Page 25 of Trusting Skulls

He tsks, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Jesse’s right. You’re always tearing yourself down.”

“If I had a little makeup on, maybe I’d feel better about myself.”

“I know about the hang up you have over your makeup.”

“I’m not hung up.”

He sighs loudly.

“Let’s just get into it. Why did they bring you here?” I sit up straight, ready to be done with this talk or whatever this is.

He smiles, and I see why all the women of the club swoon over him. Jackson’s dad is a very attractive man.

“Because you and I have something in common.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” I run a sharp edge on my nail over my jeans, focusing on that in an attempt to ease the uncomfortableness of the conversation.

“A high body count.”

My face instantly flames, and my hands still.

“For me it was the control. If I gave it up, no one could take it from me.”

“That’s not why I do it. Most of the time it just happens, okay?” I pull the pin from my hair, letting it fall around my shoulders.

My thumb rubs over it like a talisman, hoping it might whisk me away from this awkward conversation. The last thing I want to do is have a sex talk with Jackson’s dad.

He watches me quietly. “Before I came up here, I went over your school records.”

I shrug. “I’m done with school, but good to know they’re protecting my privacy.”

This makes him laugh. “I know you finished school. I was at your graduation party.”

“I heard it was a blast.”

He leans forward and raps a little tune over the table with his knuckles. “You had straight A’s. Perfect attendance. Involved in quite a few activities.”

“Are you done eating?” I grab his plate when he nods, and I head to the kitchen to clean up. Unfortunately, he follows me.

“I’m wondering how someone who has the discipline to handle all that on her own, with no help from her family, still ends up in her own vomit most mornings.”

I shrug, because I’ve got no answer for him. “I don’t know. Elizabeth thinks it’s because I’m trying to hurt myself.”

He leans against the counter, watching me do the dishes. His ringed fingers tap over his mouth. “Yeah, I can see that. But Ithink we give people access to our bodies for many reasons. I don’t think it’s just one.”

“It doesn’t really matter why, does it?”

“It does if you want to get to the root of it and stop.”

And that right there is the kicker. Do I want to stop? I always go out with the intention of hooking up with someone. If it doesn’t happen, the night feels like a failure, and I go home more depressed than ever. I don’t think my brain is capable of overriding those thoughts.

He continues to assess me quietly as I finish the morning chores. When I’m done, I glance around, looking for something else to do to distract me from his looming presence.

“Can I give you a hug?” he asks suddenly.

My hands pause, and the dishcloth I was holding falls softly to the counter. “What?”

“Can I hug you?”

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