Friends

Chapter 51

A/N: Chapter 52-103 along with other exclusive content can be found on my Patreon!

Jasmine's POV:

I try not to flinch. He's standing across from me, arms folded, jaw tense. He's not using pet names. That's how I know it's bad.

He's not yelling—Marc never yells—but I don't know what's worse: Kendrick used to raise his voice and throw shit around the room. Marc? He just goes quiet. Calm. Controlled. And somehow, that stings more.

"This crosses so many boundaries," he says, eyes locked on me. "Stalking? Jasmine, we're stalking each other now?"

"I wasn't—" I start, voice small.

"Please," he cuts me off, and his tone is low but sharp. "Go ahead and lie to me so I can memorize what your face looks like when you do."

Ouch. It hits harder than I expect. Not because it's cruel. But because it's real.

He's not yelling. But it feels like he is. My ears are ringing, chest tightening.

"I don't like your tone," I mutter, arms wrapping around myself like a shield.

"I'm not yelling at you, Jasmine," he says, more measured now. "But I'm not about to sit here and gentle-parent you through this either. You showed up to my ex's place. Parked outside?"

"I wasn't going to do anything," I whisper.

"But you were there," he fires back. "Watching. Spying. And when I didn't respond to your message fast enough, you called me. Multiple times. What was your plan? Burst in if I didn't answer?"

I say nothing. Because I don't know what I was thinking. I wasn't thinking. I was panicking.

"I know Kendrick broke you in ways I might never fully understand. But I'm not him. You don't stalk me like you stalked him."

"I never stalked him."

That comes out sharper than I intend. Not defensive—just... honest.

Marc blinks. His mouth parts slightly like he's about to argue, but nothing comes out. He wasn't expecting that. Not the tone. Not the truth.

I see it land. The surprise. The confusion. The realization.

"I never followed him. Never showed up unannounced. Never camped out in front of his place," I say, voice steadier now.

Marc's expression shifts. His brows pinch. His jaw loosens.

I keep going, because I have to.

"I didn't need proof. I didn't need binoculars. I never felt safe with him. Every time he pulled away. Every time he lied to my face and laughed while doing it. I didn't stalk Kendrick, Marc. Quite frankly, I never cared enough to do it."

And just like that, his anger starts to fade. Not gone—but cracked. Fractured.

He looks at me like he's seeing something he didn't know was there. Something raw and ugly and real.

And for a moment, neither of us speaks. Because what's left to say when the truth knocks the wind out of you?

"Princess, I know you are unaware of this, but you don't stalk the people you care about. This isn't how you show care. This is how you show fear. You calling me non-stop to get a reaction from me is your way to try and gain control of the situation. I can't control you and you can't control me." His voice is soft now.

"When you were sneaking out and fucking Kendrick I didn't feel the need to stalk you every time you left the house. You told me you felt bad, we talked about it and I trusted you. I haven't done anything to break your trust, yet I'm the one being stalked."

That's the part that breaks me. Because he's right. I trusted my fear more than I trusted him.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly, my voice shaking. "I know it was wrong. I just—when you said you were going to see her, it triggered something in me. And I couldn't sit still. I couldn't breathe."

He exhales slowly, rubbing his hand down his face. "Why didn't you just talk to me? Text me. Call me and say that."

"I did, remember?" I say.

"That was during the stalking," he laughs. "I was at work all day before I went over there."

"Because I didn't want to seem crazy," I say. And that's the truth. "So instead I did the most crazy thing possible."

His jaw clenches again—but he doesn't move.

"I don't need you to be chill. Or unbothered. I need you to be real with me. Even when it's messy. Even when you're scared. Even when you want to be crazy, I need you to be real and talk to me. I never asked you to hold in your thoughts. I never asked you to put on an act and pretend to be chill. I want the real you."

I feel my throat tighten.

"But I'm not there yet. I'm trying. I really am."

Marc exhales, slow and steady. His voice is softer now, but still sure—grounded.

"I don't need you to be something you're not, Jasmine. I don't need you to be completely healed or perfect or chill. I just need you to be honest with me. That's it."

He takes a small step forward, eyes locked on mine.

"Don't perform for me. Don't pretend. I don't like the version of you that's holding it all in—I like the one that's real, even when it's messy."

Silence hangs heavy between us.

"I'm sorry," I repeat, louder this time. "Really. I messed up. I'll do better."

He looks at me for a long time. Like he's trying to decide what to do with all this.

Then finally, he speaks.

"I need some air," he says, turning toward the door. "I'm not mad. But I need a minute. And don't stalk me while I'm out."

And just like that, he walks out. And I'm left standing there, wrapped in shame and silence, wondering if this is the moment I finally pushed too far.