Friends

Chapter 23

A/N: Chapters 24-29 are on Patreon if you want to check those out!

Jasmine's POV:

It's been two weeks since we had our first couch session, and I'm going to be honest—discovering the damaged parts of myself is far harder than I ever expected. For so long, I thought Kendrick was the problem. I convinced myself that if I could "fix" him, it would somehow absolve me of my own issues. I didn't have to confront my flaws because I was so caught up in trying to fix his. But now, as I work toward becoming a better version of myself—for Marc, for me, for my future—this journey has turned out to be one of the hardest things I've ever done.

It's conflicting because, at the same time, I've never been happier. I've never felt more loved. I've never felt more... worthy. This feeling of worthiness—of "I'm enough"—it's something Marc reminds me of constantly. But here's the thing: he's not the one who gives it to me. He makes me feel that way, yes, but the worthiness is something that should be there, with or without him. And yet, when I discover a flaw in myself, it feels like I'm breaking all over again. Especially when I accidentally hurt Marc. Like earlier this week, when we were on the couch, and I said, "If you don't like it, then you can leave."

The look on his face, the hurt, it made my stomach churn. He asked, "You hated when Kendrick would talk to you like that—make you feel so disposable—then why talk to me like that?"

I froze. I had to stop myself, had to reflect on the habits I'd unknowingly picked up from Kendrick. The toxic ones. The ones I didn't even realize I was carrying with me, still. Part of me wishes I could go back to simpler times, when my only focus was fixing Kendrick. But that wasn't ever going to work. And now, here I am. I'm trying to fix myself, but I'm ashamed to admit it—I still miss Kendrick. It's so strange. Because Marc... he's better. He treats me better. He's raised the bar in ways I didn't even know were possible.

We're lying on the couch, his arms wrapped around me like he's holding me together, like I could slip right through if he lets go. I've never felt anything like this. He holds me with a tenderness that makes everything feel safe. And in his arms, I've discovered things I didn't even know I liked. Like, I didn't realize I liked muscles. I used to think I only liked skinny guys—guys like Kendrick. It was a habit, a pattern I'd been stuck in. I thought the skinny guys were packing the most... but here I am, curled up against Marc's chest, resting my head on his solid frame. What's wrong with me? Why can't I just let go of Kendrick?

"We need to talk," Marc says, pausing the TV and sitting up.

The words hit me like a punch to the stomach. My heart starts to race. My breath catches in my throat. I feel the panic creeping in, my mind spinning into a familiar frenzy. Talk? No. No, no, no. Not this. My hands are clammy, my pulse quickens, and I can feel my chest tightening.

Is this it? I think. Is he going to leave me too? Does he know I miss Kendrick? The thought makes me feel dizzy. Did his therapist tell him I'm too broken and he should leave me?

I follow his lead, sitting at the edge of the couch, my body trembling with anticipation, but I try to swallow the emotions building up inside me. I can't seem to stop them.

"What's wrong? What did I do?" The words blur together in a rush. "Please don't tell me you talked to your therapist and he said we should stop being friends." I grab his hands tightly, like they might slip away if I don't hold on.

"Yo, princess, relax," he laughs, his voice soft but teasing.

I close my eyes for a second, the sound of his laugh pulling me back from the edge.

"Does your mind always do this? Always go to the worst possible thing?" he asks, his expression full of concern. "Doesn't that get tiring? You ever wish you could just... turn it off?" he asks, still chuckling but with a hint of confusion.

"Do what?" I ask, and I feel like I'm not really answering him. But his smile, the laugh, the pet name, it calms me for just a second. Enough to breathe again.

"Whenever something happens, you jump to the worst possible scenario immediately. All I said is that we need to talk, and I can literally see your mind spiraling. It's like you're already digging up the worst of the worst."

"Yes," I say, barely above a whisper. "It gets exhausting. Why do you think I'm always so anxious? There's no way to turn it off. It's like a constant noise in my head."

"Wow, I'm so sorry to hear that," he says, a little shaken. "I'd lose it if I was constantly like that. I'd go insane."

If only you knew—I want to say it, but I can't. He doesn't know that I actually am insane.

"You're killing me. Please, just tell me what we need to talk about," I blurt, my voice cracking.

Marc sighs, a small, soft chuckle escaping him. "I was just gonna tell you about my therapy session," he says, his tone lightening a little. "My homework is to set boundaries in our relationship."

"Boundaries?" I ask, the word making my stomach churn. "Like what?"

"Well," he begins, hesitating for a moment, "before I tell you anything, you need to know that you can dress however you want in this apartment. This is your home, and I want you to feel comfortable. But if you're just gonna wear oversized T-shirts around here where I can see the bottom of your ass... I can't be in the same room as you. Also, when we cuddle, we need to have clothes on. All of this... well, it's just... too much sometimes. I know it's not your fault but it turns me on."

I blink, processing. "That's the point. I don't get why it's a problem when it's doing what it's supposed to."

"No, Jas," he says, a little more serious. "I'm saying we need to keep this platonic. A week ago, we almost crossed that line, and we need to take precautions so we don't cross it again."

"But I don't want to," I say quietly, almost a whisper.

"I don't want to either," he admits, his voice softer now. "But it's not about what we want. It's about what we have to do."

"Fine," I mutter, even though I feel like my whole world is shifting beneath me. "Any more boundaries?"

He thinks for a moment, then looks at me. "Okay, next. Stop leaving your door open when you masturbate. I know you're doing it on purpose so I can hear you. I've heard you with Kendrick a lot and you're never that loud"

"In my defense," I say, trying to lighten the moment, "my vibrator pleases me more than Kendrick ever did. So yeah, I'm probably louder than I realize."

"My point still stands, Jas," he says, his tone a little exasperated but not unkind.

"Okay, fine. Next," I say, wanting to move on.

"That's all I can think of for now," he says, clearly relieved to be moving past that. "But if something else comes up, I'll let you know."

"What about you?" he asks, my anxiety creeping back in. "Is there anything you wanna talk about? Any boundaries you want to set?"

"No boundaries," I whisper. "But there is something I want to talk to you about."

I blink, my chest tightening. I hesitate for a moment, and I can feel the shift in the air.

"Remember, this is a safe space, okay?" he says, his voice gentle.

"Of course," I say, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. My breath feels heavy. This is fine. We're fine.

"I miss Kendrick."