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H o l l o w s   I n
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When I pushed open his door, Jameson went from his previous hunched over position at his desk, to a wild mess that pounded over to me.

"Sky, I am so sorry." Jameson looked between my ice pack, and back to my eyes, his eyes frantic and worried, as if he had caused some irreparable damage.

I moved past him, so that I had entered his room fully. Jameson followed me like a lost puppy.

I sighed, "It's fine; it was an accident." Wasn't really the direction I wanted to go in with this—even if I knew that it would be easier for him to hear.

I sat down on his bed. "You shouldn't have taken it that far." I began.

Jameson nodded, frozen in front of me. "I know I–"

"Because this is what happens when you do." I interrupted him, gesturing to my face. It went silent for a while. Until Jameson spoke up again.

"Can I see it?" He asks me in a strained voice, his inner manly pitch coming out through the stress as his tone seemed to deepen.

I shook the memories away. I really need to stop slipping into the past.

I looked up to see Jameson staring down at me, waiting for a response. I suddenly regretted ever bringing my bruised face to such attention.

"Please," he begged, "I want to know the damage I caused today—I need to learn from my mistakes." He told me. I paused. Why? For so long I had wanted to show him how much damage he had caused me. Now I had the chance. Sure, the damage was minuscule compared to the damage he had brought upon me me in those five months, which would leave me, undoubtedly, scarred for a long time.

So, as I asserted myself, a short burst of confidence ran through my veins—and off came the ice pack.

Jameson stared at my face for a few moments longer than he needed. His eyes rotated around all of my features in a cycle that seemed to never end. First, they would land on my bruise, then they would trail over to my eyes, down to my nose, then back up. They would start at my hair as he absorbed the damage that the swelling had done to my overall appearance, then, down to my lips.

Then back around. Again, and again, and again.

After a few cycles of this, his eyes stopped. But he wasn't done. He kneeled down, and his cycle continued, except he had a better view this time.

In front of him, with him so close, I felt exposed. With my wound to add to the equation, I felt like I looked like an atrocity. It made me feel uncomfortable.

Jameson's hand reached out hesitantly. I flinched, but I let him lean in. His hand touched my bruise and I jolted away slightly as he ran his thumb across it.

"I'm so sorry." He whispered, face crumbling. I stared at him, his features becoming jaded as they twisted into a look of sorrow. As tears came to his eyes, I found that I couldn't look away.

Then he leaned in.

His palm slid down my face, cupping my cheek gently. My eyes widened. Well crap.

Thinking quickly—and frantically—I held my ice pack in a fisted hand, swung, and punched Jameson right in the jaw.

He went reeling backwards, throwing a hand out to stop him from crashing to the floor. I jumped off his bed, scurrying away from him. Instead of escaping from his room, I stupidly ran towards his bathroom, and by the time he had recovered, I no longer had any time to flee.

He held out his arms, palms out to me. I flinched. "It's okay, I'm not trying to hurt you." He coaxed me.

I frowned, "why does everyone always think that holding their hands out will help matters? It's intimidating." I shot him a look of annoyance. He dropped his arms.

"Okay, no holding out hands." He said, but edged forward.

"You can't do that." I told him adamantly, tripping over my heels as I tried to back up.

"Do what?" He asked, calculated eyes moving from my two left feet up to my eyes as a frown etched it's way onto his face.

"Try to kiss me."

Everything slowed for a few seconds. Jameson stopped moving.

"How do you know that I was trying to kiss you?" He asked, eyebrow raised. I froze, realisation of the assumption I just made dawning on me. He was right. He had leaned in, yes. He had cupped my cheek, yes. But was he going to kiss me?

I shrugged, "I guess I never will know." Jameson smiled at my response.

"I guess you won't." He echoed.

"Unless you tell me—someday." I raised an eyebrow in suggestion.

"Someday." He repeated. "That would mean that you have to survive quite a few days, are you sure you can do that?" He seemed to be testing me.

I nodded. "As long as you punch everyone but me." I joked, pointing to my bruise. Jameson stifled a laugh.

"I think I can do that." He agreed. I smiled.

"Let's make a deal." I announced. Jameson cocked his head to the side. "If you promise to use your punches to protect me, I will promise to survive, then once our promises are fulfilled, you'll tell me if you meant to kiss me." I proposed. Jameson seemed to consider the terms for a while, but I wasn't sure if he was doing it for comical purposes or not.

"How will we know when our promises are fulfilled?" He asked.

I smiled, considering this, "it'll be one of those days when everything is going good—perhaps excellent." I ignored the weird look that I was getting from Jameson. "I would have not been attacked for a while, but on the times prior, you would've protected me with all of the strength possible. But it wouldn't be a one man job; I'd be strong too. We'd live in some sort of serenity, where the only thing we'd be afraid of is gone off milk. And we'd build each other up to be gloriously powerful, and when we fell down, we'd stack up the bricks again. But it would also be the day that, after realising that all is good, it would all fall apart again, because that's how life is. But that's okay, we'd be good at rebuilding by then." I shrugged, "so it wouldn't really matter what fell apart, as long as we had all the bricks."

Jameson stared at me. He blinked. His eyes seemed to smile, but he wasn't too sure on what to do. Smile? Move an arm? He just stood there.

"What if we didn't have all the bricks?" He asked.

"Then we'd use our gone-off milk. What else would we use it for?" I think it was a joke. But I wasn't sure. Maybe I'm preparing for the English GCSE that I would probably sit once my therapist sorts my mind.

Jameson laughed, and I joined in.

"Okay," he said finally, "I promise." He agreed.

"Then I promise." I replied.

It was then that I realised that Jameson had never stopped moving closer. But he had managed to distract me to such a degree that I forgot about anything else. I forgot about my worries, my pain, my memories. It was in this moment that I realised how clever my Guardian was, and will always be. He had punched me. But he got brownie points for his calculations of me.

Although he didn't want to, I could see him slowly adapting to my circumstances—my new mind. I don't know how he does it though. It's hard, even for me—especially for me.

Jameson shifted in my peripheral vision. I refocused to see him pick up the ice pack I had hammered into his face.

He held it up, "want a new ice pack?" He asked.

I laughed, "maybe a new Guardian would be a better long-term solution." I teased. Jameson was so close. He had been close to me the whole time.

He placed his palms on my arms, "ah, I see." He smiled, "you should employ the gone-off milk."

I laughed, but not before slapping his arm, breaking our proximity. "Stop making fun of me." I told him, before watching him break out into bellows too.

There and then, I knew.
I had fixed two things.

Jameson's marred perception of me, and our relationship. Even though I didn't quite know what our relationship was.

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The third book:
Figuring out Sky and Jameson's relationship

Tbh I wouldn't be surprised

😂

When it was funny but you're calm

I'm tired

I'm sure

-okay hi sure

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Next update: Monday
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CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE SPOILER:

The day starts, you get ready.

And then you're told whats in store for you.

But it almost sounds like a complete reflection of what has already happened.

Almost.