Page 50 of Crash

“Let’s go, Satan. Drink the drink,” I say, and she narrows her eyes, bringing the glass to her lips and swallowing it whole. Never breaking eye contact with me, never grimacing, her face a mask of cold indifference. Ezra is a different breed, on a level I can never reach. I would have puked, which is what Monroe and Jasmine do. Everett spits it back out and tells us all to get fucked.

* * *

The music begins blaring, bonfire flames rising so high you can’t see the person in front of you. Drinks are poured and consumed. I’m drinking this time because I have no plan. I walk to the shore, sitting down with a joint tucked between my lips as the waves tickle the tips of my feet. It is peaceful looking over the murky waters as occasional splashes greet my ears, the sound of waves a lullaby to my mind.

There are things my mind conjures up when I’m at peace. Things that should not be entering my solitude but does, sending my heart crashing into my chest like the waves crashing to the shore. One of them is Jasmine. She doesn’t know this, but I was the one who found her. White sundress soaked in blood, all alone as she bled out. The lacerations on her wrist were deep, her intention to take her own life clear. They were controlled, clean cuts, not like the ones on her thighs that were always angry, out of control. She lost so much blood, she was damp and sticky to the touch, her body sickly and pale, but she looked at peace. But the war inside me couldn’t let her go—I couldn’t let her go. I cradled her body to my chest, smoothing her hair out of her face, wetness coating my cheeks, dripping onto the curves of hers. Her pulse was slow, barely there. I had to fight the shake in my legs, the shredding of my heart, to stand and carry her down the stairs and into the living room.

Her parents were stunned, frozen in place. My voice was pleading, breaking as I barked out orders. I tore at my shirt, wrapping the fabric around her wrist in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. I had never cried before. Not when I broke my arm or when a family member died, but when I saw my world, my reason for living, slipping from me, I broke. I rested my head against her sticky forehead, my tears dripping onto her lips, my hands pressed against the wounds, fighting with a death clock I couldn’t see in my attempt to fix her.

My life without Jasmine is nonexistent. There is no me without her. And lost in the mindset of losing her, the story of Romeo and Juliet now makes sense. Because who am I if the one I love is no more? What is life when every breath I take is one more she doesn’t? What is a celebration of my life without her? Who am I without her?

Nothing.

Staying away from her for the last couple years has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. She needed to grow, to heal. To feel the rays of sunshine sink into her skin, feel the whispers of happiness. She needed to find herself. I may have found myself in her, but she had to endure this journey alone.

She sits beside me, alcohol bottle hanging from the tips of her fingers as she stares at the ocean. “You’re a trigger for me, Easton,” she whispers, taking a sip from the glass bottle.

I swallow, my chest constricting, metaphorical wounds slashing open in my chest. I release a cloud of smoke. “You don’t mean that.”

She lets out a small laugh. “Yeah, I do. When I’m with you, I feel like I’m drowning. When you’re gone, every breath feels like razor blades in my lungs. You’re a trigger. I just haven’t decided if you’re a good one or a bad one.”

“Take all the time you want, I’m not going anywhere.” My hand skates across the sand, finding her free one, tangling our fingers together.

“I’m scared, Easton. To love, to let you back in. To feel… anything. Because what if it’s all too much and I relapse again?”

My chest tightens. I turn to her, releasing her hand to cup the back of her neck. Slowly, the bottle slips from her fingers, the waves taking it away as I gently lower her to the sand, my body over hers, our noses touching as I stare into her eyes. “What is life without a little risk? What is love without hardship? What are we without each other? If you fall, I’ll pick you back up. If life becomes too hard, give it to me. The worry, the pain, give it all to me to help carry the burden.” A tear slips down her cheek and I brush it away. “You will never battle your demons alone again, Jasmine.”

My lips connect with hers, a salty sweet, slow kiss.

“I’m not ready,” she whispers.

“Then wait with me.”

We lay on the sand, her body cradling into mine, the stars flickering in and out in the sky. The breeze from the water caressing our skin.

And we wait.

CHAPTER 28

JASMINE

Where is your headspace, Jasmine?

How do you feel?

Two years clean of cutting is great, but do you think you’ll relapse?

Are you sad?

My headspace is cloudy at the moment. I feel like I want to leap but am too afraid of the fall to do so. Yes, two years without self-mutilation is great. Will I relapse? Honestly, I hope not and if I continue my medication and practice my exercises when I’m triggered by something, then I should be fine. I am a little sad. Sometimes I get tired of the constant battle to just be okay. To care about everything around me, to not feel alone in a crowded room. I don’t want to die, and the other feelings come and go; they’re not as constant as they were in the past.

And then there is Easton. Who patiently waits for me from afar. To tell the truth, I’m tired of the distance. I just… want him and whatever challenges that may come with being with him. I’m ready to rise above everything and conquer them.

Ezra brings me back to reality with a hug. “Now watch me kick these Rebels’ asses.” She winks, strutting to her car, climbing in. Her car roars to life, and she revs the engine, taunting her competitor. I grin, shaking my head at her. Tires squeal as the flag drops. Both cars taking off with dangerous speed. I watch her taillights until she’s out of sight.

They are racing around town. Thank God it is around three in the morning and there is no traffic. I don’t want anyone to get hurt. The Rebel MC are lined up against a brick wall, the dark leather and motorcycles a harsh contrast to the white backdrop. Axel laughs around a cigarette at his blond friend who wears a bandana to keep his hair out of his face. Axel looks over, a happy smile spreading across his face as he waves at me. I wave back. I will always be grateful to Axel. He really helped me out with the whole drug thing. I can’t imagine the type of people I would have come across if it wasn’t for him. Don’t get me wrong, Axel is not a good guy. More or less, the better of two evils.

When I look over, I see Easton up against his own car as a blonde stands between his legs. She’s whispering in his ear, and I see him smile. His real smile. The smile that belongs to me. To my utter shock, the girl gets on the tips of her toes and lays her mouth over his. A simmering haze clouds over my eyes, my body shaking, fists clenched. My heart splinters, shattering into a thousand pieces that cut everything inside of me.

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