Harmony amidst Chaos | A Jori story

For Christmas' sake

-JADE'S POV-

I slam the front door behind me. Hard. The kind of hard that makes the glass rattle and something in the hallway shake off the wall.

"Fuck," I mutter, pacing two steps before I whirl around and hit the door with the side of my fist. Not hard enough to break anything. Just enough to feel it.

I'm so fucking mad.

Not at her. At myself.

Why the hell did I say that? Why would I lie to her? To myself?

Why did I let it come out like that—cold and final? Like I didn't care.

"God, you're such a goddamn idiot," I spit under my breath, dragging both hands through my hair, fists knotting at the roots for just a second before I let go.

I press my back to the door and slide down until I'm sitting on the floor, knees up, arms resting on them.

Way to go, West.

"Hey."

My mom's voice cuts through the silence from the living room. A second later, she leans around the corner, one brow raised. "Did that door do something to you?"

I groan, already pushing off the wood and heading for the stairs. "Not now, Mom."

"Jade."

This time it's softer. Not demanding—just... careful. Like she knows something cracked.

I stop halfway up, fingers gripping the railing, jaw clenched tight. My muscles twitch like they can't decide whether I want to scream or disappear entirely.

She steps into the hall. "We promised, remember?"

My hands curl into fists at my sides.

Communication. Even when I'm feeling like this—I promised. We promised.

But right now, everything's tangled. Loud. And I don't know how to say any of it without sounding pathetic.

I don't turn around. Can't. My throat's too hot, like it's snagged on something sharp, and my chest feels like it's folding in on itself.

"You can talk to me," she says again, gently. "Even when it's messy."

"I don't want to talk," I mutter.

"Why not?"

"'Cause—" My voice breaks. I swallow hard, then finally turn around, but the knot's already tightening in my chest. "I messed up."

There. Out. Small, but enough to let a little air in.

She doesn't push. Just steps closer, slow and steady, and holds out her hand like she's offering a life raft.

I hesitate—half a second, maybe—before I take it.

And she leads me toward the living room.

It used to look like a catalog spread—pristine, untouched. Plush, cream-colored sofas arranged in a perfect U around a sleek glass coffee table. A marble fireplace with a gold-framed mirror above it. Elegant. Cold. Like a place made to impress, not exist in.

But now...

There's a string of warm lights draped across the mantel. A soft throw blanket tossed—actually tossed, not folded with surgical precision—across one of the couches. The gold mirror still hangs above the fireplace, but now it reflects a garland of pine and red berries framing the mantle beneath it. A candle flickers low on the coffee table, scenting the air with something cozy and spiced.