Scared of Beautiful (23 page)

Maia

I replay in my mind over and over a thousand times why Jackson and I are where we are, and how we got here. But as much as I try to spin it, I’m to blame. It was me; I did this. I pushed him further and further away until I pushed him all the way back to Atlanta. With the exception of flinging on my Ugg boots and walking across to the Bean for coffee every morning, I have relegated myself to my apartment. And to sweatpants. Blake watches me curiously as I walk straight in and walk straight out, avoiding all eye contact with any other living human being. The sloppy bun at the top of my head flops heavily, pressurizing my already sore, sleep-deprived brain. Before Blake has the time to make eye contact and initiate a conversation, I’ve usually grabbed my coffee and made a beeline for the door.

This is what I had intended to happen at the onset of the college year. I was supposed to be a small blip on much bigger radar, virtually undetectable, so that I would never be put in the situation that I now face. That didn’t happen. Being in love with Jackson is,
err
was, amazing, terrifying, beautiful, and horrible. And now, now that whatever it was is over, I’d do anything to get it back. By the third day, with still no word from Jackson, or even from Jade about Jackson, the reality of our last conversation starts to sink in. I must admit that in keeping Jackson at arm’s length, not once in the whole few weeks that we spent together, did I think that he would actually leave. I’d like to think that he had his reasons, but my rational mind tells me that that he didn’t. He left quite simply because I was a bitch.

On day four, I actually put on a pair of jeans when doing my coffee run.
Progress
. The Clever Bean is packed with patrons lounging around to escape the rain after having breakfast. The weather is as dismal as my mood. Not to mention that the sight of food has been intolerable to me in the last few days. A familiar smile greets me as I walk over to the coffee bar.

“Hi,” Blake smiles warmly as I approach.

I greet him with a pained smile. “Hey,” I answer with very little enthusiasm.

“Why are you making coffee?” I ask, mildly half curious.

“Sick call,” he replies simply. I nod back.

Blake’s warm smile is a pleasant change from the stark neutral walls of my apartment. He doesn’t, however grab my attention like Jackson could, not with his smile, or his eyes. My heart seizes painfully as I realize, that I don’t think anyone ever will.

I suspect that Blake doesn’t really need to be at the Bean as much as he is. For any other red blooded female, this hot, well-bred and sweet man would be a godsend. For me, his presence just reminds me that I really don’t give a shit about anyone else who appears interested in me. Which in turn makes me miss Jackson. Nonetheless, after Blake’s incessant nagging and ramblings on about the medical necessity for food in one’s body, I agree to meet him later in the evening for a quick dinner. The invitation does absolutely nothing to improve my mood. I am aware that I’m moping, also aware that the moping is a result of my own actions, but none of those realizations will change how I feel. Back in the apartment, my fingers hover over the keypad on my cell, debating whether or not to dial Jackson’s number. I chicken out and call Jade instead.

First attempt goes to voicemail. I dial again, and Jade’s voice fills my ears, the sweetest sound I’ve heard all week. “Hey, babe!” Jade answers with enthusiasm.

“Hi,” I say casually, “I’m glad you answered.” The sadness of Jade’s distance is eating at me.

“You sound awful, Maia. I’d ask if everything is okay, but since Jackson is back in Atlanta, I’m gonna go ahead and assume that you aren’t,” Jade replies sympathetically.

“I’m fine,” I say. I’m doing a shit job of convincing myself of that, and anyone with half a brain for psychology knows that
I’m fine
translates to
everything could not be any more fucked up
.

Jade’s voice develops a worried edge. “You need to do something about this. Jackson is quite literally going off the rails. Again. I haven’t seen him behave so destructively since, well, since Shana left. But this time it’s much worse. And whatever Emmanuel has him doing…” Jade’s voice tapers off, small and desperate. “I’m worried Maia, he’s barely at home. Every time I do see him, he has a glass in his hand, and not with water in it, either. Just ask him to come back, before he ends up in jail, or worse.”

“Jade, he made himself very clear,” I reply, my eyes filling with unshed tears. “He doesn’t want to have anything to do with me, that’s what he said.”

“And everything is that black and white, is it? You really believe that?” Jade replies, frustrated. “He’s not perfect, but he was damn close for you. He was trying. And you wanna tell me you believed that shit!” Her voice is accusatory, angry.

I should never have made this call. Wallowing in self-pity would have been the better option. “I should go,” I say quietly.

“Maia, just…please wait,” Jade says softly. “I didn’t mean to put that on you, but I’m really worried about him.”

“I know,” I say, tears now streaming down my face, “but I can’t help.” I press the end button on the phone.
How the fuck was I going to be helpful or of any use to anyone, when I was still so desperately trying to figure out how to fucking help myself?

The day rolls on with its miserable weather, much like the few before it. As the evening approaches, I find myself getting anxious about meeting Blake for dinner. I send him a text, cancelling. There’s no point dragging someone else into this miserable world I’ve managed to carve out for myself.

Tomorrow then?
The reply is so short, yet hope pours through the reply.
Poor bastard
. If only he knew what a tortured soul he was dealing with.

I don’t feel like going out, I’m sorry.
I press send and hope that he gets the hint.
I’m wrong
.

