juxtapose-

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t h r e e: choke

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It was late when Jackson got home; the sun had set, and the temperature had dropped, and, for a moment, he couldn’t see her through the darkness.

When he did, he’d already reached the front gate.

She was sitting on the porch again, barefoot, in a way that nearly killed him. The sleeves of her t-shirt barely hid the bruises on her arms, and he wondered, distantly, if Hunter had noticed.

It made him sick.

Tucking his hands into his pockets, Jackson continued down the lawn. He wouldn’t keep feeling like this. Not now. Not for her.

“Hunter’d die if he saw you out here,” he remarked once he was close enough.

She was supposed to flinch. She was supposed to lower her eyes and push herself up off the steps and make sure to hide the bruises. Go inside before he tried anything. He didn’t expect an answer.

“You, too.”

Well.

He was holding a black blazer in the crook of his elbow, loosening the tie around his neck—and he had such long fingers. Holly wondered how she hadn’t noticed before.

Chewing her upper lip nervously, eyeing the school emblem stitched to the pocket of his shirt, she murmured, “You didn’t leave with that uniform.”

He watched her from the corner of his eyes. “Who said it’s mine?”

In retrospect, she probably should have seen that one coming.

So she took a deep breath and tried again. “You missed dinner.”

“I know.”

“Hunter was worried about you.”

And, fiddling with the cuffs of his stark white shirt, Jackson almost started crying.

“Jesus fucking Christ, foster kid,” he choked, because he could feel the anger boiling in his stomach, “he wasn’t worried about me. His fortune, yeah, his inheritance, his throne—that’s what he’s worried about. Not a fucking seventeen-year-old. A—and you—Christ, nobody’s left to care about you, foster kid. And as soon as Hunter’s done using you to get back in our parents’ good graces or pay off his college tuition or whatever the fuck he’s planning, you’re going to either run back to your grandfather or join your mother, and, honestly? It’ll be your fault for getting yourself into this goddamn mess.”

This time, she stood up. She brushed her sweaty palms against the legs of her jeans and tilted her head to look him in the eyes. With her right hand, she motioned to the side of her neck.

“You have a hickey,” she explained. Closed the door behind her and left him standing there, stunned and nauseous and angry.

If it had been up to Jackson, he wouldn’t have gone home at all. It was Kelsey’s idea, Kelsey who, while pushing him out of her house at six in the morning so he could leave without waking her parents, pointed out that, really, Jackson, you smell like a fucking dead animal, and when was the last time you took a shower again? And it was Kelsey’s idea to give him one of Mark’s old school uniforms, because maybe a dog had pissed on his jeans while he wasn’t looking.

And he couldn’t really blame Kelsey for making him throw up in the bushes behind his house, but goddamnit, Jackson was going to find a reason to anyway.

So, silently cursing the girl who had forced him out of his house and the girl who had forced him back into it, he stumbled upstairs with vomit around his mouth and dirt on his—Mark’s—crisp black clothes. And when he stopped, it was for two reasons. One, he was close to passing out. Two, he was outside Hunter’s door.

“Christian—” Peyton’s voice. Jackson was sure of it. Exhausted and bitter, he slid down the wall and dropped his chin to his chest.

“Christian doesn’t know what he’s doing.” Hunter wasted no time in cutting her off. “Apparently, nobody in this family does.”

“Yes, Hunter, because bringing a little girl into the middle of our shit was obviously the right choice.”

Tightly, now. Like he was struggling to even get a word out. “You know Holly”—here, Jackson’s eyelids fluttered—“has nothing to do with this.”

Peyton’s laugh was just as strained. “Right. Because you don’t care that Father disowned you. Because you don’t care that they’re completely funding my college education, but refuse to do the same for yours. Hunter, you’d do anything to impress our parents, even if it means hurting everyone else in the process.”

“Yeah,” Hunter sneered, “I forgot how much you like dating Mark.”

“Mark is my business. Our relationship doesn’t ruin the lives of emotionally wrecked sixteen-year-old girls.” Peyton sounded genuinely offended.

“Except that you’re getting married soon, just like Dad wants you to. And you’re going to have children, just like Dad wants you to—because you’re a woman, Peyton, and that’s all you’re good for. And eventually those children will grow up. For 365 days, they will be the same age as Holly is now. And they will have spent sixteen years being a part of a loveless marriage, being the only thing keeping their parents together. They will see the effects of having a father who’s never home, an emotionally distant mother, a Portuguese nanny who spends her free time watching soaps. We went through the same thing, Peyton, and don’t stand here and tell me that it didn’t fuck us up.”

And, six seconds later, when Peyton opened the door, Jackson opened his eyes, sat up straight, and smiled. Didn’t even care that his siblings had just seen him at his very worst.

a/n: WOW peyton & hunter are such boring characters it kills me sometimes. except that hunter is kind of fun because he’s the biggest asshole ever.

jk, christian is.

jk, you fuckers are for not reviewing.

i h8 u.

(just kidding i love you but seriously. drop me a line.)