Haze Andrea Wolfe (best mobile ebook reader txt) 📖

Once again, it was clear why Jack had chosen them for his band. Although we invited them to breakfast, they all politely declined due to sleepiness, and that was just fine with us. I wanted to soak up Jack all alone, just like my pancakes would soak up butter and maple syrup.

And when the food arrived, bliss hit me like a drug and followed us home until we fell into a carb-induced slumber.

***

As expected, we skipped moving on Saturday, instead sleeping until late afternoon. Jack got up before me, but I wasn't sure how much earlier. I only knew because he was standing in the doorway when my eyes opened.

"I should call my parents," I said, the first words out of my mouth after achieving consciousness. "They'll hate me for telling them, but I have to. I want to." The decision felt somewhat impetuous and random, but I simply could not help it.

"Do it," Jack said, fiddling with his phone. He was shirtless, the bandage on his side a painful reminder of what we had just survived. He sat down next to me on the bed, my body still buried under blankets.

I don't know why that feeling of longing rushed in, but it did. Last night, I had only really thought about Jack, thought exclusively about the disruption of my immediate surroundings. Disruption of my current world.

As much as it would trouble my parents to hear about their daughter narrowly escaping rape and murder, it would be a way to reconnect, a way to re-include them in my life in a very real way. I had barely escaped danger, and now I desperately wanted to hug them both, the people that had raised and protected me through the earliest portion of my life.

My brain overflowed with memories of growing up, learning to ride a bike, Christmas mornings, family vacations to the beach. I was suddenly imagining my dad with a mustache and laughing inside. He had shaved it off almost a decade ago, but prior to that, it was a serious part of his appearance. My mom always jokingly suggested that he should grow it back and he always grumbled about it.

Good, sweet, loving memories. Jack was my now, and they would always be my then. Stress made the desire to reconnect more poignant than ever before.

I hadn't called my mom since I asked her for rent money, something I regretted every time I remembered it. Life had sped up after that, and I hadn't really wanted to get into the details of my love life. The money sat in my account the whole time, unused as Jack's finances covered us both—and my new job's very plentiful income sweetened things further.

My phone was cracked again, so this call would be the last prior to repair/replacement. It felt symbolic, in a way. My life had been fractured similarly, and now I'd look to repair it as well.

I couldn't believe how bad my luck with cell phones had been. Honestly, I had gone for years with my first cell phone, never having any issues or breaking it. Now, I'd smashed two in two months. It wasn't entirely my fault, however. I wasn't as much of a klutz as I was making myself out to be.

After so much potent introspection, weeping came easily, and Jack comforted me, holding me in his arms. "Just cry," he whispered. "I'm here for you. Always."

"Shut up," I complained. "You're too perfect and it's just making me cry more."

He handed me a wad of tissues and groaned as he stood up from the bed. "God, I'm so sore. Everything hurts."

After he said it, I realized how sore I was as well. It felt like I had been through a very rough and competitive boxing match. "I need painkillers," I said. "We need to go to a pharmacy." My head was throbbing slowly with my heartbeat. The doctor had given me a prescription last night, but after all the drugs at the hospital, I had been set to make it through the night.

"I already took care of it," he said with a smile. He tossed a bottle of pills to me. "Don't get addicted to these now. Vicodin is serious stuff."

I greedily dumped one onto my tongue and swallowed it with water. "Oh, God, thanks again." Medicinal relief couldn't come soon enough.

"It's nothing. Every fucking second with you is worth it." I guess we were both being a little extra dramatic and verbose after such a terrible event.

I smiled, picked up my phone, and started dialing, feeling extra brave after hearing Jack's powerful words—and then my calm failed the second I heard my mom's voice. "I almost got raped and murdered and I'm okay and I swear I'm all right and my boyfriend, Jack, saved me!" A flood of tears soaked the sheet as I reflexively used it instead of the giant pile of tissues to my right.

Unsurprisingly, they booked a flight and were on a plane to NYC the next morning—and I would have to introduce them to the man of my dreams, face to face. I think I subconsciously made the call because I knew this would be the end result. I couldn't hide anymore. I would peel off every layer, every bit of mask that I had hidden behind.

I hated that I had so much to tell them, so many details that hadn't arisen at all due to the distance I had created between us. And not so much the physical distance as the emotional distance. I had taken their advice and come to New York, but I guess I had hidden myself upon arrival, trying to make it on my own without relying on them for support, emotionally, financially, or otherwise. I hadn't gone home at all, even though they would have paid for the plane ticket.

They obviously knew about my breakup with Timothy, but they didn't know about his moving here and attacking me.