Page 32 of Beautiful Ruins
She stared at the plastic blue chair for a moment. I could practically see the gears turning in her head, debating whether or not I was worth her time. She didn’t owe me this. I knew that. But it didn’t stop the ache in my chest when she hesitated.
Slowly she blew out a breath, and dropped into the chair, resignation set in her posture. Years of silence stretched between us like the wide, empty streets we grew up in.
Jasmine drummed her fingers on the scratched upwooden table, avoiding direct eye contact. The conversations and clink of cutlery continued around us despite the awkwardness.
What was I supposed to say after all that time?Hey, remember me, the friend who disappeared when things went to shit?Not likely.
I struggled to form any words, while she fidgeted with the zipper of her bag, waiting for me to say what it was I brought her here for.
This wasn’t just reckless. It was selfish. And yet, there she was. Flesh and blood. And probably still bleeding from what I’d done.
“I . . . I can’t believe you’re here,” she finally said, the words tumbling out in a rush.
She let her shoulders relax just a fraction as she studied my face, her focus zeroing in on the yellowing bruise beneath my eye.
I huffed out a laugh, but it came out more like a cough, awkward and raw. “Yeah, you and me both.”
Jasmine’s face fell, and she tilted her head, pinning me with those big, blue eyes. “You didn’t have to text, you know? I get it. It’s painful,” she said, lifting a shoulder. “But I moved on without you, Sadie. So, if you’re here just to . . . I don’t know, make yourself feel better or something, then I can’t help you with that.” Her voice hardened, her words precise and sharp as though she’d practiced them in the mirror each morning just in case she ever saw me again.
She stood, springing up with the kind of fluid grace she’d always had, and swiped at her cheeks.
Shit. I was ruining this, and I’d barely even spoken.
Laughter burst from the table behind us, loud and jarring, a reminder that life outside our fractured friendship hadn’t missed a beat.
Jasmine flinched at the sound, and my stomachclenched, panic shooting through me like a live wire. She couldn’t leave. Not yet. I hadn’t even told her why I’d asked her to meet me. That was the worst part. And yet somehow, she was already bleeding from it.
I reached across the table, grabbing her wrist, hard enough to keep her from walking away. Like mine, her pulse beat a rapid rhythm. Fast. Too fast.
“That’s not what I meant, Jazz,” I said, pleading with my eyes. “Please . . . don’t leave.” My desperation poured out of my words, my hand slipping into hers. “Seeing you . . . it’s just surreal.”
She eyed our connection for a moment, fingers twitching against mine, her expression unreadable despite her tears. I shook my head, refusing to let go, refusing to let her slip away again.
Finally, Jasmine sighed, a long slow release, then sat back down. “Fine. I’ll stay,” she said, pulling her hand from mine. The absence felt colder than it should have. She’d taken the last bit of warmth I had left when she let go. She nodded towards my face, her eyes once again flicking over the bruise Marcus had left me to explain. “Are you okay, Coop?”
Jasmine’s eyes welled with unshed tears, and for the first time in six years, all I saw was my friend. The one I’d abandoned. The one I thought I’d lost for good.
How was I supposed to answer that? I wasn’t okay, not by any stretch of the word. Yet, being there, with her, everything felt a little less . . . fucked.
“I will be,” I muttered, aiming for a smile I didn’t feel. “Just glad I got out of there when I did. That’s something.”
Plus, I wasn’t in jail. That was a bonus.
My fingers twitched, and I rubbed my palms against my jeans. With Jazz, pretending never worked anyway. She’d always seen right through me. She probably had the moment she satdown in front of me. That was part of why I’d stayed away so long. I wasn’t ready to be seen. But now . . . I didn’t have a choice.
“I’m so sorry, Sades,” she said, her voice softening to something genuine. My throat tightened, my emotions lodging there for me to choke on. “I’m here if you want to talk about it.”
I hesitated, searching her face for any sign that opening up to her would be unsafe. Rowan had demanded to know who had hit me, but I hadn’t spoken to anyone about it. Sure, Dad knew the basics. Marcus attacked me. I stabbed him.
Did the finer details really matter? Maybe. But dragging them out at that moment felt like picking at a wound I’d barely stitched shut. It wasn’t the time to bleed all over her.
I sniffed, steadying my breath, and waved a hand dismissively. “Maybe another time,” I said, glancing away before she undid me completely. “But let’s just say, I didn’t go down without leaving a scar of my own.”
She swiped at a loose tear slipping down her cheek, and her lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “That sounds like the Sadie Cooper I remember.”
“Yeah.” I took a sip of my now-cold tea, more for something to do with my hands than any real comfort. It tasted like defeat. “I suppose she’s still in here somewhere.”
Jasmine sat back, her eyes dancing over my face. Her expression flickered, curiosity warring with caution. “So,” she said, with the same impatient edge I remembered her having when she couldn’t stand not knowing something. She motioned for a server, inclining her head, her long blonde hair cascading over one shoulder. “What did you need to show me?”
