Before Sunday

Twenty

6:50 PM

Jackson shows up half an hour later. I can't lie—even though it's only been thirty minutes, it feels like a lifetime. The universe, in its never-ending twisted way of reminding me how screwed I am—has somehow made him better looking in the last 10 hours.

He's in a black hoodie and jeans with a beanie covering his normally disheveled hair. His arm is behind his back and he leans against the door-frame smirking.

"What?" I ask.

"Knew you couldn't stay away," he states. He brings his arm from behind his back and produces a paper bag. I can't help but recall not so long ago when Xavier did the same thing with that cupcake. "I brought you Chinese food."

I inhale. "Oh my God, did you get—?"

Jax holds up the bag. "Wonton soup. Check."

He really does know me. He pushes past me, stopping to kiss my forehead. When he makes it to the bed, he pulls a styro-foam cylinder and two cardboard take out boxes from the paper bag before patting the bed. "Come sit down Angel. Let's eat. Then we can watch some painfully terrible movie or if you're up for it, I can take you out."

"Out?"

Jax opens one of the cardboard take out boxes and begins to pull noodles out with his chopsticks, eating them rather quickly. I open the lid to the soup and it's hot, so I set it on the bedside table to cool off.

"You say that like it's so foreign," he replies.

"That's because it is."

"That's because you didn't know me. Now, you do. I'm going to bust you out of your shell, Lola."

"I'm like a tortoise. Take my shell and I'll die."

Jackson sets his takeout box next to my soup. "You're not like a tortoise," he says, "you're a chrysalis."

"A chrysalis?"

His thumb loops through the strap on the shirt of my pyjamas, and tugs me to him. The fingertip of his free hand traces across my lips, which his eyes are fixed on. "A chrysalis," he says again. "Something exceptional and exquisite just waiting to be born." With his last statement, he plants a kiss on my lips, twists his body to retrieve his noodles and leans against the wall to resume eating.

How can I even argue with that logic? I can't because it's true. I'm in this crazy process of transforming. My body, brain and soul.

I grab my soup and begin to eat it, eyeing Jackson. He eats, shoveling the noodles into his mouth like any bona-fide male would but he stops every few minutes to look my way. I eat my soup quietly until he drops his chopsticks in a now empty box, wiping his mouth with a napkin from the paper bag.

"So, what do you say, Angel? Will you let me take you out?" He grins devilishly, "or do you wanna try recharging again?"

"As tempting as it is to stay in again, going out might be nice. I was exhausted earlier but I feel better."

"Because I'm here."

"Keep telling yourself that, Jax."

"And keep telling yourself that it's not me, Lola. I'm okay with your denial because I happen to know you need me."

I raise my eyes skyward to the ceiling. "Whatever."

"Stop rolling your eyes at me and pick out something to wear."

"Where are we going?"

He shrugs. "I dunno. Out."

"Well since we just ate, dinner is out of the question."