Shatter

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Chapter Twelve

When I woke up I was no longer on the floor.  Instead, I was on the bed with the blanket wrapped around my bare body.  I sat up quickly, my muscles and shredded skin screaming in protest.  My eyes scanned the small cell for Jaison.

“Take it easy, Mel,” Jaison chided me.  My eyes flew to the end of the bed where Jaison was leaning against the bookshelf.

“You’re alive?”  I asked, astounded and confused.  “How did I get up here?”

“I put you up there,” he answered with a simple shrug of the shoulders like it was no big deal.

“But you’re alive.”  He gave a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.  Instead there was this protectiveness, this worry that I had never seen before.

“The blanket was wrapped around you,” he explained.  I nodded, accepting his explanation and we lapsed into silence.  “They gave us food.”  Jaison placed a small metal tray on the bed and pushed it towards me.

I picked up the now stale bread and put it in my mouth.  The mashed potatoes were cold and lumpy, but definitely edible.  I had to remind myself to slow down, that I wouldn’t want to throw up the only meal I had eaten in days, probably weeks.  But I had been through a rough past few days.   With Jaison coming and the endless punishments and experiments, my energy had never been so low.  I swallowed the entire bottle of water in a matter of seconds, loving the way to curled around my empty stomach.

When the tray was completely empty, Jaison stood up and plucked it off my lap.  He replaced it with my folded up clothes.  I watched as he turned around, giving me enough privacy to dress.  I slid the shirt over my head, pulling at some of the scabs and hissing in protest.  Jaison’s back muscles tensed at the sound and I imagined that this was just as hard for him as it was for me.  I stood up on shaky legs to slide the pants on.

Bending over hurt.  Raising my arms hurt.  Hell, even breathing hurt.

Once I was fully dressed, I eased my aching body back into the bed and gave Jaison permission to turn around.  He surprised me by moving to the end of the bed and tapping my covered leg as if to tell me to slide over.

“Jaison, what are you doing?”  I asked, glancing up at his expectant expression and wondering what could possibly be going through his mind.

“Slide over, Mel,” he commanded softly, his voice laced with concern.

“Jase, you’ll-“

“I trust you, Mel.  Now slide over,” Jaison said, effectively cutting me off mid-sentence.

I did as I was told, and slid to the very edge of the twin bed and wrapped the cover around my body.  I folded my arms against my chest and pulled the white sheet over them so the only exposed skin was my face.  He slid onto the bed, keeping just a few inches between us.

Jaison’s foggy green eyes locked onto mine.  They contained an odd mix of emotions that I couldn’t really describe.  It made my stomach turn with anticipation and nerves.

“What did they do to you?”  He asked.  “The first time, when you came back high.”

“They drugged me,” I answered, feeling numb to my own words.

“That’s all?”  He asked, but I could see in his eyes that he knew there was more.

“They threw me in a padded cell.  There was a woman with the boss and she just kept asking questions about me and about my “treatment”.”  My voice shook as I recalled the feeling of absolute hopelessness.  “It was like I couldn’t say anything.  The boss told her I was schizophrenic and I was having an episode, and I wanted to tell her that I was completely fine, but I just couldn’t.”  Jaison gave a cold laugh.

“He actually has people believing that we’re insane.”  Jaison’s eyes fogged over with hate.  “That woman was probably from the state, coming in to check on the conditions.  That bastard made this place seem like a fucking safe haven.”

We lapsed into silence.

“You know, the worst part is, he actually has you believing that you’re the bad guy,” Jaison said callously.

"I killed my mother," I admitted, no longer feeling like I needed to shelter Jaison from the truth.

"I couldn't save mine," he said softly.

I laughed through my nose.

"I thought you could save anyone.  Jaison Fuller, the healer."  He shook his head, eyes distant but unguarded.

"Not her," he said, his voice gruff and heartbreaking.  "You can only save those who want to be saved."

"What about your dad?"  He smirked but it was strained.

"You first," he insisted.

"Nothing to tell.  I don't have any memories of my dad."

"But you do remember your mom?"  He asked.

I remember killing her.  I thought coldly.

Instead of telling him that, I just nodded.

“My dad was an alcoholic,” he explained.  “He used to beat my mom and me, starting when she got pregnant.  That’s how they knew something was different about me.  Mom’s bruises would heal, broken bones were perfectly fine within hours, there was no explaining it.  When I was born, dad would try everything in his power to kill me.  Shake me, pour alcohol in my mouth, slip medication in my bottle, but every time, I would just heal myself.”

“Why would your own dad do that to you?”  I asked.

“He never wanted kids and I don’t think he ever really loved my mom, having me meant that he had to be attached to my mom forever,” he explained.  “Anyway, dad eventually learned that I would just heal myself and he stopped beating me, but he never stopped beating my mom.  He would take her into the bedroom and beat her so hard that she wouldn’t be able to walk for days.  I wasn’t allowed anywhere near her so I couldn’t heal her like before.”  Jaison’s expression suddenly grew cold, like he had to harden himself for what was about to come.  “One day I broke into my mom’s bedroom while my dad was away.  She was just lying there, barely alive.  She told me get out, that she didn’t want me there and that he would be back soon.  So I left and she was dead by the time he came back.  The paramedics said she had overdosed on some pain medication.

“She killed herself?”  I asked dubiously.  “How could she do that to you?”

Jaison shrugged.  “I guess she was tired of just being healed physically.”

I watched as Jaison’s hardened demeanor fell and left the broken boy that I knew.

“So your dad sent you here,” I guessed.  Jaison gave a short laugh.

“Yeah, he told the cops I killed her and during an interview I spilled everything.  The beating, the healing, all of it.  I thought my dad would go to jail but, they called me insane and shipped me off.”

“I’m sorry, Jase,” my voice was sincere.  It seemed to bring back the same fortitude he had that first night.

"We're going to get out of here Mel."  His eyes were shining with determination.

It hurt to see him so hopeful especially when all I felt was disbelief.  I cast my eyes downwards to the dusty floor and swallowed the lump in my throat.

"I'm not so convinced," I said softy, fearful of shattering his childlike hopefulness.

I looked up to see that expression that was becoming so familiar to me. His jaw locked, eyebrows slightly furrowed, eyes completely unguarded, leaving every heartbreak on full display.  I could tell by the way his fingers twitched and his muscles jumped that he wanted to reach out and touch me.  This was the same expression I saw anytime a strand of hair fell in my face, anytime I came back from being tested on, or anytime I cried over the people I killed.  He wanted to touch me.  He wanted to reach out and brush the pads of his fingertips across my flesh.  But he couldn't, because if he did, he would disappear forever.

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Awww... Who else feels bad for Jaison?

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