Less than Perfect, S. J. Evans [classic literature books txt] 📗

slight frame of Johnny beyond the arch of a new room. She carefully made her way around the dining room, gulping down any last little bit of fear that was coming up.
Peering around the archway into the kitchen, she planted her dainty hands on the frame and watched Johnny as he shuffled around, flipping pancakes and sausage. “Johnny?” She said, all too quietly.
He turned around for a moment and gave a quick wave of his full hand, before turning back around to the food. “Good to see you clean Skylar,” he chimed, surprisingly happy. “The last time I saw you—well, you didn’t look too good.” He could sense the fear that she was trying to compress and he enjoyed it, smiling to himself with satisfaction.
She didn’t know what to say at first, she only stared blank-faced at his back, her body shaking a little; but she eventually found her voice again, moving herself upright. “What’s with the food? I didn’t know you cooked breakfast.” She countered, her clear voice quietly timid.
“I just thought that it would be a nice change for me to make you something. Besides, after how badly things went last night, I figured it would be good to start over.” At that, he turned around with a full platter of pancakes and sausage in his hands.
Start over? He has never wanted to start over

, she thought in disbelief, stepping back, Did I miss something?

As much as he had made it clear what he said, she didn’t know how to believe it. Could he really want to “start over”? It wouldn’t be the perfect kind of starting over, more like the forgive and forget kind, but even that felt incredulous.
“Oh,” She sighed, averting her gaze, “starting over is good.” She said, trying to hide her disbelief.
Johnny grinned and raised the platter as he stepped forward. “Shall we?” He asked, tipping his head in the direction of the dining room.
Skye bowed her head and tugged on her arm, as if she could hide herself from him. “Sure,” she mumbled as she turned around and walked over to the closest chair. Johnny was beside her in a moment’s time, scooping a couple pancakes off of the platter along with some sausage. As much as the glorious smell of the pancakes enveloped her, she didn’t feel any urge to touch the food; her stomach was still fighting the twisting and unnerving sensation it always felt around Johnny.
As he sat down in the chair across from her, he grinned at her and set the platter down before him, those large and aggressive arms reaching and flexing, releasing the fear Skye had bundled up inside of her. She knew she was perfectly safe from his rage for a little while with the big enough distance between them both, but she still couldn’t help but remember those strong arms mercilessly tugging on her and shoving her around abruptly.
Once he finished scooping a couple pancakes onto his plate, he looked at her carefully, examining her expression as she stared back at him. He noticed that she wasn’t eating and it struck a funny chord in his mind. “Skye, what’s wrong? Why are you not eating?” He asked her, pleading gently with his eyes.
She glanced around, trying to avoid looking at him while she told him the answer—an answer she wished she truly understood. Meeting up with his stare, she fought the urge to snap back at him, but the pleading gentleness in his gaze made her hold back. “I’m not that hungry,” she answered quietly, placing her head in her hand gingerly. She stared at the wooden table, the swirled runes carved into it, creating a lovely pattern.
“Skylar, you must be hungry for something, you should eat.”
She snapped her attention back at him and frowned, “I don’t want anything, Johnny. I’m not hungry, and it’s not like I even asked to be here right now. By the way, I prefer Skye.” She hissed, pushing away from the table, her weary body trembling inside. She blinked a few times and tried to clear her mind, freeing herself from any fear or nervousness that could weigh her down.
She heard the creak of weight being lifted off of the dining chair and sighed, preparing herself for the worst. When Johnny reached her, he carefully took a hold of her upper arms and directed her to look at him. “Where do you want to go, Skye?”
She was shocked by the coolness in his voice, the calm that replaced what was almost always too rough and angry. Finding her words, she took a step back in instinct, fidgeting as she caught his gaze. “Why does it matter?” She croaked, screaming at herself that it was all too wrong. Johnny wasn’t a good guy, he hadn’t ever tried to be, and he never would be in her mind.
“Why are you so tense, Princess? There’s no need for that now,” he purred, rubbing his finger over her frail cheek.
She flinched back again and pushed against him, careful enough not to upset him. She didn’t want him to touch her, she couldn’t stand it. Her throat constricted on the words she tried to form and for a moment, she barely breathed. “Please just leave me alone, Johnny.” She pleaded, finding her voice.
“If you insist,” He drawled, chuckling roughly as he walked away—far from normal.
Skye couldn’t believe that he had actually left her without touching her forcefully. He didn’t force her to stay, or yell at her when she objected, he only left. Left

