On His Knees by Tabatha Kiss

Chapter 19

Jenna

Idrop the last of the red plastic cups into the garbage bag. With it propped up against my leg, I scan the empty living room for any trash I missed before tying it off. The coffee table could use a wipe down, but that’s no big deal. All-in-all, our little Shanty banger wasn’t so bad after all.

The house is dead quiet now. No more party. No more furniture to adjust back into its proper place. It’s just me, myself, and... Seth.

I leave the bag next to the back door and angle around to peek into the duct-tape split hallway. Heidi’s door is ajar, the desk lamplight shining through the crack. I haven’t seen Seth since Corey brought him back inside. I haven’t heard him, either, come to think of it…

I chew on my cheek. After the things he said, maybe he doesn’t want to see me at all. After the things he said, do I even want to see him at all? I should leave him be.

Or...

He’s really drunk. The responsible thing would be to check on him and make sure he’s all right, right? That’s what friends do.

Are we friends, though?

I bristle. No, of course not. He’s Seth. I’m Jenna. One little emotional drunken omission doesn’t negate my feelings about him.

But...

I grab a bottle of Jenna water from the refrigerator before entering the hallway. Just one little peek inside to make sure he’s okay. For Heidi.

Yeah, for Heidi. She’d appreciate it. Friends check on their friend’s drunken siblings to make sure they don’t asphyxiate overnight.

I cross the line of tape to place my palm on his door. “Seth?”

I push it open. He’s on the bed, sprawled out with arms and legs akimbo. Shoes on. Fully clothed.

I roll my eyes. When I told Corey to just drop him on the bed, I expected a little more effort than literally just dropping him on the bed, but I guess that’s my fault.

I enter the room. “Seth?”

He doesn’t move.

“Seth?” I ask again.

Still, nothing.

Wait, he’s breathing, right?

I set the bottle of water on the bedside table and quietly place two fingers on his neck to check for his pulse. It thumps against my fingers, light and steady, as his chest rises and falls slowly.

I exhale with relief. “Seth?”

I snap my fingers in his face. He winces, but he doesn’t move.

Ugh. Fine.

I swing around the bed to take hold of his feet. With a few grunts, I slide his body around, angling him so his head touches the pillows.

He groans, still no more lucid than before. I slide his shoes off and set them on the floor by the door. I reach for his belt, ignoring the sudden rush of butterflies attacking my stomach.

He’s just a patient,I say to myself. Just a random patient that needs to be made comfortable...

I pinch his zipper.

Please be wearing underwear. Please be wearing underwear. Please be—

Boxers!

Thank god.

I leave those on as I gently yank his jeans down to his ankles.

“Jerna?”

My chest lurches. Seth slowly sits up on his wobbly elbows. He squints hard, bothered by the lamplight as he looks at me.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

I keep it professional. “Can you sit up for me?” I ask, extending my hand to him.

He takes it, but he barely makes it forward before plopping onto his back again.

“Arms up,” I say. “Come on. You can do it.”

He somehow throws his arms high.

“Thank you,” I say.

I hold my breath as I pull his T-shirt off over his head.

Alpha. Delta. Xi.

Three little Greek letters inked along his ribs. Along his... abs.

I bite my lip.

Come on, Jenna, I scold myself.

You’ve seen Seth’s tattoo before. You’ve seen more of Seth than this before by just hanging out at the beach house together.

You never cared before.

Why start now?

Goddamn. When did he get cum gutters?

“Jerna?”he grunts again.

I look away, clearing my throat as I set a hand on his shoulder. “Roll onto your stomach,” I tell him softly.

Thankfully, he moves on command. I enter Heidi’s closet and grab a spare blanket off the shelf rather than attempt to battle the duvet out from under him.

I cover him up. “Go to sleep now.”

“Jerna?”

“Shh.”

I flick off the lamp and step back, giving the room one last look before heading out into the hall.

“Jerna.”

I pause in the doorway. “What is it?”

“Goodnight,” he mutters in the dark.

Blood rushes to my cheeks. “Goodnight, Seth,” I say as I close the door.

I take one step before planting my back against the wall. Thoughts and emotions swirl in my head, tossing and turning me in directions they’ve never taken me in before. I’ve thought and felt a lot of different things for Seth Newbury in the past, but I’ve never pitied him until tonight.

No, this isn’t pity.

It’s empathy.

I know what it’s like to feel alone.

As I reach the kitchen, I look at the carpet behind me. Strips of pink duct tape split it down the middle. My side. His side.

Boundaries.

Seems oh-so-stupid now. Granted, it was never amongst my best knee-jerk reactions in the first place, but it at least made me feel somewhat in control of my life. Of my thoughts. Of my emotions.

I lean over, pinch the strip of pink, and pull.

Schhhhhhhhhhrk!

It comes up off the carpet, each strip clinging to the other all the way down the hall.

I crumple it into a sticky ball and toss it away with the rest of the party trash.

* * *

I scoop a bit of cereal into my mouth. It’s nearly noon and Seth has only come out of his room once that I know of. He took a shower, one barely even two minutes long, and then went right back into his room and closed the door.

I try to focus on the television ahead of me, but the endless drama of reality television isn’t enough to distract me this morning. I munch quietly on my second bowl of cereal and wait. Wait for what? I’m not sure. But I know it includes that door opening again.

Does he remember what he told me last night? Do I even want him to?

Finally, the door opens. I spin on the couch to look over my shoulder into the hallway, eagerly waiting for Seth to materialize. I hear the jingle of car keys and the shuffle of his jeans in the moments before he finally shows himself.

With his head down, he charges forward, passes through the living room, and walks right out the front door without saying a word.

A part of me bristles as the door latches. Not one glance? No dumb comment? Nothing at all?

On the other hand, it’s admittedly pleasant. In fact, it’s everything I asked for. Don’t speak to me. Don’t even look at me. Stay out of the living room and we’ll get through this week without incident.

This is what I wanted.

Right?