I may have tweaked my working outline a bit. Okay, a lot. This story is going nowhere as originally planned, but don't worry—it's getting somewhere. I swear, this thing is writing itself.

TURNED
chapter 5

by Pseudonym P

Jack feels good.

Elsa cuddles against him, naked as the day she was born. Her fingers absently trace patterns on his chest, and he does the same to her hip.

They spent the whole day in, lazing away the Saturday with kisses and touches and sex. They ordered take out for lunch, since they were both too lazy to go anywhere. They ultimately landed on his bed, just cuddling.

And fuck, Jack feels happy. He's probably a sap, but he's never felt this happy in his life. This whole time with Elsa… he just feels… just fucking happy. No other way to say it.

For the first time, Jack feels grateful.

Elsa sighs and buries her face into his shoulder.

"You okay?" he asks without thinking, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"This is," she starts, but then struggles for words. He waits patiently for her to continue.

Suddenly, Elsa is sitting up, and he misses the feel of her skin against him instantly. She just stares down at him with a thoughtful expression.

"This was nice, Jack," she says softly, and no, no—Jack's feeling terror creep up the back of his throat. He doesn't—oh, God, please no—

Jack scrambles to sit up. "Do you, um," he stammers, nervous and scared. "Do you want to… leave?"

"No!" Elsa exclaims, shaking her head vigorously, and Jack feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest. "Why would you think that?"

Jack breathes a sigh of relief, bringing his hand to push her hair over her shoulder. He leans down to kiss her bare skin, lips trailing to press his lips softly to the corner of her mouth. "I don't want you to leave."

Elsa turns her head and presses her lips to his in a languorous kiss. His tongue darts out of his mouth to meet hers and she moans with delight, but pulls away before anything hotter could happen. He chases the kiss and lands on her neck, and he nibbles lightly on her collar.

"Jack—Jack, stop," she giggles, pushing him away. He obliges with a grin.

"Did you want to do anything?" he offers. Something dark flashes over her eyes, but they're gone as quickly as they appear that Jack is sure he imagined it.

"Let's go out tonight."

Elsa plays therapist again and goes through four people tonight, and she's even kind enough to call over her victim's friends before she leaves.

He raises an eyebrow when she walks back to him. "You usually just leave them there."

She shrugs in response and they walk into the bar, the lights hazy and splashing in sharp colors around them. They settle at the bar and he orders her a martini, and a beer for himself.

Elsa flashes him a smile. "You don't have to do that."

Jack leans over and kisses the corner of her mouth, and she says nothing more.

He tips his head in thanks when the bartender slides over their drinks and Jack takes a swig of his drink before fully facing her. "So," he says, taking her hand in his. Her fingers are cold. "Us."

She bites her lip. "Us."

"One year later and you—I mean, did this ever even occur to you?" he asked, gesturing briefly between them. Elsa reaches for her drink on the countertop and takes a sip.

"It crossed my mind," she said lowly, smirking and leaning forward. "You?"

"Oh, no," he says, pulling away with a laugh. "You know how I feel about you. You're not getting that out of me."

Elsa giggles in response and leans back, but a solemn expression washes over her face. "Jack, do you ever think that sometimes you do stupid things for no reason?"

The memories of him getting shit-faced flash briefly, but the memory goes further into his childhood. "When I was younger," he starts, "My sister, she—she was the worst." He laughed absently. "She'd annoy me so much and I'd think it was for no reason. So I did the same—stupid little pranks that just, they just—" Choking on his words, Jack felt like he couldn't breathe, like a weight was pressing into his chest, sharp needles pricking his weak, tiny heart.

And Jack realized that he was so tired. He was so tired of everything and shit, shit this isn't supposed to be happening in front of Elsa—not in front of Elsa—

Suddenly, her face is so close, her eyes wide and searching and desperate, as if she realized something important. "Jack, are you—are you okay?"

Jack swallows thickly, definitely not okay. "Ah, uh. Yeah. Sorry."

"What happened?" Elsa's casual tone is forced, but she sounds as if she was choking, too. Her eyes glazed over with a hunger Jack couldn't place. "To your sister, I mean."

Jack laughed hollowly. "She's dead, Elsa."

In a flash, Elsa is on her knees and she looks like she's about to cry, but she takes a moment to kiss Jack on the cheek. Without looking at him, she mumbles, "Jack, I'm sorry—I'm so—I'm sorry, I have to go—I'll see you tomorrow," in one breath and she turns her back. She slinks out of the bar faster than he can call out her name.

Fuck, he thinks, feeling anger and resentment and most of all loss. Fuck fuck fuck, you idiotic piece of shit, you promised yourself to never open your mouth about your family in front of anyone and now Elsa left you—

Jack angrily slams back her martini as if it were a shot and finishes his beer, the prickly pain in his chest gone but the sting of alcohol sharp on his mouth. Without a word, the lays down a bill and some change that covers the charge before walking out. He eyes the sign on the wall and decides that The Pit is the worst place in the world.

Jack is awoken by a doorbell.

In true, not-a-morning-person fashion, he ignores it, but the bitch is fucking persistent.

He grunts and practically crawls over to his door. He opens it and blearily stares at Elsa, who's huddled in her coat and smirking at his form, clad only in boxers.

Wait.

"Elsa!" Jack cries, and in a weird burst of modesty he jumps behind the door to shield himself. "Holy shit."

"Sorry." She's giggling, but then she settles into a serious mood. Jack remembers what happened last night. "Can I come in?" she asks tentatively.

He simply opens the door wider.

