Chapter 6

Rain fell in heavy sheets in the darkness of the night. Jane's hands gripped the handlebars of her old bike, knuckles white as her feet slip against the pedals. If Max isn't dead - which has to be the reason she isn't answering the phone - she's going to /kill/ her.

She tells herself to calm down, but her heart still races in her chest and her cheeks are pink from exertion as well as shame and guilt. Will she ever change? Will she ever be able to keep her fucking legs shut?

She jumps the curb and ditches her bike in the yard, careless as she stumbles to the door. After knocking and shouting, she realizes the rain is coming down too hard to be heard. Trying the handle, she finds it unlocked, and ducks inside.

Jane has never been so thankful that the Hargrove-Mayfield house seems empty, or that it's raining - it's easy to pretend her face is wet from that, not tears. She hurried through the darkened hallway back to Max's room, thrusting the door open only to be met with...

Lucas. And Max. But, /Naked/.

His skin glows even darker compared to her dappled porcelain, and they're both in the throes of passion and don't even notice her standing there, one hand clutching the doorknob. Quietly, Jane tiptoes back and shuts the door. She should leave, go home and deal with this on her own... but that's where Mike is, and she doesn't think she can work out her issues when the biggest one is right there with her.

Collapsing onto the sofa, she decides to wait it out. She can't go home. Not after...

It isn't even her fault! She was taking a shower, innocently minding her own business, singing along to the radio perched on the bathroom counter. She didn't hear the door open. And... really, it's his fault, because obviously she was using the shower and he didn't knock, just traipsed right in and threw open the curtain and there she was, in all her wet, naked, soapy glory.

"Mike!" She has gasped, trying in vain to cover herself, but he just stood there, staring, one hand on the shower curtain. Blinking, like he wasn't sure he was truly seeing what was in front of him.

"Jane-"

"Jeez, knock much? At all?" She was rude and snappy, but also naked and vulnerable, and once she stopped to glare at him - remembering that he had totally seen her without clothes, and touched her without clothes, so covering up was pointless - she felt the heat of his dark gaze sweep over her already heated skin. Heat piled low in her belly. She shivered under his watchful eyes, skin turning to an electric thing that buzzed for his touch.

And then he lunged, reaching for her, fingers sliding over her soap-slick flesh, and they were kissing. And then they were taking his damp clothes off, and he was stepping into the shower, and the curtain slid shut...

Oh, god, why is she like this? Why is she so weak? Helpless under his hypnotic gaze, longing for his touch no matter how much she tries to fight it. It's not fair, but Jane learned that a long time ago. When Sarah got sick - and she knew it should have been her. Her little sister was so sweet, so pure, and Jane already knew she had darkness in her heart. She felt it from a young age, the bad part of her that wanted to hurt things as much as she hurt, inside. She loved Sarah, she really did - but she hated her at the same time. Taking all the attention, taking away their parents' love. And then she got sick, and it was like Jane disappeared completely.

She wanted to be the sick one, not just because she didn't want Sarah to hurt but because she wanted them to care about her, too. She wanted them to worry about her, too. And she knew that she deserved it more than anyone. That she should have been the one to die.

Her chest aches from holding in sobs, and she quietly lets one slip out. Her shoulders hunch up, and she curls in on herself. It's a landslide, they won't stop. Images of her past flicker through her mind like a film reel, the tubes and machines working to keep Sarah's frail body, so pale and tiny, alive. Different hands on her skin, some nice and some not. The note she found when her mother took off. Mike, crooked smile and soft lips. It's so much, it's too much, and she can't breathe as the tears streak down her cheeks.

She gasps for breath, one hand scrabbling over her throat, until the world fades to black and her thoughts finally cease.

—

"Do you hear something?"

Max rolls her eyes, continues tracing patterns on the broad, muscular sparse of Lucas' chest. They're both sweaty and flushed, riding the post-sex endorphins, and she thinks nothing could drag her away from him, from this. Nothing feels better, safer, more /right/ than this. Nuzzling her nose on his coffee-dark skin, she smiles.

"I hear your heart pounding," she teases. Lucas huffs out a laugh, rolls his eyes, and tightens his arm around her. The rain was so heavy that day, and the overcast sky so dark and turbulent. It's like the weather sensed her own emotions, how much she needed him. And then he had appeared, dripping wet and knocking on her window. They'd barely said hello before peeling their clothes off, lips crashing together, them falling onto her unmade bed.

That's part of why she loves him, Max thinks. Lucas just gets her, without her having to say anything.

They slip into a comfortable silence, kissing randomly and touching always, when Max definitely hears something. And then there's a thump, they both jump out of bed.

"What the fuck," Max hisses, tossing on a T-shirt and the shorts she'd had on before Lucas showed up. He's struggling into his wet clothes as Max cracks open the door - of her parents or Bill are home, and catch the two of them - she shudders at the thought.

