Jess > Recent Status Updates

Nazeera.
A miracle.
She literally flew me out of there. I remember staring at her in that dumbstruck way of children; understanding, without really understanding, that I was looking at something beautiful.
When I see her now, I remember feeling safe.

I glance out the window, then at Nazeera, the warmth in her familiar eyes a welcome diversion from my own mind.
I've known her for nearly as long as I've known Kenji. For a few years the two of them were a package deal; she's always been like an older sister to me.

Aaron Warner Anderson.
James's older brother is waiting for me. I steel myself as I read the cold fury in his eyes; the careful, violent control in his body.
Everything about this man seems lethal.

"Listen to me," I say, finally losing control. I grab a fistful of his shirt and yank him closer, my voice nearly shaking with fury. "If these soldiers matter to you, leave. If you want to spare their lives, leave. I'm trying-I'm really trying to be a better person, but if even one of them hurts you I swear I'll slaughter them all."

"I’d really like to spend some time with you under normal circumstances," he says, forcing a grim smile.
"Dinner. Movie. No murdering. Better ambience."
I know he's joking, trying to defuse the tension, but something inside of me grieves the simple dream he's describing. I hope he finds that kind of happiness.
I'll be long dead by then.

"I love your freckles," she whispers, her gaze moving slowly across my face. "Sometimes, when I can't sleep, I count them in my head."

James has an effect on me I never knew was possible; an effect I don't even know how to name— My instincts want to sleep when he's nearby.
My brain tries to shut down its defenses. My nervous system begins to quiet. My bones unclench; my eyelids feel heavy; exhaustion overtakes me.
The fight simply leaves my body.

My mind was small; my heart was smaller.
Everything inside me had been hermetically sealed and stowed away in locked compartments. Now I feel as though a tornado has torn me open, and when I'm being honest with myself I know exactly who to blame.

Maybe I'm still broken, but I'm not helpless anymore, and while the nightmares keep coming, I stopped screaming years ago.

He's still treating me like a traitor. Like an idiot. As if he wasn't the one who taught me everything I know.

I firmly believe that without Juliette he would've lost his soul a long time ago. And let me be perfectly clear," he adds, "that kind of connection-the connection he has with J? That only happens once in a lifetime. Trust me. The rest of us losers are not the chosen ones."

Warner is ruthless. When he's on your side-great, you win. When he's not"—he laughs, darkly-"good luck. I love that man like a brother but you haven't seen him the way I've seen him. You were too young to know him the way I've known him.

"I can't fucking take it anymore. I need you to stop talking like this before I fully lose my mind, okay? I've already lived through this once. I've served my time. You have no idea how exhausting it was to listen to Juliette go on and on and on about how Warner isn't as bad as people think and he isn't a monster and don't hurt his tiny little feelings or I'll kill you-"

our favorite emotionally stunted jackass

I draw my hand down her arm, our fingers threading around her belly.

"I can deal with anything as long as I get to come home to you."

"Aaron," she whispers again.
My eyes flutter against her neck. I'm half dreaming even as I press a kiss to her skin. "Yes, love?" I murmur.

She's never not beautiful. It always decimates me.

Her love is so powerfully resonant that when I allow myself to surrender to the tide, I wish I never had to resurface. It's like being submerged in a euphoric tranquility.
Her proximity offers me a relief I can hardly describe. I've never felt safe anywhere but here, next to her.😭

I feel another responding kick under my hand. Then two more.
I'm suddenly winded.
Sometimes I think I might be imagining the rush of inexpressible feeling I lately experience in Ella's presence.
It's like the touch of wings; a flutter against my throat.
A second soul.

This happens most mornings.
Ella says it's the sound of my voice. She says the baby is responding to the sound of my voice. The doctors agree with her; the literature agrees with her. Still, I've refused to take a position on the matter. I don't know how to reconcile the equally annihilating forces of joy and terror that chase this experience.

Her smile grows steadier as I check the rest of her, skating a hand down her arm, then the curve of her belly. When I feel the familiar kick of a tiny foot under my hand, the responding flight in my chest is so severe it takes my breath away.