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It’s been an hour, and I’m still shaking with anger over the situation. His threats toward Chase. His way of calling me a slut. I’m pissed, but yet, I still want to see him again. I want to know why the police shot at him. He wasn't doing anything that warranted that when they pulled up. Maybe this is why he never wanted me to see his face. His too big secret.
“Luna, what?” Chase says as if he can’t find the words to ask a complete question.
“I don’t know.”
“You had sex with him, didn’t you? He was that guy at the party, wasn't he?” He asks, looking for confirmation as if he doesn't already know it. His tone is laced with disbelief, like he can’t believe it. I nod my head slowly. “Who is he?”
“I don’t know,” I say again. “His name is Jax. I haven’t even seen his full face. I don’t know a single thing,” I explain, feeling like a big dumb idiot.
Chase stares at me for a moment before grabbing his laptop. I watch him pull up the search engine and type in Jax, Connecticut.
He clicks on the first link, and it’s a new article from tonight. Word travels fast around here, I guess.
Breaking news tonight in New Britain, CT
Jax Turner, a fugitive on the run for the last two months, has been seen in New Britain, CT. He was last seen downtown, speaking with a young girl and boy (whose names won’t be shared). He was in the Halloween spirit, with a skeleton painted face. We ask you to call the authorities if any of you see him. It is essential that we find him.
Chase keeps scrolling, reading out loud from the page. Jax was initially sentenced to three years for the murder of his father. In prison, he was lethal and ruthless, extending his sentence by years.
“Get rid of it. Close it,” I snap.
“God, what have you gotten yourself into, Luna?” Chase snides.
“No one just kills their father. I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation,” I whisper, trying to justify the wrong doings.
“Don’t tell me you feel sorry for the guy. He’s a fucking psycho!”
I think I might feel sorry. Until I know the whole story, I refuse to form a full opinion. Everything I could think of could be speculation. But the article was right; he might be ruthless. Chase didn’t even pick up the phone but threatened to call the police. Jax was ready to end his life for the action alone, and now it makes so much more sense.
There’s a knock at the door; all I can think of is that God has answered my wants. Before Chase can complain about who knows what else, I hop up from my bed and go to the door.
When the door opens I’m met by a face I haven’t fully seen before. Short brown hair that curls into itself at the top, but not a full head of curly hair. It’s thick, and I could run my fingers thro- enough, stop. His eyes are green like tree tops in the middle of summer. What I noticed the most has me genuinely wondering what his story holds: the scar on his cheek.
As curious as I am and as much as I want to hear his side, I’m tempted to shut the door in his face. He must read my mind because his next words take me aback.
“Don’t close the door on me.” His demanding tone leaves little room for argument as he steps inside. His presence alone takes up the entire room, and compared to him, I feel like a grain of sand on the beach.
I stare at him, unable to move. He is unfortunately beautiful.
“You know,” he says simply.
“I know what the internet told me, but I want to hear what you have to say. I want your side of the story, Jax.”
“Chase is here. He should leave.” The way his eyes darken, I decide I don't want to fight him on this.
“Chase,” I shout out.
A shuffling sound comes from the bedroom as he calls back to me, “Yeah! Who is it?”
“I need you to leave,” I say.
He comes around the corner and stops walking. “Absolutely not.”
“I’m serious, Chase, leave,” I tell him as a slight growl comes from Jax as if he is truly a monster.
“It’s your fucking funeral,” Chase mumbles beneath his breath as he storms past us, leaving all of his belongings behind.
“He’s learning fast and so are you,” Jax says as he steps completely into my apartment.
