Chapter Five (Broken)

Jackson's eyes burned like they were full of sand. He couldn't breathe and he kept telling himself that was just the after-effects of the ammonia and bleach. He'd probably have to toss the worn parade boots he wore. Already the black polish was dissolving on the toe where he'd kicked over two bottles, effectively mustard gassing himself out of the hotel. Now his heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his forehead when his fingers dug in, resisting the urge to turn them into talons and gouge out his own eyes – it wouldn't help, of course. He could still see that look on Lyv's face.

Stop it.

Twitching like spiders, they moved to the top of his head, pressing against his throbbing skull, trying to find the spot where the headache had started. He was shaking with the effort to just breathe normally. Inhale. Exhale. Each one got a little faster, despite the concentration, a little more ragged. He bit his lip, trying to keep from making a sound because he could feel the scream clawing at his insides, trying to make its way up his throat and he knew if that happened, he was going to fall apart completely.

The gym was empty at this time of night. They were still only operating on reduced hours, still lacking the sort of clientele that would make it viable to run 24/7 – right now, that was the worst thing ever. With an audience, he might have been able to flip that switch, to swallow the pain like he did when some asshole with a painted face put him through a sea of thumbtacks. With the silence ringing in his ears, however, the switch wasn't even a consideration.

All the things he should have said were there now on the tip of his tongue, tasting like ashes, mocking him with that hindsight brilliance. A part of him wanted to whip out his cell phone and start firing off into the aether of Twitter, letting them go as subtweets despite the attention they'd probably draw from the peanut gallery. That part of him wasn't going to get its wish because he'd smashed the damn thing outside the hotel, spiking it with all the strength he possessed the second he'd walked back out into the humid night. It had exploded into a million pieces, leaving a nice little art nouveau parting gift for her. All the pictures, all those messages saved on it – he couldn't stomach the thought of carrying the tainted thing around any longer.

That fucking bitch. Stupid fucking cunt. Unbelievable. Fucking. TRAITOR! That's what she is. She's a traitor. It was probably some elaborate game she played until it stopped being fun–

"Shitfuckdamn," he growled, not even finding any amusement in what was almost a knee-jerk sort of verbal tic. The weight bench was hard, uncomfortable under his ass, making it go numb and as he shifted position, he caught sight of his face in the mirror. Backlit by the locker room lights, he looked haggard. He looked old and sad. He looked like a poor man's version of his goddamned father right down to the bloodshot eyes and the tears of regret drying on his cheeks.

"Fuck you, old man," he ground out through clenched teeth, feeling that vise-grip around his head tighten a notch.

He had no recollection of moving, of even getting up until the rack of free weights were overturned and he was heaving one at the mirror. That scream was ripping past his lips and he could taste blood a second before that hateful reflection shattered, shards flying all around him even as he bent and picked up another one, flinging it a few feet to the left of the first. The sound it made on impact was wonderful, glorious even, the tinkle off the glass musical even as some of it rained down over him, leaving little cuts on his face and arms that went completely unnoticed. "You stupid sonuvabitch," he muttered, "the fuck were you thinking? You don't get a happy ending. You don't deserve that and everybody knows it." His voice was low and ugly, his lips twisted into a hateful sneer, glass crunching under his feet as he moved closer to the section that was still intact, his hands balling into fists. The first strike was good, his knuckles popping on the impact and then he was wailing on it as hard as he could, one after the other until that inhuman scream finally tapered off into a low sob.

Missy had been dead asleep, she hadn't meant to be but sitting on the bed she'd just gotten pulled under. The sounds from the gym filtered into her sleeping mind slowly and she sat up, her heart suddenly racing as she heard broken glass and she was up and out of bed without a thought to how she was dressed or what she might see. She grabbed the first thing that came to hand, one of her skateboards and was halfway down the stairs before she thought... Stupid, why didn't you grab your phone and call the cops? Or Jax? but in for a penny in for a pound and she kept on down the stairs. She realized she was mad, if someone had broken into the gym and were wrecking their hard work...but she was cautious enough to stop at the last step and look. If she couldn't handle it, she could always dart back up and make that call. Her eyes were narrowed to see better in the after hour lights, and she registered the screams before she realized who it was. What the hell? She made it most of the way there before she stepped on a piece of glass, swearing and stopping to look at her foot despite the urgency of it all. "Dammit... Jax? Are you ... Jesus Christ." She stopped caring about the glass and crossed over it barefoot, stopping a few feet from him. "What happened?"

