24. Jasmine
JASMINE
The last month has been a slow, gnawing kind of pain.
The kind that doesn’t announce itself with screaming or sobbing, just settles deep into your bones and makes a home there.
I’ve been pushing Brooke away—not outright, not cruelly, just with silence.
With distance. With excuses that sound thin even to me.
And outside of the occasional meme exchange that makes me exhale a little harder than usual, nothing’s made me smile.
I know because Landon’s been trying like it’s his goddamn mission in life.
Like if he stacks enough dumb jokes and soft touches on top of each other, they’ll finally be enough to break through whatever shell I’ve grown around myself.
He’s been a walking disaster—shirtless dance routines, dramatic readings of cereal boxes, turning my darkest hours into his personal stand-up set—and still, it’s not enough.
There’s an emptiness inside me, and it’s growing by the day.
Expanding like a bruise that keeps getting hit.
A silence that keeps getting louder. And Conner?
He’s a ghost. I haven’t even tried to reach out.
I don’t know if I can see him again after he ran away from me.
I reached for him, clouded by the darkness of the nightmare and he ran.
I can’t face him now, because I can barely face myself.
The nightmares have come back worse than ever. That night has become clearer than ever.
I am thirteen. My shorts are torn. My hands are shaking and red—red like rust, like ruin, like rage.
Boyfriend number four is dead at my feet.
His eyes are open, lips parted like he’s about to crack one of his disgusting jokes, but nothing comes out except a slow, wet breath that never finishes.
My fingers still clutch the handle of the kitchen knife, slick with blood, like I’m afraid to let go or maybe afraid of what I’ve become if I do.
I can’t hear anything except the throb of my own pulse.
The kitchen light flickers above me, casting everything in yellow.
My mother’s scream is just white noise—distant and sharp and useless.
The whole trailer smells like metal and fear, and I just…
stand there. Eyes empty. Face blank. I am hollow and wide-eyed and gone.
And then I’m screaming.
The dream fractures with the sound of it.
My throat rips open with the force of the scream as I jolt upright, breath ragged and shallow.
I don’t know where I am at first, only that the sunlight peaks through the blinds and there’s warmth all around me.
I thrash before I register the weight holding me in place—strong arms, solid chest, the steady beat of a heart not my own.
“Peach,” Landon whispers, groggy but urgent. “It’s just a dream, you’re here—you’re safe.”
He’s behind me, his chest pressed to my back, one of his arms coiled tightly around my waist, the other hooked under my neck like a makeshift cradle.
My legs are tangled with his, our bodies molded together like we were built to fit this way.
His breath is warm against the nape of my neck, his voice low and heavy with sleep.
“You’re safe,” he repeats, firmer now, as he presses a kiss to my temple and gently rocks us, like he can sway the memory out of me.
But I still feel the blood on my fingers. I still hear the knife clatter to the floor. I still see those lifeless eyes. I still wonder who that night has made me become.
Landon kisses my temple, the grip around my waist loosening as he whispers in my ear. “Peach, you can’t keep these nightmares up.”
“You don’t have to sleep in here with me.” I whisper, pulling his hand up to my mouth.
“I will stay here as long as you want,” he grumbles into the crook of my neck before placing a chaste kiss there. “And when you're ready, you can tell me why you have nightmares.”
I shift slowly, carefully turning in his arms until I’m facing him.
His ocean-blue eyes blink down at me through the low light, still heavy with sleep, but alert now—searching.
My fingers graze the curve of his jaw, rough with stubble, and for a moment I just breathe him in.
Salt and smoke. Something like pine. Like safety.
“I killed him,” I whisper, voice barely audible over the whir of the ceiling fan. “When I was thirteen.”
His brows knit together, lips parting—but he doesn’t interrupt.
“My mom’s boyfriend,” I go on, the words scraping their way out of me. “He… he touched me. Hurt me. I told her. She didn’t care. Or she didn’t believe me. Or maybe she did and just… didn’t want to deal with it.”
I pause, blinking back the tears that threaten to rise again. My fingers dig into the soft cotton of his shirt. “So one night, he cornered me in the kitchen. I got scared, grabbed a knife, and I stabbed him.”
Landon doesn’t say anything. His whole body goes rigid—like every nerve inside him is on high alert. His arm tightens around my waist, protective and still.
