6:00am (3:00am SEQUEL) // Jori fan fic

Chapter 24 - Pressure

Heyy, you'll know when! Just play "You Broke Me First" by Tate McRae, covered by Conor Maynard. Love ya'll

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Andre and Cat walked in mid-emotional apocalypse and caught the whole goddamn thing like it was a live season finale of Keeping Up With My Heartbreak. Bravo. Five stars. Emmy-worthy.

"I'm sorry that she's such a party pooper," Cat mumbled like a kitten who'd just watched her favorite toy get run over by a reality check, then launched into a hug like she was trying to Heimlich the sadness out of me. I felt... nothing. Numb. Like my soul took a smoke break and never clocked back in. Still, I gently peeled her off like she was a very affectionate band-aid.

"Jade, are you—?" Andre started, concern bleeding through his usual smooth operator vibe.

"I'm fine," I interrupted—flatly, like a psycho in a Netflix true crime doc right before the "he was always so quiet" montage. "Can you guys help with the glasses?"

No one argued. Glasses were grabbed. Silences stretched like awkward yoga. And me? I didn't give a flaming fuck. Everything inside me had flatlined emotionally like a dial-up connection in the apocalypse.

The fight had been a blur—so fast, so loud, so stupid. I didn't even know I'd officially dumped Babe until Cat and Andre walked in and gave me that oof look. You know the one. Like your soul just took a bullet and your mascara tried to jump ship.

Still, I strapped on the fakest smile this side of a politician's campaign trail and walked out with them like everything was peachy and not actively falling apart inside me like a Jenga tower made of wet spaghetti.

Robbie, the human equivalent of a sad Tumblr playlist, was strumming his acoustic guitar for my parents, who actually liked that kind of thing. Boomers.

"Hey, guys," I chirped with a smile that had all the sincerity of a gas station apology bouquet. "Sorry. We won't stay long. Just a quick toast, then we'll bail and let you enjoy the rest of your night without your walking emotional tornadoes."

They all looked confused. Andre and Cat gave them the universal Don't ask. Don't poke the emotional bear signal.

"But stay, sing something? We love it when you sing," my mom beamed, all teary-eyed and Lifetime-movie hopeful.

I nodded like I hadn't just been curb-stomped by heartbreak and poured the drinks like a bartender in a noir film about pain, betrayal, and awkward family moments.

"To my loving parents," I started, voice wobbling like a Jell-O shot at a frat party, "who never gave up on each other, no matter how hard shit got. You two are basically fate's OTP, and if fate's a bitch—and it is—then she still shipped you guys hard enough to bring you together again."

They cheered. Glasses clinked. Phones filmed. I smiled. I was the Oscars-level Best Actress in a Tragedy No One Knows They're Watching. Inside? I was a haunted carousel of "what the actual fuck just happened."

And then Tori walked up. Eyes full of concern. Like she'd seen the ghost of the relationship I just torched.

"Hey," she whispered, pulling me into a hug warm enough to temporarily patch my cracked psyche. "It's okay. You're okay. I'm here."

Cue waterworks. Almost. I pulled it together like a boss, or at least a vaguely coherent gremlin. Andre subtly herded everyone away like a good emotional support wizard.

Tori pulled back, just enough to search my face. "What happened?"

"I broke things off with Babe." The words tasted like regret and tequila. My nose flared. Eyes stung. Classic heartbreak symptoms. Ten out of ten. Would not recommend.