He didn't even register her question, instead sinking to his knees. His bloody hands came up, covering his face as he tried to remember how to breathe normally.

Missy looked over the destruction, the broken mirrors catching her for a moment before the blood smell hit her, bright and coppery. Her voice was a lot softer than she wanted it to be, still muzzy with sleep. "Jax. Hey. Jax?" She scooted her feet over the carpet so the glass wouldn't dig into her bare feet, her hand relaxing to drop the skateboard. What to do first? She took a breath, looking around again and she spotted one of the gym towels, moving to grab it quickly before moving closer. She couldn't even tell if he realized she was there, even as she crouched down to be more on his level. Careful, cautious... if she startled him, he could knock her right on her ass. "Jax?" She patted his closest hand with the towel, not too hard in case he had shards in his skin.

He pulled away from the touch, his hands falling to his lap. "It's fine." His voice came out hoarse but he didn't look at her, couldn't look at her now. "I'll clean it up. Don't worry about it."

"The fuck it is." Blurted out before she could stop herself, and she closed her dark eyes for a moment. That tone wasn't going to help shit. She took a breath, held it, and felt a trickle of sweat work its way down her skin, between her breasts under the thin tank top she had on. "I'll get a broom, and the stick vac." One thing at a time. One thing at a time, despite her urge to make him let her look at his hands. She pushed herself to her feet, starting to move even as her brain decided to kick up into overdrive. Stop. One thing at a time.

"Missy." The way he said her name was almost a plea, "go back upstairs. It's fine."

He almost got her. That way he said her name had her hand going to her belly, and she paused with her eyes going to the stairs and then back to him. Then something moved in those dark eyes, and she shook her head. "After." Soft, firm. "Why would I... look, never mind. I'll get this, you look after those hands." Maybe he'd respond to that, and she felt a tiny sliver of what she might have called hope when he didn't whip around when she spoke.

"Please. Just go upstairs." He sighed, pushing up to his feet with effort. Still, he refused to look at her, keeping his head bowed. "I don't want you here. Not..." his voice broke and he covered it with a cough.

Missy stopped moving again, but didn't look back at him this time. "You don't want me here?" A pause, he couldn't see her expression close, which was likely a good thing. "Then I'm not. Just don't look at me." Stubborn, her jaw set and she walked to the little closet where she'd stocked the cleaning supplies for the gym. She wanted to turn around and yell at him, but that wasn't going to solve anything. Cleaning was action, it would give her something else to focus on.

Jackson's head whipped up at that, eyes narrowing as he felt the anger come creeping back, mixing with the shame he felt at being caught having a childish tantrum. Sadly, he'd actually completely forgotten she'd even be upstairs. "Are you trying to piss me off? I fuckin' asked nicely, Missy Mae." He stressed her name, finding it far easier to direct his loathing at her instead of himself.

She froze in place, hand on the broom, an instant tension coming to the line of her pretty back. Did he really, had he seriously just... her pulse jumped in her throat, and she started a slow count to five before she opened her mouth. Nothing came out. She let go of the broom, turning slowly to face him, those dark eyes simmering but for a split second another expression she'd have been mortified to know was there was on her face. She smoothed it without knowing, and took a breath. "No, I'm not trying to piss you off." Another breath. "Are we doing this? Can it wait until this is cleaned up?" Because then, yell all you want. She didn't cower, but she slowly pulled herself into a more neat stance, her hands going to the small of her back, hand clasping wrist.

"Fuck cleaning it up," Jackson snapped, his hands curling into fists again as though he intended to come at her swinging. "We're done." The moment the words left his lips, he wanted to kick himself. Instead, he swung for the fences. "This... this whole thing is an idiotic mistake. Everything I touch turns to shit eventually. This is going to end up circling the drain the same way as everything else while I stand here feeling like the poster boy for some sorta erectile dysfunction so just cut your losses now."

Her jaw was still set, and it took real effort to relax it. She felt the words forming almost like she was standing to the side watching herself, rather than the one actually about to speak them. There was a weight there she hadn't expected, and it bemused her enough to stop and breathe rather than just snap. So she just looked at him, up and down before very quietly saying, "You done? Because I'm not quite thinking I heard you right. Giving up isn't you. And I'm not some stupid bitch to toss out something worth having. So..." A deliberate pause. "Is that it, or did you want to say it again and think I believe it?"

