Friends

Chapter 43

A/N: Chapter 44-87 along with other exclusive content can be found on my Patreon!

Jasmine's POV:

Who the hell is FaceTiming me this early?

My head is pounding.

I groan and reach for my phone, squinting at the screen. Nya. Of course.

I already know she's going to want every detail. And if I don't pick up, she's just going to keep calling.

I swipe to answer.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead," she grins through the screen. "How was the date? You gotta tell me—how was his dick?"

"I told you we weren't fucking," I mumble, voice hoarse.

"Be so for real right now, bitch. How many times have you said you're not fucking Kendrick, and ended up getting dick anyway? Eighty-seven and counting. So... how was the dick?"

"We didn't fuck," I say, dragging my palm down my face. "We just made out in his car and... he made me touch myself while we drove home."

"Made you?" she blinks. "What do you mean, made you?"

Having this conversation with the room spinning like this is not ideal.

"It was like some Fifty Grades of Shay," I slur.

"You mean Fifty Shades of Grey?" she corrects, confused.

"Yes, Nya," I groan.

She gasps dramatically. "Girl, I'm jealous. What'd he do after that?"

"We went back to the apartment... and I begged him to fuck me."

"Damn. He had you begging? I ain't ever begged for dick."

"Me either. That's the thing. I've never felt so safe. He could tell me to get on all fours and bark, and I would have."

"That's giving desperate," she says, smirking.

"I know how it sounds," I say quickly. "But it wasn't desperate. It wasn't like I was trying to please him so he wouldn't leave, or trying to be enough so he wouldn't get bored. It wasn't like Kendrick."

I pause, letting that sit in my chest for a second before I say it out loud.

"It was the first time I've ever felt that kind of safety. Like I could do anything—be anything—and he'd still take care of me. Like no matter what I did, no matter how far I let go, I'd be held. Not hurt. Not used. Held."

Nya goes quiet. She's not even teasing me anymore. Just listening.

"I wasn't performing," I say. "I wasn't doing it to keep his attention. I didn't feel small, or afraid, or like I had to earn every moment of softness. He just... gave it. Like I was already enough."

My voice cracks a little. "Do you know what that feels like? To be seen and still wanted? To have someone be in complete control of you and still know they'd never cross a line you didn't draw together?"

She's silent for a moment, then nods. "No. But now I really want to."

I laugh, even though my eyes are a little too watery for a hangover.

"I thought submission was giving everything away to someone else," I say. "But last night, it felt like I was finally giving something back to myself."

Nya goes quiet for a second.

"Okay..." Nya leans in closer to the camera. "But if he went full Fifty Shades, he made you feel safe, and you both clearly wanted each other—why didn't you fuck?"

I let out a soft laugh, but there's no humor in it. Just the ache of almost.

"Because I was drunk," I say. "And he's... a gentleman."

Nya tilts her head. "Damn. So he actually stopped?"

"Yeah," I nod, eyes flicking down at the comforter bunched in my lap. "I begged him. Literally. Told him I needed him. Told him I was ready. And he..."

I pause, remembering the way he looked at me. The way he walked out of the room like he was tearing himself away.

"He walked out. Went to his room to grab a condom... came back... and I was asleep."

"Oh my God." Nya gasps. "Girl."

"I know."

"That man tucked you in and let you sleep instead of piping you down after all that?"

"He didn't just let me sleep," I say, smiling at the memory. "He tucked the blanket over me like I was fragile. Kissed my forehead. And left."

Nya goes quiet for a second. Then—
"That's... beautiful and annoying as fuck."

"Right?" I laugh. "Like, who does that?"

"Marc," she says. "Apparently, Marc does that."

I nod slowly.

"And I think... that's why I'm scared now."

"Why?" Nya frowns.

"Because I've never felt this seen before. And I don't know if I deserve it."

There's a beat of silence. I can see Nya's expression shift—less playful now. More serious.

"Jas," she says. "Don't do this."

"Do what?"

"This thing where you convince yourself you're not worthy of something good, so you run back to what's familiar. I've seen this movie before."

I swallow hard. "That's not what I'm—"

She cuts me off gently, but firmly. "Last time you felt like this—like you didn't deserve love—you ran right back to Kendrick. You knew he was bad for you. We both did. But you went back because it felt easier to settle for pain than to fight for something real."

Her voice is soft, but there's no sugarcoating it.

"I know," I whisper. "I remember."

"You don't have to do that again," she says. "You don't have to self-sabotage just because it's scary to be wanted the right way."

I bite the inside of my cheek, my eyes stinging again.

"I don't even think I realized I was doing it back then."

"That's why I'm here," Nya says. "To remind you when you start forgetting who the fuck you are."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"Thanks," I murmur.

She smiles. "I got you. Always. But for real—next time he offers a round two? Don't fall asleep."

I laugh through the tears, shaking my head. "I'll try."

"So when do I get to meet him?"