.
Chills springing down across her body, she shivered, holding her arms as she left the room. She hurried into her room, shutting the oak door behind her so that she felt safer. Her mind was still trying to process what all had just happened. She was around Johnny, talking down to him, yet, he didn’t so much as lay an abusive hand on her. He was calm, in such an eerie way that she almost found herself wondering if she truly was safe. Maybe he wanted something from her in return later, something that she certainly wouldn’t be able to handle.
Not wanting to think of all the possibilities of what those things could be, she shook her head and looked for her cell phone. She needed to call Jules, he would know something’s wrong if she never did. Plucking it from the desk, she flipped it open and dialed his number, waiting patiently for his beautiful voice to answer.
“Hey, Trouble,” he said the moment the second ring took place.
She silently flinched back, surprised at how quickly he had answered. “Hey, Jules.” She said wearily, the sadness of being without him for the day sinking in. She couldn’t go to the beach with fresh wounds, it would be too obvious that someone had cause them. Before Jules could say something smart, she glumly spoke eight weary words: “There is something I need to tell you.”
He was silent for a moment before replying. “That doesn’t sound good. Are you alright, Skye?”
“I’m fine, but I can’t go to the beach today,” she insisted. She hated telling him something as painful as that to him. She wanted to go with him more than anything, but not only would Johnny hate it, but, it wouldn’t show well for her friends.
“Are you really sick?” He asked her, the worry seeping into his voice, “Johnny was telling the truth?” He didn’t sound too convinced, more lost than convinced.
“Yes, Jules, I’m really sick. I’m sorry, really.” She sounded weak, and though it was unintentional, it helped in her case. She was weak in the heart, the beating slow and painful against her chest. She was tired, still worn from the wounds she had been given the night before.
“Can I still see you, or are you too embarrassed that you’ve been vomiting up all night?” He teased, chuckling under his breath on the other line.
She stifled a laugh, feeling a numbing weariness inside of her, and dropped to her bed in defeat. “That’s not funny, Jules. You would feel the same way if it was the other way around, smart boy.”
“Maybe; although, I’d just be happy to see you, trouble.” He added sweetly, the connection Skye felt to him growing deeper and deeper by each word. She had to resolve whatever problems Johnny had with Jules—she could tell they were there—, and she had to do it quickly. “I believe that your silence is a no?” He hinted, the soft laughter coming in through the phone connection.
“It’s a no for today. Rain check?”
“Rain check. But, it’s going to cost you,” he trailed off, chuckling again.
Skye hated it when he did that, his laugh was not only breathtaking and beautiful, but it was contagious; and, maybe that’s just what she needs, but she still can’t stand it. She wants to be able to laugh on her own, to feel the beauty of it without the help of someone else. She needs something beautiful and safe. “Don’t count on it,” she stated simply, rolling herself over so that she lay on her stomach.
“I will, you’re not getting off that easily.”
“We’ll see,” she added, calm laughter escaping her lips, creating the beautiful sound she needed to hear. Her laughter may not be anything special, but to her it was the only thing that meant she had a real reason to believe again. Hope was weaseling its way into her life little by little. Now, if she could only find true safety.
A knock shook the door slightly, bringing her back into the reality that Johnny was still in the house, still a threat. “I’ve got to go, see you tomorrow,” She whispered hastily, snapping the phone shut before Jules could reply. She grimaced as she thought of how he probably took that—to higher extremes then it was. She scooted herself up against the bed frame and scurried herself under the sheets of the bed, hoping Johnny wouldn’t enter in that moment.
“Skye, may I come in?” He asked from the other side of the door, so casually it almost would seem that he could actually be her father, instead of the terrible menace he had so easily portrayed. It made her wonder how much she actually knew about this man, and then she realized that she really didn’t know much.
She buried herself under the blanket, her head and arms the only things out, and croaked a small, “Enter.”
He slowly opened the door and grinned at her, the smile more casual then creepy or menacing. “Are you going anywhere today?” He asked her curiously, sitting on the end of the bed as casually as an average father figure.
She didn’t want to look at Johnny though, she kept her gaze straight ahead, watching the goldfish in the bowl on her desk swim. She almost wished she had a life like the fish. Its life was the simplest life one could desire, it would swim, eat, and then eventually, slowly slip from the world. So much easier than what her life had become.
Remembering his question, she chewed on her