jacket. “Why don’t you write out different facial expressions while I go grab us some coffee and food?”
“Okay.” I pulled out my notebook and went to work cataloguing things I’d learned in class, like tight lips, narrowed eyes, clenched jaw — things that usually revealed a type of anger or repression. Funny, I had those memorized because Taylor was rarely happy. Anger was his companion. Then again, most of the time he was so numb I wondered if he ever truly felt anything; I wondered if he ever wanted to.
“No,” Jack said after reading my list. “Some of these are wrong.”
“Well, according to the Internet and our textbook, they’re all right.”
“Wrong.” He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “Anger can be a smirk, sure… but I think the most intense anger is the type of anger that people rarely see on the surface. It boils beneath, getting hotter and hotter until finally one day—”
He slammed his hand against the table. I almost spilled my hot coffee.
“—they just explode.”
“So…” I swallowed and suddenly felt very uncomfortable that we were some of the only people in the coffee shop. “How would you describe that, then? In a nonverbal cue?”
“You can’t.” He leaned forward. “Because anger has too many faces, too many masks. This type of anger is the kind you don’t recognize until it’s too late.” His nostrils flared as he brushed hair away from his face.
The movement was familiar, oddly so. I narrowed my eyes, truly looking at him, examining Jack, because something about him didn’t make me feel safe; it made me feel… wary, afraid.
“What?” He smiled, his big toothy grin making me feel a bit better. “You think I’m speaking from experience?”
“Are you?” My throat went dry at the question.
“Maybe.” He nodded slowly. “Then again, how would you know?”
I reached into my satchel and gripped my mace tightly with one hand.
“And that…” he chuckled and took a sip of coffee. “…is my point. Geez, stop looking so serious. I just want an A, okay? And if lover boy wants us to dig, then we should dig, cool?”
I released the Mace, feeling a bit stupid. My spider senses had always been off when it came to people. I mean Taylor had been Exhibit A, so I really shouldn’t suspect a guy like Jack was anything but nice and studious.
“Right.” I took another sip of coffee, feeling better. “Let’s do it your way.”
His eyes crinkled as he smiled. “I like the sound of that.”
We worked for the rest of the hour, and then I made an excuse about needing to stop at the mail room before class.
I still had an hour, but I wanted to check and see if I had any more threats. My hands were shaking by the time I turned my key and unlocked the little box.
Nothing but spam.
I released a tense breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and quickly shut my box.
“Boo!” Someone gripped my shoulders.
I screamed and reached for my Mace again.
“Whoa!” Jack reared back. “Was totally not planning on you getting ready to karate my ass!” Laughing, he shook his head. “I think my stories about pizza wars and coworkers getting beat up are going to give you nightmares. You just forgot your notebook, that’s all.” He held it out.
“You could have given it to me in class.” My heart was still hammering against my chest when I took the notebook from him and shoved it into my bag.
“Right.” He winked. “Maybe I just wanted to see you again.”