Hurt Like HELL (new adult contemporary romance) by London Casey Page B

did she come to my apartment?
    My hand started to shake as my grip tightened on the door handle.  My heart pounded.  I held my breath.
    I turned and pushed the door open.
    My eyes scanned the room and I saw nothing at first.  I flipped the light switch and let out a gasp. 
    There he was.
    Sitting on my bed.
    He put a hand up and said, “Tessa, just wait a second...”
    My mouth fell open and the room started to spin.  I swayed and my eyes struggled to focus on him.
    “How... you...”
    “It’s okay, I’m not here to hurt you Tessa.”
    He stood up. 
    He was tall, much taller than me.  Wide shoulders.  Beautiful eyes.  An innocent, familiar face.  He took one step and I let out a cry and then the room was gone.
    Darkness came over me again, only this time I wasn’t in a speeding car.
    He was in my apartment.
    He was in my room.
    He caught me as I fell.
    Jack.
    Wasn’t Jack supposed to be dead?

~3~
     
    I opened my eyes and I was on my couch under an ugly green knitted blanket.  The television was turned on and I hurried to sit up and look around.  The apartment looked empty.
    I listened.
    Nothing.
    I couldn’t hear anything but the television.
    My mind instantly came up with a perfectly normal explanation.
    A dream.
    It was just a dream.
    I had come home and decided to take a nap on the couch.  Then I had a dream about...
    “Tessa, are you okay?’
    “Jack!” I cried out.
    There he was, again.
    He didn’t manifest from nothing, he walked from the kitchen carrying a glass of water.  He put the water on the small table in front of my couch and stepped back.  His hands were at his sides and he stood there for my taking, for my eyes to memorize him, for me to comprehend him, and for my body to long for him. 
    It was ten years since I had felt this way, ten long years...
    I forced myself to fully sit up and I reached for the water.  The glass was real.  The water was real.  But Jack...
    “How are you real?” I asked.
    No need to beat around the bush.
    “I mean, you are...”
    “It’s me,” he said.  “Jack.”
    He opened his arms wide and smiled.
    When he smiled his dimples showed, giving him a boyish look that made my heart jump a little harder, a little faster.  When he opened his eyes wide, I could still see the sixteen year old version of Jack.  The one that snuck into my basement.  The one that sat next to me making up names for our future.  The one that made me feel so strange... so warm, so lust filled...
    The one that kissed me.
    I licked my lips - partially to keep them and my mouth from running dry, but also to bring back that night he kissed me.
    “Jack...”
    “Here, remember this?”
    He leaned down and I jumped back on the couch.
    “My gosh, Tessa, I’m not going to hurt you.  I’ve been saving you longer than you can imagine...”
    Slowly, Jack brought his right hand down to the table.  His hands were big, strong.  Time had treated Jack well... but how ?
    How could time have treated him well?  Time had been taken from him.  By my father.
    Jack took his pointer finger and tapped the table three times, with his fingernail.  He then tapped the table with his finger, twice.  Finally, using four fingers, he raked them along the table like a quick drumbeat.
    The moment he did it, my heart fluttered and my eyes filled with tears.
    The signal.
    Our signal.
    When we were teenagers... the signal he’d use on the basement door to let me know he was there.
    I looked at him as a few of the tears let go, streaming down my cheek.
    “But how?” I asked.
    It all seemed cruel in that moment, because if I was still dreaming, I hated the dream.  I didn’t want to dream about a life where Jack survived or a life with Jack... I wanted to live it.  I had enough of dreams.  I wanted to embrace reality.
    Jack took the same hand and reached towards me.  I didn’t jump back.  His finger touched my cheek and I felt it.  I really felt it.  His finger ran up my cheek, collecting