153 Daggers

Jackson was thankful when he finally made it to his apartment. Even Xerxes can’t improve his mood right now, though he tries valiantly. When he peels his clothes off, dropping them on the floor, he curls up in his shirt, licking at the oily residue. Jackson should scold him, but he doesn't care right now . . . about anything. He was empty inside because he gave his only heart to Monica and she dropped it on the fucking floor like it was nothing.

Like he was nothing. He climbs in the shower, washing oil out of nooks and crannies that should definitely not have oil in them. As he rubs shampoo into his hair and down the back of his neck, he feels the chain lying there, heavy and accusatory. Jackson grips it in his fist, wanting to rip it off and be free of the shackle to the woman he loves who didn’t love him enough to stay. But he can’t do it. He was too weak.

He releases the necklace, but his hand won’t unfurl, and before he knows it, Jackson rears back and punch the tile wall of the