Breaking Free

Jackson drives us home in silence and I want to thank him, but I can't seem to find the words big enough for how grateful I really am so I stay quiet.
Once we get back to his house, we go inside and Jackson stops to talk to his mom about why we're home.
"He just showed up at the school," I chime in.
"What did he want?" Jackson's mom asks.
"He said he was signing me out for a doctors appointment. I went and hid in the bathroom until I thought of what class Jackson had," I admit.
"You did the right thing," she assures me.
It may have been the right thing, but I feel like a coward.
I walk upstairs while Jackson talks to his mom a little more and I can catch snippets of conversation and decide to sit on the steps and listen, even though I know it's wrong of me to do.
I can't hear everything they say, but I can hear him mention the name Donna more than once. When he says the name, the venom that drips off of his tongue is apparent. I can tell that this woman has done something wrong to him and I'm very curious as to what.
I hear Jackson's footsteps come toward me on the steps and I just bury my face in my hands and can feel tears threatening me once more.
"Don't cry, everything will be alright," Jackson says sitting next to me on the steps.
He puts his arm around me and I flinch at the closeness of his body to mine, but find that I can relax into his touch and that he's not going to hurt me.
"Who's Donna?" I ask boldly.
"My mother," Jackson says.
"But..." I trail off.
"Debra isn't my mom, Lina, she's my aunt, but she's raised me since I was a child so I call her mom," Jackson explains but I can tell he's not going to go any further into the conversation.
I want to hurt this Donna woman for hurting Jackson. The anger I feel is overwhelming and frankly, quite scary.
I shake the feelings off. I don't even know if she's actually hurt him, but from the way he talks I can only guess. It seems very bad though, especially when he says her name, there is almost a physical shudder to his body when it's mentioned.
"What did she do?" I ask.
"I'm not ready to talk about that, okay?" Jackson reminds me.
"Sorry," I mutter.
"Don't worry about it, I promise, when I'm ready to talk, you'll be the first to know," Jackson smiles.
He stands up and offers me his hand so I can stand up too and we go upstairs.
Once in the bedroom, I throw my body onto the bed and let the tears that were threatening me come flowing out full force. Jackson stands in the middle of the room, unsure what to do.
"Do you need anything?" Jackson asks.
"Not that I can think of, " I sniffle.
"How about a hug?"
"What?"
"You know, where I wrap my arms around you sweetly and squeeze you a little, it's comforting," Jackson explains.
"I know what a hug is you goof, I wasn't expecting you to offer one," I smile.
"There you go, you're smiling now," Jackson says smiling back at me.
"I guess a hug wouldn't hurt," I say shyly.
I sit up on the bed and Jackson walks over to me and wraps me in his arms. His closeness is immediate and it's very comforting like he'd promised.
I let my head lay on his shoulder as more tears come to me and I start bawling.
Jackson holds me the entire time I'm crying. I can't help it and my tears don't seem like they are ever going to end. I'm crying for the loss of my mom, anger at her for leaving me with my father, sadness at losing my home, and worst of all, sorrow that my father is stuck at home alone. I shouldn't feel sad about that, but I do. The guilt I feel is overwhelming.
I cry more for everything that has happened over the course of the last eight years.
Finally, after about a half an hour, my tears are spent and I can't cry anymore.
"Sorry," I say.
"There is no reason to be sorry," Jackson says.
"I got your shirt wet," I say sniffling.
"I've got more shirts," he breathes quietly.
I don't want Jackson to let me go. He makes me feel warm inside.
Slowly, Jackson peels his arms from around my shoulders and he stands up. He walks to the dresser and pulls out another tee shirt and pulls his wet one off and pulls the fresh shirt over top of his pale, white skin. With his back to me, I can see scars along his back and I gasp.
"Sorry," he says pulling his shirt quickly down so that I can't see the scars any longer.
"What happened?" I ask.
Jackson's eyes get dark before he mumbles something under his breath that I can't hear. "Nothing."
I'm still curious but I decide to leave it alone because the look in his eyes is one that holds serious anger and I don't want to pry.
"Let's get something to eat," Jackson suggests.
"Uh, okay," I agree.
"Wanna go out?" he asks.
"Sure, why not," I answer.
I'm not sure that going out is going to be my best option, because it's possible that my father will be out in town looking for me, but I really am hungry and I haven't had fast food in at least eight years.
It sounds very appealing to me.
Jackson and I exit the house and go straight to his truck. While we're about to pull out, a red Ford Ranger passes by and I immediately duck my head.
"It wasn't him," Jackson assures me with a pat on my knee.
"Thank god," I whisper.
So many nights I spent wish I was away from my father and now that I am, I turn into this horrible, paranoid freak. I frown to myself.
"Cheer up, we're going to get food," Jackson laughs.
"I wish food were a cure-all," I say.
"I wish so too, we'd all be happy then," he says with a brooding look on his face.
"I hate being paranoid," I tell Jackson.
"That feeling will pass in time, trust me," he assures me. "I've been there."
I start to wonder what all Jackson has been through that makes him feel so close to me. I wish beyond anything that it's nothing like what I've been through. Being beat all of the time for not doing things right isn't the most pleasant thing to go through.
After lunch, we go back to the house and I'm feeling very tired and decide to lay down for a nap.
I'm asleep no more than a half an hour when I hear banging on the front door. This causes me to bolt upright in the bed with a look of pure terror on my face.
Jackson pops into the bedroom and quietly shuts the door behind him.
"Be quiet and don't move," Jackson says seriously.
I huddle further back on the bed so my back is up against the headboard, it's uncomfortable but comforting to know that no one can come up behind me at the same time.
"Where is she?" I hear my father's voice echo from downstairs.
Oh shit. I think to myself. How did he find me?
Tears start welling up in my eyes once more.
Jackson walks slowly over to the bed and crawls across until he's sitting next to me, he wraps his arms around me and holds me tight.
"He won't get you, I've already called the cops," he says.
"I didn't want cops involved," I say quietly.
"Well, Lina, we have to do what we have to to keep you safe," Jackson says harshly.
"I'm sorry," I whisper.
"For what?" he asks.
"For putting you guys through this,"
I hear footsteps coming up the hall and they sound angry. I can hear the other two bedroom doors open and before anyone can open our door, Jackson is up and pulling what looks like a hand gun out of the top drawer of his dresser.
Oh my god, a gun.