Elsa thanks him and steps into his apartment and he shuts the door behind her. She's standing so close to him, and he can just—

Jack clears his throat and walks to the kitchen. "Can I get you anything?" There isn't much in there, but there's enough for coffee. Jack hopes she doesn't ask for anything else.

"Coffee would be good, thanks."

Thank God. Jack prepares a pot and Elsa hangs around in the living room.

He's watching the coffee pot do it's thing absently while raking through his thoughts. It's so awkward now. One night it was fantastic and then the next—

"Jack?" he hears turns to find Elsa at the doorway to his kitchen, divested of her coat. The only thing blocking him from her is his counter.

"Sorry," he mumbles, "Coffee's almost ready."

She shakes her head. "I want—I'm sorry." Jack stares at her and Elsa walks over. She stands in front of him and tentatively places her cold fingers on his abdomen. She looks up at him. "I'm sorry, for leaving. It's—it's so complicated. I…" she trails off, and Jack tilts his head.

"You can tell me," he murmurs softly.

"It's not that simple." Jack takes the opportunity to wrap his arm around her shoulders and press his face into her hair, hair that smells like snow and ice and perfection, and her hands slide to embrace his torso.

Jack changes the subject. "Do you think I could leave you?" he whispers, and the shake of Elsa's head is subtle but heavy against his skin.

"You might have to," she answers almost miserably, and Jack swings his arm around her and hugs her fully.

Elsa starts to sob and Jack rocks her back and forth.

Jack feels like she's hiding something.

And it hurts, you know? It's been a month since the really amazing sex and just… Jack feels like he's been snuffed out. Like it was all a one-time thing.

And it sucks.

They haven't had sex since then, because Jack wanted to respect Elsa's wishes. Or he didn't want to come across as a major asshole. He waited for her to approach him, to initiate it, but… nothing.

He tries not to let that hurt his feelings. It sort of doesn't, because Elsa's still all up for making out and heavy petting and she gave him this lap dance that one time when she was drunk but she passed out halfway. So he's sure it's not because he sucks at sex. (Kind of. The doubt still lingers, but whatever. Feeling self-conscious is normal. Right?)

But there was a question plaguing the back of his mind: If not that, then what?

It was killing him. He wanted to fucking know. He wanted to know Elsa, inside and out.

Fuck, he's so in love with her it's fucking pathetic.

Don't get him wrong—she's not avoiding him like the plague. They've gotten used to touches, cuddles, occasionally sleeping in just underwear, kisses and other sappy things. But sometimes she'd leave in the morning and it would tears his heart out and she'd stitch it back with delicate carresses when she'd return at night. Whenever he would finally open up, she'd just disappear and apologize with a kiss when she'd come back.

Like today. She left this morning.

He rubs the palms of his hands into his eyes with exasperation and stares out the window. It was dusk and Elsa's bound to be back in an hour, so he figures he should at least straighten up his apartment. And he does.

The doorbell rings not an hour later, but he doesn't get why she just doesn't waltz in. She has a key anyway.

But whatever, he'll humor her.

He strides over and opens the door. "Hey."

She lunges at him and devours her mouth with his, and he's taken aback. He pushes the door close when her tongue is practically shoved down his throat, and she's tugging off her shirt and slipping a hand into his boxers and oh shit, this is phenomenal.

But something's wrong.

"Whoa, whoa—wait," he breathes, tearing himself away. Elsa is gasping.

"Jack, I'm—"

"Are you okay?" he says before she can finish, and her face twists into something unpleasant.

"I'm sorry," she says, shaking her head and moving away. "I'm sorry. I just—I didn't—I missed you. I want you. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Jack scrambles over to her, nearly tripping over her stray shirt in the process. "Hey, hey—wait, no. Elsa, sorry. I just…" Jack sighs. "I don't want you think that you have to do this for me."

Elsa's head snaps up and her eyes are watery. "I just want to make you happy, Jack."

He frowns. "What makes you think that you don't?"

It's like she doesn't hear him. "I don't—Jack, I don't want you to leave—"

The moment the words leave her lips, his train of thought crashes messily, like an out of control freight train. "What?" He strides over to her and firmly grabs her shoulders, the hurt and irritation he felt for the past month gathering together to make a giant pile of pissed off. "Are you serious right now? You're the one leaving me!"

Jack tries not to scream. He really does, but—Elsa just makes him feel so many things. He used to be numb, and Elsa waltzes into his life, all blue-eyed and pale-haired and beautiful and magnificent and he feels like he has a heart again. And he feels again.

And he feels angry.

"I'm sorry!" she cries out, close to sobbing, "I'm sorry, Jack, please—I don't—I don't mean it, please—"

Her pleas put out the fire burning beneath his skin and what washes over him is a cold, familiar feeling. The misery sets over him like a second skin, eerily familiar.

"Are you even happy with me?" he asks, desperate and pathetic and miserable. A weight settles on his chest—familiar and prickly, and he swears he felt it before but he can't remember when—and Elsa jerks away.

"How—Jack, no please—Let's stop, I'm sorry—"

"Am I just a side-fuck? Is there someone else?" The words tumble out of his mouth before he can think, and Elsa's walking back until she's against a wall, as if trying to get away from him but she stares at him with hunger that she's trying to suppress. Jack chokes.

"Jack, stop—please, stop—" she screams desperately, but the pain is telling him to keep going. To just pour out his pain. So he doesn't stop.

"Am I not good enough for you?" he whispers brokenly, and suddenly he's falling into a pit of hopelessness, wave after wave of disorienting pain crashes into him and he falls to the floor, feeling numb. Elsa shrieks and runs over to catch him, wetting his neck with her tears.

"I'm sorry," she sobs, over and over again, and that's the last thing Jack hears before his world fades to black.

to be continued