“I didn’t even cry. Not then. I just stood there while he bled out on the crappy carpet. And you know what the worst part is?” I shake my head, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. “I didn’t feel bad. Not really. I felt... relief. Like I could breathe for the first time.”
I drop my gaze, ashamed, my breath catching in my throat.
“I’m a monster, Landon.”
“No,” he says immediately, voice like a growl. He shifts, one hand cradling my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. “You are not a monster, Peach.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” he snaps, and there’s something raw behind it. “I know monsters, Jasmine. I see them in the mirror every goddamn day. I live with one inside me. A beast that wants blood and chaos and revenge. And the only time he’s quiet—the only time I can fucking breathe—is when I’m with you.”
His thumb traces the edge of my cheek, soft but grounding. “You were a child. You did what you had to do to survive. That doesn’t make you a monster. It makes you the bravest person I’ve ever met.”
My lips part, but nothing comes out. The breath I’ve been holding slips out in a shaky exhale, and I press my forehead to his.
Landon doesn’t pull away. He just breathes with me, his hand still holding the back of my neck, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles against my skin like he knows I need the world to slow down.
I relax into his grip. My limbs are heavy with the kind of exhaustion that doesn’t just come from lack of sleep—it comes from surviving. His warmth is the only thing anchoring me right now.
Then his phone buzzes once on the nightstand.
Neither of us move.
It buzzes again.
Landon exhales through his nose like he’s considering ignoring it, but after the third buzz, he leans away just enough to grab the phone, still keeping one hand on my hip like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.
He answers, voice low and scratchy. “Yeah?”
There’s a pause. Then a smile curves across his lips.
“Nooo,” he says, dragging the word out. “She’s with me now. Yeah, she’s safe.”
I blink up at him, confused, but the glow in his eyes makes my stomach flip.
He chuckles. “We’ll be there in thirty. Tell her not to be dramatic.”
My brows pull together. “Who?”
He doesn’t answer—not right away. Just hangs up and sets the phone back on the nightstand. Then he shifts, tugging the blanket off my shoulders and easing me up into a sitting position.
“Come on,” he says, that secret smile still lingering on his face. “Get dressed.”
“Landon—what’s going on?”
He leans in, brushing his nose against mine. “I have a surprise for you.”
My pulse jumps. “What kind of surprise?”
“The best kind,” he winks, sliding out of the bed. “Meet me in the living room in five minutes.”
I slide into the elevator, eyes narrowed on Landon’s smug face.
He has been humming “Old McDonald” and winking at me whenever he sees me looking at him.
My irritation has been at an all-time high, which is saying something given that I have basically been giving him googly eyes and finding comfort in his presence more than normal.
I fling my fishtail braid over my shoulder and look at his annoyingly cute face.
“So we’re back to you kidnapping me and dragging me to Cast’s penthouse in the city?” I mock, tucking my hands into his leather jacket—which I’ve now commandeered as my own—and leaning against the far wall.
He clicks his tongue and yawns. “I have never kidnapped you, Peach. You followed me here of your own free will.”
“Did I?” I snort, kicking one foot up. “Because if I remember correctly, you said if I didn’t get into your car, you would throw me over your shoulder and carry me. Isn’t that correct?”
“Mmm,” he hums, moving closer to me. “You really like me.”
“I thought I did,” I suck in air between my teeth and shrug. “But you just keep pissing me off.”
Landon’s in my space again, a smug look on his face. “I like you pissed off.”
“I bet you do,” I lean in closer. “Now do you want me to knee you in the balls or just scratch your eyes out?”
“Both, baby,” he smiles so bright I want to punch him in his stupid face. “Besides, you won’t mess up your boyfriend’s face.”
“B-boyfriend?” I stutter, just as the elevator door dings open, and he slides out with a large grin—because not once has Landon ever asked, nor have I ever said, that Landon Heart is my fucking boyfriend.
I don’t want that. I mean, yeah, we spend every day together, and he makes me feel safe, and I stole his jacket, and I love the way he smells, and—holy shit—Landon Heart is my boyfriend.
“What’s up, Casty?” Landon sings as I follow him out of the elevator.
Cast glares at him, nostrils flared in annoyance. “Don’t call me that, Landon, unless you want your teeth knocked in.”
Landon chuckles, looking around with a look of pure amusement. “Damn, does everyone have to be so touchy today?”