Friends

Chapter 54

A/N: The Book is FINISHED! Read the entirety of it on my Patreon along with other exclusive content if you want to check those out!

Marc's POV:

I knock gently, almost wishing she won't answer. But the door swings open faster than I expect. She's standing there—blanket wrapped around her shoulders like armor, eyes swollen, face flushed. She's been crying. Hard. And something about seeing her like this—vulnerable, stripped down, scared—hits me in a way I'm not ready for.

"Can we talk?" I ask. She nods and steps aside, letting me in. No words. Just a tiny movement of her head, like she's afraid speaking might break her apart.

I walk in slowly. She closes the door behind me—quiet and deliberate. No music. No distractions. Just the weight of everything sitting in the air between us.

She doesn't sit. Neither do I.

"I'm not here to fight," I say, keeping my voice low. "I just need us to be honest—with each other, and with ourselves."

She nods again, wiping under her eye. "Okay."

"We need to establish more boundaries," I say. "First on the list: no stalking each other."

"I'm so sorry," she blurts out. "I thought to myself, 'I fucked my ex the last time I saw him—he's gonna fuck his ex next time he sees his.' And Nya told me I was projecting, and I wasn't listening—"

Whoa. She's really talking. A lot. And fast. And she's making herself cry while she's doing it.

It seems like she's been holding this in for a very long time.

This is what happens when you don't communicate when something bothers you—when you keep it in and try to act like it's fine. You explode, just like this. She can't even help herself.

Okay, she's been spiraling for like five minutes straight. At this point, I don't even know what she's talking about anymore.

She's making herself cry while she's doing it. Like the words are ricocheting off her chest faster than she can process them. It's like watching a dam break in real time.

I should stop her. But also... I get it. This isn't really about Maria. Not entirely. This is every time she stayed quiet. Every time she swallowed her fear. Every time she told herself not to care, not to feel too much, not to be crazy. And now? She's word-vomiting an entire decade's worth of panic that just echoes in her room.

"...And I know it looks bad, but I swear it wasn't supposed to get this far, and I was gonna drive away, I swear, but then I saw her on the couch, and she looked like she was posing, and I blacked out for a second, and—and—"

"Jasmine," I cut in gently. Not sharp. Just enough.

She freezes mid-sentence. Eyes wide. Lip trembling.

I take a step closer, my voice low. Steady. "Breathe."

She sucks in a shaky breath. Then another.

"I'm not mad," I say, softer this time. "I promise. But you're spiraling. And I need you here—with me. Not drowning in everything you didn't say earlier."

Her shoulders shake, but she nods.

I reach out and take her hands—small, cold, still trembling—and guide her to sit down with me.

"I already forgave you," I say, voice steady. "I'm not saying it didn't hurt. It did. But I'm not here to keep dragging that pain forward. I don't want to stay stuck in what happened. I want to move toward what we're building."

Her head finally turns. Eyes glassy, but focused on me now.

"I want us to be better," I continue. "Not perfect. Not performative. Just... better. Boundaries. Honesty. Room to be flawed, but not reckless. I can work with all of that."

She nods slowly, like she's still afraid to trust it—but wanting to.

"We're not gonna make it if we keep treating every mistake like it's the end of the world," I say gently. "So let's stop living in the past, princess. I want to build a future with you. But we've got to stop bleeding out over yesterday to get there."

Her eyes flicker, the smallest smile trying to push through the mess. "You still want a future with me?" she whispers.

I squeeze her hands just once. Firm. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

She exhales shakily. "So... what happens now?"

"Well, you've lost your privileges to have my location," I say.

Immediately, her tiny smile shrinks to a frown.

"You can get it back, but for now, that's a huge no," I add.

"That's fair," she whimpers.

"Is there anything else you'd like to tell me that you haven't gotten a chance to?" I ask.

"Nya wants to meet you. And she's not leaving until she does," she says.

I've heard of Nya a lot. I know she's Jasmine's best friend, and I've heard them talk. I've noticed she's never around, though.

"What do you mean 'leaving?'" I ask.

"Well, she lives in Chicago, but she's visiting for a week and she'll be here this weekend. She means a lot to me, Marc. Like... more than anyone else in my life. She was there when I couldn't even recognize myself anymore. She's always had my back, even when I didn't make the right choices with Kendrick. My other friends got tired and distanced themselves."

That makes sense. It takes a toll to watch someone who you care about continuously hurt themselves. It can be mentally and emotionally deteriorating to witness that constantly for years. But let's not ruin the mood.

"When Kendrick had me so spun around I didn't know which way was up, Nya never let me drown. She's one of the reasons I got out. One of the reasons I started therapy. The reason I still have a version of myself left to give."

She looks at me, eyes wide but steady. "So yeah. Her meeting you? It's kind of a big deal. Because if there's anyone whose opinion I trust when it comes to love, it's hers."

I nod slowly, letting the weight of that sink in.

"Then let's make it happen," I say.

And finally—for the first time in what feels like days—she smiles without flinching.