CHAPTER 9 – Strong
Asher didn't say a word, his expression unreadable as he watched her.
"I had to do it," she said to no one in particular. "I had to protect him, protect them, from this life." Asher remained silent, and she whirled around to face him, opening her mouth to shout something, anything to justify the pain. Nothing came out but a half-sob. She snapped her mouth closed so fast her teeth clicked. Then she turned on her heel and walked out.
"Alex? Alex, what'd she say?" Come on! How come as soon as Alex used her phone to call Jo, she called back and he got to answer? "What'd she say?" Kirsten demanded again impatiently.
Alex opened his mouth, but nothing came out at first. He looked shell-shocked. Now Kirsten was getting worried. "Alex?"
"She… she broke up with me."
Kirsten froze, uncomprehending.
"What?"
"I've got to go." He shoved her phone back in her hands and Kirsten caught it clumsily.
"Alex, wait!" she called, but he was already striding away. His shoulders were set tightly. Kirsten's stomach twisted He really loves her, she thought, because it was clear that calm, cool, and collected Alex was freaking out. Kirsten stared at his retreating back and then down at her phone.
"Oh Joanna," she whispered. "What are you doing?" Kirsten felt sick with worry, for Alex and Joanna. But for Joanna, she was also furious. "Jo, what are you doing? Where are you?" She threw her phone down with a frustrated noise that didn't even begin to cover how she felt. A few people glanced over at her, but she glared back and they quickly looked away.
More than anything, she missed her best friend. She missed how things used to be. She sniffed and cursed, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand and snatching her phone off the floor, storming off after the boy she knew she wasn't supposed to love.
Asher didn't knock on Joanna's door the next morning. She wouldn't have answered if he had. Her eyes were puffy and her throat was raw. She'd cried until she couldn't anymore and still felt the uneven pain in her chest. She was a mess.
She lay in bed the entire day, feeling wretched. It's over, it's over, it's over kept replaying in her head, along with I ended it, I ended it, I ended it.
It was to protect them, she thought fiercely, but that didn't make it hurt less, even though it was true. Her dreams that night were full of teeth and claws and loneliness. Beseeching chocolate brown eyes full of pain, a warm touch. Alex. Flying long blonde hair, loud carefree laughter that turned to screams. Kirsten. Running through air thick as blood but never reaching them, unable to get there in time to save them. Her mother, a shadowy figure in the distance. All alone. Darkness, moving shadows, always reaching, reaching, shaking and crying out–
"Joanna!"
She jolted out of the nightmare, gasping and jerking wildly. Her cheeks were wet, the scream dying in her throat. Warm hands clasped her arms, struggling to hold her still. She fought irrationally. She had to protect them. She was furious and hurt, the emotions welling up inside her until she had to get them out. It was her own fault, her own stupid fault–she had to protect them–
"Joanna, it's me!" He grunted as she punched him in the stomach and kicked out. They rolled across the bed and tumbled to the floor, still grappling. He landed on her heavily, knocking the breath out of her and holding her down. After a few more seconds of thrashing, she went limp. His fingers still circled her wrists, pinning her arms to her sides. She was gasping, and the name came out against her will, a low, pained moan.
"Alex." She felt Asher tense against her.
"No, it's Asher." He rolled off of her, getting to his feet. She curled up right there on the floor, pressing her hot face to the cool wood planks. Asher stood there, not making a sound. Her raspy breathing filled the room.
"I'm sorry," she whispered brokenly. She wondered when she'd gotten so emotionally unstable. She was supposed to be the quiet, smart one who looked at things logically and responded calmly. Asher didn't move, didn't say a word.
"Why did you come?" she asked, her voice hoarse.
"I heard you screaming in your sleep," he said.
"…I'm sorry." He didn't reply, but somehow when he slowly walked out of the room, it brought another wave of sadness crashing down upon her, making her breath hitch.
But really, what else did she expect him to do?
Joanna could feel the sunrise as it approached. She watched as the light in the room grew brighter, a pale blue glow. She listened to the faint call of seabirds outside as she stared listlessly ahead at the ancient, cracked floorboards, feeling empty.
But she was a Shadowhunter, and from what she'd learned about them, she knew that if Shadowhunters were one thing, they were strong. She had to be strong. The feeling filled her, and she dragged herself to her feet. She could still feel the hole in her heart that no new emotion would fill. But she steeled herself against it, covered it up until it was just a dull throb in her chest, almost like a heartbeat.
She was a Shadowhunter, one of the Nephilim. She would be strong.