Transformers Prime - Hazy

ShockWave

Jasmine paced, waiting. What was taking so long? Angela should’ve been back a while ago. She had to go shoot a few scenes today, but with how disheveled she was, it would take a considerably larger effort. Because she wouldn’t just be putting on a pretty face and acting for the camera anymore. It would be doing her best to hold it together in front of everyone off-screen as well.

She hadn’t been this on edge in quite some time. It was . . . unusual. She shouldn’t be this on edge. She should be okay regardless of any dumb letter some mystery man had sent her or not. Why shouldn’t she be? She didn’t need anyone to take care of her. She didn’t need anyone to save her.

She didn’t need anyone to care . . . Not that way . . .

That’s what she’d been telling herself for years, and while she had complete confidence in the first two statements . . . the third just nagged her. She’d been so self-reliant . . . And it wasn’t that fact that she had a problem with. It was the fact that she’d openly denied herself natural desires. She’d denied herself even the basic closeness she craved. Just a kiss without being defensive . . . That wasn’t too much to ask . . . But she hadn’t managed to do it . . . Every time her lips met someone else’s, she was ready to push them away at a moment’s notice . . .

Jasmine knew it couldn’t help herself. It never felt right. It always felt like she was betraying someone in some way. Like every time she let herself be with a man . . . it was breaking someone else’s heart . . . Sometimes she swore she could feel the effect in her own chest . . . And that was usually when the relationships came to a close. She couldn’t take that feeling gnawing at her from the inside out . . .

The door quietly slid back into place. Angela had entered her bedroom. Jasmine looked up and down cautiously.

Angela had returned empty-handed.

Jasmine: “What happened? Where’s the letter?”

    She demanded, hysteria threatening to take over again. He hadn’t written. He’d given up on her. He’d . . . He’d left her . . . How dare he . . .

Jasmine: “How dare he!”

    She screamed, spark breaking in her chest. Angela hadn’t even had the opportunity to offer an explanation.

Jasmine: “That lying piece of scrap! Says he won’t leave and now look! He can’t even send the final letter! He can’t even-! He can’t even . . . Tell me why he gave up on me . . . What did I do wrong . . . ? What did I break . . . ?”

    Tears were brimming at the edges of her lower eyelids, staring at the floor blankly. She just wanted to see him. To know who had taken such an interest from afar . . . Who had known how to make his letter stand out . . . Who had known exactly how to make her chest hurt with a bittersweet agony . . .

    Jasmine collapsed on the bed, staring at the bedspread, a beautiful shade of warm purple, probably tinted with some kind of red . . . She wanted to know him . . . And she felt herself sink at the thought that she never would.

    She swore she heard Angela’s voice call to her, but she felt the room spinning around her, along with two tiny voices occupying the blurs. It went back and forth, back and forth . . . The boy’s voice, then the girl’s . . . Repeat, repeat . . .

            ‘Mommy.’

‘Mommy.’

‘Mommy.’

‘Mommy.’

‘Mommy.’

‘Mommy.’