Page 43 of Hymns of the Broken
I shake my head, searching his face. “And what do you think you see when you look at me?”
His thumb traces lazy circles on my hip, patient, like he has all the time in the world to convince me. “I see the smiles you fake. I know the ones that are real.” His gaze drops to my mouth, lingering. “You don’t smile like that with him.”
My stomach twists. “Don’t,” I whisper. “Don’t talk about—”
“Why?” Jasper cuts me off, his voice sharper now. “Because you’ll remember the way he talks to you? The way he makes you feel like a burden for breathing? Or because it’s easier to feel guilty than to admit someone else noticed what he never did?”
“And what exactly did you notice?”
“That you’re not his.” His hand slides from my hip to the small of my back, holding me there like gravity. “You’ve just been—trapped.”
I force out a shaky laugh, but it dies fast. “And you think you can just… fix that? Free me?”
He leans in until his breath brushes my lips, every word a live wire. “Not think. Know. Let me be the one who frees you, Sawyer.”
It breaks something in me, something I didn’t even realize I was still guarding. My chest aches. “And if I let you… then what happens to me?”
His hand comes up to cup my jaw. “Then you finally belong to someone who sees you.”
My heart is pounding. My eyes scan the room, desperate for something to hold on to, something safe. It’s cleaner than I expected. No heels on the floor. No perfume in the air. No forgotten bra slung over a chair.
“You didn’t bring a groupie in here,” I whisper. More accusation than question.
He huffs a laugh, but there’s no amusement in it. Only heat. Only truth.
“I toldyou, baby” he says, voice like a slow-burning fuse. “The only girl I give a fuck about screaming my name is you.”
My knees almost give out, and he’s so close I can smell him and that intoxication scent of his.
“And you did,” he says, confusing me for a second before he clarifies. “Backstage. You begged me with your eyes. You leaned into my touch like you needed it. Like you’ve been starving for it.” His fingers trail up my arm, tracing a slow line to my shoulder. My skin burns under his touch.
“You can’t lie to me, Sawyer,” he murmurs. “So don’t lie to yourself.”
My breath falters. I should say something. I should push him away. I should run like hell. But I’m frozen—spun in his gravity, and all I want to do is give in to it.
“I’m not like him,” Jasper says, “I won’t just touch your body—I’ll brand your soul. You can run back to your boyfriend and pretend he knows how to touch you. Pretend he makes you happy. Pretend he knows you.” His lips hover over mine—close, but not close enough. “But your body already chose. And as soon as you stop ignoring that, then the next time you scream won’t be backstage—it’ll be in my bed, with my hand around your throat and my name bleeding from your lips.”
His smirk darkens as if he can see that I have to physically stop my eyes from rolling into the back of my head.
“Go ahead,” Jasper murmurs, his voice sinful. “Run back to your bunk and get off on one of those filthy little books you read. Try to pretend it’s not me you’re thinking about when you’re cumming.”
Heat scorches my face. My breath catches.
He hits the button to open his door.
My choice.
I’m so close to breaking, and he knows it.
It’s not just the way he touches me—it’s the way he sees me. Like he’s reading the parts of me I’ve tried to bury.
I’ve always wanted that. To be seen.
Not for my body, or what I can do for someone.
But for me. The girl who hides behind her camera, books, and sarcastic comebacks because that’s safer than letting anyone all the way in.
And somehow he’s looking at all of me…and still stepping closer.