We discussed that food is necessary for you to live. At least let me bring you some if you’d rather not go anywhere.
I sigh with annoyance. Persistence can be a sweet thing, but right now, it’s the thing that makes me want to scream and break this damn phone.

Knowing that my efforts to dodge Blake are futile, I agree.
Fine, I’m on the top floor apartment. Tomorrow, 7pm.
A smiley face reply is all that he sends back.
Good, now I have a full 24 hours to figure out how to get out of it
. With that handled I return to my bed and pull the covers over my head in an attempt to escape somehow. Blissful slumber is the only thing that pushes the thoughts of Jackson from my mind, and as I drift off, I hope and pray that he’s not waiting for me in my dreams.

Jackson

The last few days have been such a fucking blur. I struggle to recall where I’ve been and with who. There is something to be said for never allowing your body to sober up. I now get why Maia refused to feel anything; the numbness is very close to heaven. But the minute her name pops into my head, the drunken stupor I’m in sends me spiraling downwards. I’ve already had words with Emmanuel. Apparently. one must be sober to participate in major criminal activity.
Who the fuck knew, right?
So, I have promised to stop drinking today, in order to be a model criminal tonight. I lay in my bed, remembering what Maia and I did here. My dick rises to attention of its own volition.
Figures
. Every time I have even attempted to speak to a woman since my encounter with the bartender, my brain forces me to get the fuck away. It feels too much like I’m stepping out on Maia. My dick is angry about this. It just wants to act a fool.

At nine that night, Emmanuel pulls up at my house in a stolen Toyota, the license plates purposely muddied. I jump in the passenger seat as we make our way over to the underpass, to meet the hijacked armored van.

“Are you good?” Emmanuel asks me over the rap music, the bass thumping annoyingly strong. I nod once unconvincingly.
Stupid question
. I’m so sober, but there’s no way I’m fucking good. Not about this. Not about anything right now. We have at least an hour wait until the van arrives, so we settle in the car to do just that, wait. For once, Emmanuel doesn’t immediately light up a joint; he opts for a cigarette instead.

“You have to know how much I appreciate this, man,” Emmanuel says, trying to start a conversation.

“Appreciate it?” I scoff. “You fucking blackmailed me, man. You know I don’t want to be here.”

“Don’t matter how you got here, I needed someone I can trust,” he says blowing a plume of smoke through the cracked window.

“It matters to me,” I say dismissively, “so can you just drop it. Let’s run through this one more time so that none of us end up locked up.”

We dissect the plan for the robbery one more time, and when I’m satisfied that we have considered every angle, we discuss the getaway. I’m supposed to drive as soon as Emmanuel jumps in the car, leaving his contact, the other guard, to fabricate a description of the robbers. And then Emmanuel leaves me the fuck alone.

The van pulls up at exactly 10:45 as planned, and comes to a stop next to us. From my seat I can see a large blood stain on the passenger window, which I can only assume are the contents of the innocent guard’s head.
God help me
, this shit feels so real all of a sudden. An anxious knot forms in my stomach. I may be rebellious, but this just feels so fucking wrong. Emmanuel springs into action as the other guard, a tall skinny black guy jumps out of the driver’s side door. They unlock and yank open the back doors, and shovel the bags of cash into a duffel bag. My hands twitch nervously on the steering wheel.
Hurry up!
I think anxiously.

Then something happens which was not in the plans, not in any of them. The worst sound I could ever imagine breaks the silence of the night.
Sirens
. Followed quickly by the glare of blue and red lights. Emmanuel hadn’t counted on this either, judging by how startled he looks as he glances towards me. In a flash, he turns his gun towards the guard and pulls the trigger, landing a shot straight through the guy’s heart. The contents of my stomach threaten to expel from my body as the guy slumps onto the ground next to the open doors. And then I get a sickening feeling. That guy and I, we’re witnesses. We knew the plan. If Emmanuel does get caught, he can spin a ridiculous story about us, as long as we are both not around to refute it. His eyes meet mine, and there’s regret, almost sadness about what will happen next. This was plan B, the plan that only he knew.

Maia’s face pops into my mind and I know that I have to get out of there. I’ll definitely never see her again if I’m dead. The sirens and lights are almost upon us as Emmanuel raises his gun in my direction. I jump out of my seat, turn, and run away from the car, towards the salvation of the lights and sirens. A gunshot rings through the night and I feel a searing pain in my right arm, just below my shoulder. I drop to the hard ground on my knees just as a police car skids to a halt between Emmanuel and I. The rest is a blur. I hear two more gunshots, the sound of screeching tires and one God almighty bang before I pass out on the gritty dirt. Loss of consciousness or death, at this point, I have no fucking clue. Everything goes black.

* * *

I open my eyes to a startlingly bright light and the monosyllabic drone of a machine beeping next to my head. Unless this is heaven, I presume my story isn’t over yet. A hand rests over mine and I hope that when I open my eyes, the hand belongs to Maia. But sadly for me, though just as sweet a sight, the hand belongs to Jade. Her head rests on the bed, next to our conjoined hands. I try not to wake her by moving, but as I try to readjust myself, a searing pain shoots through my right arm, causing me to jolt and grit my teeth. I try to use my left arm to prop myself up as Jade raises her head, but I realize that it is shackled to the hospital bed rail via a set of cold steel handcuffs. Jade eyes me with a mixture of anger, concern and sorrow.