Chapter Ten
"Crap, Crap, Crap!" I shout, holding my wrist with my hand. "Oh ****!" I jump up and down, still holding my wrist. Stretching my arms above my head, I pray, to whatever god I feel like, that the sharp pang in my wrist was just my imagination.
"You okay?" Jason wonders, as he descends the stair case. Biting my lip, I force a smile, not one to enjoy showing weaknesses.
"Yeah sure" I lie weakly. Jason shakes his head and steps closer to me, carefully examining my expression. He reaches forward and gently tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
"What's wrong with your wrist?" He asks, gently removing my other hand, and holding it up for inspection. His caring demeanor and how he hasn't hit on me once in thirty seconds is setting me on edge as his fingers rest on my bare skin.
"Nothing!" I snap, yanking my wrist out of his grip. Unfortunately, my wrist chooses that moment to protest. Sharp pains prick down my arm and I can't help but bring my wrist to my chest. "****" I curse, jumping up and down. Jason's eyebrows jump to the top of his head, nearly disappearing in his hair.
"Never thought I'd hear that come out of your mouth," He mutters under his breath, "Will you let me look?" He asks, tapping down my pride I nod and hold my wrist out. Carefully pressing around the bone, his face stays somber. "Doesn't feel like anything serious, it's probably just a sprain." He predicts, I shrug and nod, before turning back to the bag and slamming it with a roundhouse. "You're going to keep training?" He asks, leaning against the treadmill.
"Just legs, I'm not stupid." I defend myself, before throwing a spinning back kick. I glance over my shoulder and catch him stretching.
"You do this every day?" He asks, and I find myself staring at his face. There's something missing from his expression and it takes me a moment to realize it. He's not grinning or smirking and there's no trace of arrogance on his demeanor. Finally realizing he spoke, I blink and turn back to the bag.
"Pretty much," I reply. It takes a ridiculous amount of effort to stay in shape. Unfortunately I wasn't born with a rapid metabolism and can't afford to be lazy, like some people cough-Liam-cough. The boy is never, ever in the gym, and yet I've seen him during this job in Miami, and the guy is still infuriatingly fit.
Rolling my shoulders back, I watch as Jason lies down in on the bench pressing table and starts lifting. Sprinting over there, I bring the weights back into their holder and glare at him.
"Are you really that stupid, don't you know that you should never lift without a spotter?" I remind him. He nods his head, his hair falling in his eyes.
"Fine then, spot me." He orders, before lifting the weights once again. I roll my eyes, but rest my hands under the bar, watching him lift carefully. After about thirty reps, he places the bar back in the holder and sits up. "Do you ever wish you were normal?" He wonders and I just blink at him, not understanding the question "I mean, do you ever wish you weren't a thief?" He asks, tilting his head and watching my face. I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear and look down at my feet, trying to put all my emotions into words.
"Sometimes I do. When I was younger I was normal." I admit. Something changes in Jason's eyes as he blinks at me, and shakes his head, like he's having a hard time processing that information. Which I understand, I can't imagine Jason was ever told he could be something other than a thief.
"I just can't picture it, you going to a regular school… weird." He explains shaking his head, I smile, amused by the expression on his face, as if he's starring by some complex equation. I laugh and sit down beside him, not at all uncomfortable, I guess I'm still not sure if I particularly like him, but I don't hate his guts, that much, anymore, at least.
"Even when I was doing normal stuff, I was really little, my older sister died…." I trail off, anxious to look at him. I never thought I'd be saying this. I promised myself I wouldn't say any of this to him; that he wasn't worth hearing my story. Only the guys know all this and maybe I shouldn't tell him, but for some inexplicable reason, I want to tell him. Jason stays quiet, thankfully refraining from those pathetic "I'm sorry's"; he silently takes my hand in his, gently squeezing to let me know he's here for support. I take a shaky breath, knowing I should get it all off my chest at once. "It was a mugging gone wrong; they attacked her for the twenty in her wallet." I suck in a breath, feeling those infernal tears building up in my eyes. Jason let's go of my hand abruptly and I look up from where I've fixed my gaze, at my feet. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his side. I hide my face in his shoulder for a moment, gathering myself before I find the strength to continue.
"My-my dad went off the deep end, and my mom went with him…." I pause and bite my lip: my throat closing up. "I knew I could get shipped off to foster care, so I took off, went to New York, developed an obsession for Martial arts, and then I met Peter." I finished, before tightening my pony tail and staring back down at my feet.
"That would explain the crazy desire to kick butt." He nods and I laugh surprisingly relaxed as I wipe my teary eyes. Only Jason could so perfectly wreck that serious moment. He turns a little, tucking his leg beneath his so he can look me in the eyes. "But seriously, you have no idea how strong you are for surviving all of that." He murmurs, his eyes not filled with pity, thankfully, instead filled with respect. "Thank you for trusting me with that." He finally mutters, before taking my hands in his. "Did they...ever catch the guys?" He wonders and I shake my head, unable to find the words. Jason stays silent before finally pulling me into a tight hug. I let him, surprising myself in the process. I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his 's right when I hear footsteps coming down the stairs.