CHAPTER112
What the hell is going on with him?
He pulls away and stalks back to the car, stopping at the hood and leaning down to tense his arms against it, broody and aggressive in his stance, unapproachable. I just stare.
“I can’t do this, Emma,” he snaps, his gaze steady on the hood of the low, sleek car. For a moment, I think he may even hit it.
“Do what?” I’m beyond confused. I think Jake has been invaded by a body snatcher. He’s all over the place, and I just can’t keep up. I wipe my tears and pull myself together.
“This! Us!” He waves his hand in an exasperated motion, and I’m dumbfounded; I blink at him. I don’t actually know what else to do. There is no us! He glares at me haughtily, most likely because I’m still silent, and frowns. “You drive me crazy, and not in a good way,” he snorts, facing the car again, his body emanating all kinds of erratic, manic signals.
“I do?” My voice is tiny and unsure, like I’m walking on eggshells with him right now, yet he’s accusing me of driving him crazy!
Well, it’s goddamn mutual.
He sighs again, and his face tenses.
“You frustrate me on so many levels,” he carries on, although he’s lost all conviction in his tone.
Likewise.
“Sorry,” I murmur sarcastically, rolling my eyes at his back while trying to process everything I am feeling.
Yes, Jake, I can do moody and sardonic too.
He throws me an unamused look over his shoulder, and I glance down to twiddle my fingers evasively. He’s sighing again; I can hear him kicking the wheel of the car, funneling some of his rage onto the rubber, and it makes me flinch.
“Why do you never talk about your childhood?” His tone changes again; a new tactic or a new mood? My head is dizzy with this swinging door version of him.
“What?” I pale, my face swept with icy cold, and my hands pause. Nerves flutter from low down at a topic I do not want to follow through. “There’s nothing to talk about. You know the highlights,” I respond drily. The urge to clamp down and stop this direction of conversation kicks in; there’s a mild warning in the back of my brain.
“I know bits and pieces, Emma, mostly from getting you drunk.” He glares at me, and it’s almost like another accusation.
Jesus!
“Where is this going?” I plead. I don’t want to do this; I don’t want to have this type of psycho-babbling conversation with Jake, especially when he’s being so weird, so pissy.
How did we even get to this? Why is he so obsessed over this? Freaking Jekyll & Hyde Jake and his neck breaking mood swings.
“It hurt you.” His eyes come to rest on me, his face now endearing and open, all anger gone. But it only makes me want to cry, so I look away, crossing my arms around my body protectively. His expression claws at my heart.
“It’s the past, and it should stay there.” There’s a strong sting in my eyes, but he won’t make me cry again. My heart aches with everything he is trying to pull out of me.
What’s wrong with him? Is this what he’s after? Tears, confessions?
I move away and turn my back on him; it’s better when I can’t see him, can’t see that look in his eye.
“Your mom? You don’t talk about her much either,” he pushes, his voice gentle. Every part of me is screaming, “Leave me alone; let me be,” but I hold it all in and close my eyes, my insides clawing desperately to escape this torment.
Just hold it together, Emma. Take deep calming breaths.
“She’s my mother; what else is there to say?” I say it coldly, hoping he understands that he should back off.
“Tell me about her.” He obviously ignores the silent plea and decides to just go in for the kill.
Thanks, Jake.
I’m wary of his crazy mood swings; I don’t want angry and irrational Jake back. I grit my teeth against the urge to tell him to mind his own business and try to appease his curiosity instead.
“My mother is a sucker for a sob story.” My voice grates every word out painfully, laced with anger and warning. “That’s about all there is to her.”"
