Chapter 24 Aftermath II
JAXON'S POV
"What do you want me to call it?" I exhaled, gaze drifting to my desk where I spotted a clip that had fallen out of her hair.
Without a word, I walked past her to my desk, feeling her eyes trail me as I did so, then snatched the clip off my table, curling my hands hard around it. "What would you rather prefer I call it? Contextual make out? Or would you rather I call it a near hookup?"
Her gaze sharpened in an instant. "Stop being so sarcastic."
"Then maybe give me the response to that," I countered sharply.
Her eyes flashed, and then she exhaled, as if I'd drained all of her energy, "I don't know, maybe call it what it actually was?"
"And what would that be?" I asked, not wanting to be the one to term it exactly what I knew it was.
A compromise of my values, a betrayal of my principle, a cross of my moral line, a violation of code and trust, loss of moral compass...
I could think of a thousand words to describe it, but I was too much of a coward to say them aloud.
Saying it would deepen my humiliation and drown me in guilt.
Nancy, on the other hand, hesitated for a minute, and then she said, "You wanted me."
"That's what it was."
I paused and slowly lowered my body to the edge of my desk, resting against it. I lowered my head and passed a finger beneath my nostril, letting out a humourless laughter rooted in disbelief.
Was that all she thought there was to this? Didn't she feel like she had done something wrong?
Couldn't she feel the humiliation radiating off of me in waves?
I kept my head down for a minute, then pulled myself upright, straightening, "Even if I did want you, it doesn't change anything."
I hoped it wouldn't change anything, although something told me nothing would ever be the same between us.
We would never go back to how we used to be. I wasn't even sure I wanted to go back to how we used to be.
Even back then, our interactions were riddled with tension, and it wasn't pure.
“It changes everything.” Nancy refuted, giving me a glimpse into her thoughts.
She was right, it did change everything, but not in the way she was probably thinking. I realised then that I had been a fool, shrouding my sight and being oblivious to all the signs that had passed between us.
“No,” I corrected, keeping my tone firm. “It complicates everything.”
She shook her head slowly.
“You’re lying.”
My eyes narrowed.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re lying to yourself,” she said, taking a step forward, towards me. “And you’re trying to lie to me.”
“I'm lying to no one. What happened between us doesn't mean anything."
“Oh, but it does,” she insisted, making my frustration spike. “If it actually meant nothing as you say, then you wouldn’t be this worked up about it.”
For a moment, I wanted to yell and scream at her, asking her to take her head out of the clouds and see this for the crazy situation that it was, but instead, I let out a humourless chuckle. "I told you already, it was a mistake, and that is all there was to it. I don't have feelings for you, and I don't want you."
Her eyes dimmed, then narrowed, “You don't?
“No,” I said flatly. “I don't.”
Her expression shifted, and I almost saw a trace of hurt flash in her eyes, but it was gone before I could identify it.
“You really don't feel anything towards me?"
“Yes,” I responded, tightening my jaw. “You pushed. I reacted, and that’s all it was.”
Her lips parted slightly, and for the briefest second, hurt flickered across her face before she masked it.
“Wow,” she muttered, and I watched my words settle into realization for her.
'Good,' I thought to myself.
It was better to let her believe that; it was so much better than telling her the truth, that what happened wasn't entirely a mistake, as I told her, that I had wanted her the moment I set my eyes on her at the airport, and that I truly had been jealous of her interaction with Mason.
Anything was better than the truth.
“Get your things,” I said, turning away. “Your detention is over.”
She didn’t move an inch.
“I’m not finished talking.” She muttered coldly.
“I am,” I said without looking at her.
“That’s convenient,” she shot back.
I ignored that and walked towards her. Slowly, I reached for her hand and took it.
She stiffened, then stared at me.
“Nancy.”
“What?” She replied with a softened voice, searching my face.
“Leave.”
The word came out colder than I intended, but it worked too well.
What followed was her yanking her hand out of mine, then pausing to snatch her hair clip before spinning on her heel to grab her bag.
In less than a minute, she was by the door, but she still didn’t leave immediately.
She paused by it for a couple of minutes, then whirled around to face me.
“You’re scared.”
It wasn't a question; it was a statement she probably believed to be true.
Maybe it was because I stilled, then slowly dragged my gaze to hers,
“Of what?”
“Of this,” she said, gesturing between us again. “Of what happened.”
“I’m not scared.” My reply was instantaneous, although I didn't know how I actually felt.
“You are,” she insisted. “Because if you weren’t, you wouldn’t be running from it.”
“I’m not running,” I said evenly.
“You are.”
Our eyes locked again, and this time, tension coiled between us.
“You should go,” I finally muttered, breaking the silence.
She held my gaze for a second longer than spat out in a frigid, clipped tone, "Fine.
She walked to the door, her hand gripped the handle, and then she paused again.
For a moment, I thought she would turn around and say something else, but she didn’t.
She opened the door, stepped out, then slammed it hard behind her.
And just like that...
She was gone.