Friends

Chapter 28

A/N: Chapters 29-42 are on Patreon along with other exclusive scenes if you want to check those out!

Marcqwuan's POV:

"This is a horrible idea," Jaylin insists.

I can't stand this man. He makes me want to punch something.

"Why are you always hating?" I snap, frustration bubbling up.

"Bro, you asked for my advice," he responds, his tone sharp. "I told you to either just sleep with her or keep it chill and be friends. Then, your therapist said you two should only be friends and discuss boundaries. Now you're taking this girl on dates?"

The fact that he refers to Jasmine as "this girl" infuriates me, but deep down, I know he's got a point. I'll address his disrespect later.

"Friends go on dates!" I argue, knowing I'm stretching the truth only to justify myself.

"Bro, lie to yourself if you want, but don't lie to me," he shoots back, disbelief in his voice.

"Girls take their female friends on dates all the time," I say, trying to stand my ground. "When we go to a restaurant, that's still a date, right?"

"You got it, bro," he says with a hint of sarcasm. "But if you're just gonna sit there and gaslight yourself, don't come to me for advice anymore."

I can feel the weight of his words, and none of my excuses are working.

"Is it really like that, though? Is that what we're doing?" I ask, voice low, uncertainty creeping in.

Jaylin exhales sharply, as if he's already said all he can. "Your therapist had a whole conversation with you about boundaries last week. You do this with every single girl. You see red flags, and for whatever reason, you run straight toward them. It never ends well. And as your friend, I just can't keep watching you hurt yourself. I care about you, man. This isn't good for either of us."

"Bro, she's in therapy," I plead, trying to hold onto some shred of hope. "She's working on herself. Nobody's perfect."

"Why are you telling me what we both already know?" he shoots back, frustration rising. "Yeah, nobody's perfect. Sure, everyone's got their baggage, their red flags. I'm glad she's working through hers. I really am. But don't think that just because I don't want to be a part of this means I don't want you to be happy. I want her to get through her trauma, get over her ex, get over all the toxic stuff he left her with. I want you two to live happily ever after. But she's been stuck in a toxic, abusive relationship with him for years. That's not going away overnight. And here you are, rushing into this, thinking that if you love her harder, her trauma will magically disappear. That's not how it works. I don't care how many women you talk to, you need to face the fact that this never ends the way you think it will."

And there it is. The truth. I keep falling into the same cycle, promising myself each time it'll be different.

"I just want you to be supportive," I say quietly, the weight of my broken confidence leaking into my voice.

"There's a difference between being supportive and enabling, bro," he says, his voice softening but still firm. "Right now, I'm just enabling you. You're wasting your money on therapy when you both know the truth. Yeah, she's got her issues, but you're just as bad, if not worse. You knew all of this about her. She didn't even know, and you're still sitting there, waiting on her."

Am I really worse? Am I really more damaged than she is? The question hits me like a cold slap, stealing the air from my lungs. For a second, everything goes quiet.

It's like I've been walking through life with blinders on, ignoring the fact that maybe—just maybe—I've been chasing this toxic cycle because it feels familiar. Because it's all I know. I've always told myself I was different. Told myself I was trying to fix things, to heal, to help. But what if I was wrong?

The thought hangs in the air like smoke, suffocating everything around me. Maybe that's why I keep finding myself in situations like this. Damage attracts damage, right?

What the fuck. She's my Kendrick.

I feel the weight of the realization sinking in, slow at first, like a stone dropping into still water. It ripples out across everything I thought I understood about myself. I close my eyes for a beat, trying to process it.

What if I'm not helping her at all? What if I'm just as broken as she is—and maybe even worse? My stomach churns at the thought. My hands go cold. For the first time, I'm not sure if I'm here to help her or if I've just been trying to fix myself through her.

What if it's not about saving her? What if I've been trying to save myself?

Maybe I don't want to fix her. Maybe I just want someone to see me, all of me—the parts of me that are cracked, that are still raw—and love me anyway. Maybe that's the root of it—the fear of being alone with all my mess, with all the things I haven't been able to put back together. I look at her, and I see someone who feels the same way. And maybe, just maybe, that's why I've been clinging to this.

The ground under me feels a little shakier now. I swallow hard, the weight of it pressing on my chest.

I swallow hard, feeling my world tilt, the ground beneath me suddenly unsure.

"So what should I do?" I ask, the weight of it all settling on my chest. "Just cancel the date?"

"Yeah," he says bluntly.

"Fine," I mutter, already standing up. "I'll go do it right now." I say as I make my way towards her room.