"Stay," she orders, and Lucas gives her a quirked eyebrow - like he's dumb enough to invite trouble. She tiptoes into the hallway, sea-green eyes wide and worried, and nearly trips over Jane who is sprawled out on the floor in front of the sofa. Gasping, she drops to the floor and shakes Jane frantically.

"Lucas! I need you!" She leans over, searching for a pulse, which is steady beneath her fingers. She sighs in relief as her boyfriend crouches beside her.

"What the hell?" He frowns in confusion.

"Honestly, I have no idea - but let's get her off the floor." Carefully, Max takes her legs and Lucas grabs her under the arms, and they get her onto the couch. Max shakes her, calls out her name, and Lucas goes to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. He's never actually been in Max's kitchen - just her bedroom, once or twice the bathroom when it was an absolute emergency or no one was home - so it takes a moment to find their cups. When he returns to the sun living room, Max is on the verge of tears.

"Why won't she wake up?!"

Lucas, feeling only an ounce of regret, upends the cold water and splashes it on Janes face. Like a switch flipped, she gasps awake and her dark eyes fly wide open, frantically farting around as she breathes hard.

"Jane? Are you ok?" Max's voice shakes as she helps her sit up. Lucas feels his heart clench, worrying over her as she worries over her friend.

"Yeah - I," She takes a deep, shuddery breath, "I couldn't breathe. I was having a panic attack. I'm so sorry." Jane can't meet either of their gazes, instead focusing on her fingers twisting together in her lap. "I um, I needed to talk to you. I'm sorry, for interrupting..."

"Hey, it's ok," Max soothes. She drops an arm around Jane's shoulder, hugging her into her side, and leans their heads together. "Naked Lucas makes me hyperventilate too." She winks at him, and his cheeks feel decidedly hot. But he smiles as Jane hiccups out a brittle laugh.

"I should go. You guys, um... continue what you were doing..." Jane blushes crimson which makes Lucas wish the floor would swallow him right then and there. How much had she heard? Or did she /see/?

"No, it's ok," Lucas says. "I'll just see you at school, all right?" He loves the smile Max gives him, one soft and sweet and so full of everything he adores about her. He leans down, gives her a quick peck, and then heads back to her bedroom to slip on his shoes and climb out the window. The rain has let up, and he jams his hands in the pockets of his soggy jeans, glad she doesn't live too far from his home.

And, though he tries not to, Lucas wonders again about Jane Hopper. She seems so normal, most of the time. Sassy, just like his girl. But there's something about her, that he's seen a couple times now, that worries him. That fragile, broken look in her eyes. The way her smile looks like it's about to crack and turn into tears. The way she depends on Max during these freak-out episodes. He can sense something is wrong, something is off, but Lucas can't put his finger on it precisely.

He needs more evidence.

Trudging up his driveway, he vows to get to the bottom of this.

—

Mike is laying on the sofa in the basement, trying to read The Hobbit again, but his thoughts keep straying. His stomach feels like the dryer on tumblr, by in a good way, and he keeps catching himself smiling. He knows he's supposed to feel badly, guilty or something, but he doesn't. Like, at all. Instead, he keeps thinking of how right it felt, his body pressed flush against Jane as the hot water beat over them.

Sure, she's going to be his stepsister in a matter of months. But he can't find it in himself to care - Jane is perfect. She's sassy, and she's sweet, and she's like no one he's ever met before. Mike can't describe the pull he feels towards her, like a magnet, like something he can't control.

He hasn't been paying attention that morning. It was habit - just head into the bathroom, take a leak, start the shower. But when he heard her voice, light and pretty, singing along to the radio, it all sort of hit him.

She was naked, the thin shower curtain between them, and he has no idea /what/ possessed him to throw it open but he wasn't disappointed. All of that creamy, pale skin, curly hair plastered to her back, soap suds sliding down her belly as legs... he saw her lips move but didn't understand what she'd said. All he could think about was kissing her.

So he did.

And sex with Jane was just as amazing the second time around.

His body reacts to the thoughts, and Mike groans in frustration. It's impossible to live with her, to be around her always, without this happening. He doesn't want it to stop - he can't make himself stop.

He doesn't want to stop.

He flushed at the memory of her taste, how she felt under his fingertips. The way she whimpered, and moaned, and trembled. Every moment that they share feels perfect. Like he was made to hold her, like she was made to fit into his arms just right.

He's going to tell her, Mike decides. How can he not tell her? Every time he looks at her, his heart pounds and his palms get clammy and he wants nothing more than to touch her. Smell her. He's pathetically in love with her, completely head over heels. He wants her, more than just her body. All of her.

Tossing his book aside, and starts pacing. It's how he thinks best. Mike's mind is a kaleidoscope if possibilities, but there is one thing he's certain of, with every beat of his heart.

Mike loves Jane. And he'll do whatever it takes to be with her.