Jasper's Soul Mate (18+)

Chapter 10: Drip

"Comment Quote Suggestions."

The next morning I wake up hot and alone. I hazily remember Deckard in the room speaking with Jasper a few hours earlier, just before they both left.

I slept wonderfully. I know it had everything to do with the man who'd lain at my side all night. I only wish he could have slept as good. His disheveled hair, irritated eyes and subtle slouch in his walk out of the room had me thinking he hadn't slept at all, and for the second night in a row.

The only times I know he slept, was whenever he passed out. Other than that, I've never seen him fall asleep willingly.

Deckard's story from yesterday is stuck on my mind all throughout the day. New pack members show up in the infirmary and help distract me. Until I piece together things I don't want to. Like how some of them will scar from the gunshot wounds since they waited so long to get help after coming into contact with silver, and how Jasper is littered with scars only that one thing could cause.

After I finish helping in the infirmary and get back to my silent room, my thoughts just get worse. I immediately head for the shower, desperate for the noise and heat to relax me. Even then, as I scrub at my body, my eyes fill with tears to go with the recurring train of thought in my head.

I assumed Jasper had suffered abuse because it made sense at the time. Now, I know that what he endured for over the last decade of his life was far worse. He was kidnapped, mutilated, tortured, and abused. The proof stains every aspect of him; his body, mind, and... soul. A memory pierces my thoughts then—It's Jasper on his knees, submitting to—

A dark figure moves in my peripheral vision outside of the foggy shower door. I gasp and poke my head out to see who it is. I meet stunning, golden eyes.

"What's wrong?" I ask, hearing an unfamiliar shakiness in my voice.

Jasper frowns, his bright eyes wandering over my face. "You're crying."

Oh. I reach up and touch my cheek to see if it's true. Sure enough, there are trails of wetness on my skin and still flowing. I wipe them away and reassure him, "I'm alright."

I rein in my pity and examine him. He should be the one crying right now, receiving the pity filled gaze. Not me. "How are you?" I ask him seriously.

He kicks off his shoes but I pay it no mind. "Good. Deckard...my uncle, is helpful. The pack has accepted me."

A sigh of relief escapes me at that and I almost start to cry again. "That's really good, Jasper."

His belt clatters against the tile floor. Eyes still gold, movements steady and controlled, he mutters, "Yes."

When his hands grip the bottom of his shirt and pull it over his head, and his fingers slip into the waistband of his pants to unbutton them, I realize his intentions. Startled, I ask, "What are you doing?"

His eyes flash as they trail over what little of my flesh is visible and he grunts, "Getting closer." Jeans come off—revealing much more than the fact that he went commando.

I look up at the ceiling. "Why—"

Jasper is suddenly in my face, his larger body forcing mine against the shower wall as I try to keep my distance. "Why were you crying?" he asks again.

I look over the scars on his face—the one that sits vertically over his lips. That is why I was crying. I struggle not to start again when my mind pushes forth thoughts and scenarios of how he could have gotten that scar. Ones that probably aren't so far fetched.