"There's nothing here worth having." He almost spat the words in her direction, wanting nothing more than to close the gap between them and shake her hard enough to rattle some sense into her head. He opened his mouth, intending to lay into her for that stupid military posture and that look on her face. Instead, something inside broke and the words came spilling out. "You know what she told me? I'm not safe. I'm just another abusive asshole on a power trip, trying to keep her under my thumb like some fuckin' Stepford Wife – I never asked her to play Suzy Homemaker or whatever. I never wanted that. I just... you know what I wanted most of all? You know why I bought her everything she ever asked for, you know why I bent over backwards to do whatever..? You think you know everything, Missy, don't you? Tell me why I did all that shit if I'm such a horrible person?"

I'm going to find her, and stab her. The thought flitted through her mind, but she didn't take her eyes off of him. "I don't know everything, Jax. But I know something, and that's easy. Because you're fucking not, no matter how many times you told yourself you have to be because someone else fucking said so." There was heat to her words, but she heard the undertone there too and it startled her. "I've known you how long and I already figured this the fuck out so I just have to conclude that the issue wasn't you, it was them. And I'm not, I'm not going to agree with you about it just to justify some asshole I'd happily shank for saying it in the first place." It took all her effort to stay in place, bad enough she'd gotten this lippy but she'd learned her lesson early. Stay still.

"I wanted an equal," he muttered, answering his own question before lifting his head to look at her and that rigid posture was like a slap in the face, provoking him in the worst way. "Goddamnit," the word came out almost a growl as he stalked towards her, stabbing a finger in her direction, "you don't know the first goddamn thing about who I really am so where the hell do you get off..." he grabbed her shoulders, fingers digging in. She was so goddamned infuriating when she was just standing there, stock-still like a good soldier. One second he was drawing his hand back as though he intended to hit her and then instead he was pulling her in close, his lips crushing hers for a hungry kiss.

Her heart had sped up when he'd moved like that, but she stood her ground. He wouldn't want a coward, not really, not ever... and she didn't flinch when his fingers dug into her with an iron grip. She expected his words, his anger, but that kiss rocked her. It was about the last thing she expected but she responded to him like she always did, as hungry as his was she opened her lips for it, asking for more without saying a thing. She let her wrist go, relaxing in his grip, though her heartbeat didn't slow. Missy might examine later why it was that he was the only person that ever could get to her like that, but right now the focus was on his mouth, his lips, and that tang of blood that lingered from earlier.

He pulled back, out of breath, his eyes dead black as they looked down at her and he felt that shame washing over him again. "I... I'm sorry." He stammered, shaking his head.

"Don't." She murmured, not even aware that she lifted her hand and touched her lips for a moment. "Don't be. You needed to. I think... I needed you to." She looked up into his eyes, the color astonishing to her. "You don't need to say that." Something moved in her dark eyes, and then she was the one looking away. "It's cool. It was honest."

He hesitated for a second before taking a step back, letting his hands fall to his sides even though he looked like he wanted to say something else. "You got anything scheduled for tomorrow? Anyone coming in?"

Missy thought for a second, then shook her head. "No. It's clear. But even if it wasn't, I'd make it clear." She looked back at him, the question wanting to be asked, but she waited to hear what he'd say next.

"Okay. Then we'll take a day off. Maybe two. Get this mess cleaned up... order new mirrors, I guess." He stared at her for a few seconds longer before turning away. "And I need to get a new cell phone."

"Then that's what we'll do." She took a breath, then quietly, almost under her breath said what she was unable to hold back. "I wondered if you'd remembered, that I promised to always tell you the truth."

He stopped in his tracks just as he started to move towards the mess he'd made. "Yeah," he said softly, "I did."

"Good." She took a breath, let it out slow and remembered stepping on that piece of glass when she first came down. "Let me get a pair of slippers and we can take care of this."

"Missy?" He turned towards her again, surprising her not with the way he said her name this time, but by the fact that he had tears in his eyes. "Thank you. For staying, I mean."

She nodded, a little smile coming to her lips – not the wry one she used for armor but a real one. "Thank you, for letting me."