†
The bass pound like a second heartbeat, rattling my ribs. Another cocktail burns down my throat like a swallowed match, but no matter how many shots I stomach tonight, nothing lifts me. No numbness, no highness, no drunkenness-just a slow descent, glass after glass.
I tip the rim to my lips again and force down one more swallow before turning towards the crowd, then catch the glimpse of a living ache I have tried to numb.
Beatrice.
She glows under the disco light. Hair in waves I used to trace with my fingers. Smile still engineered to gut me.
Of course she's perfect-flawless in all the ways that once belonged to me.
She belongs to someone else now, I should turn away.
God knows I tried to forget her, tried to forget the way I shoved her out of my orbit and straight into someone else's arms.
But forgetting is a myth.
You don't move on until you've actually moved and I'm still right here, rooted in my ruin.
She sees me.
And just like that, her face blooms-lit from the inside, as if my presence still means something to her.
And I? I forget how to breathe. I can't even fake indifference. I just stand there, caught.
Then she starts toward me, dragging her new man through the pulsing crowd like a leash in her hand-as if she's parading a prize, or maybe just showing me what I threw away.
And I deserve every second of it.
"Hey, Jessie, glad you made it," she beams, pressing close to Francis, who slings an arm possessively around her.
Once, my hands claimed that waist-and now, when he wraps himself around her, I can't even tear the words from my throat.
My gaze drifts from their interlaced hands to their bright, mocking grins-and I summon a crooked smile.
"I said I'd come...and here I am. Happy birthday, Francis."
My grin stretches, and so does his.
"Aww, thank you, Jessie... You look great by the way," his gaze does a lazy, appreciative crawl down my body.
And just like that, I remember exactly why I hate him. Not because he's standing where I used to be. Not even because she lets him. But because he thinks his words are harmless.
Thinks he's offering praise, not igniting landmines.
My glamour smile doesn't just falter-it dies. And in the breath between his compliment and my silence, as I stare into their perfectly ordinary, human depths, the floor of my reality falls out from under me.
And I become aware of just how un-human I am.
Suddenly, I'm moving, reaching for the DJ's mic before my mind registers the move-feedback rips the room open, demanding attention. Then the spotlight finds me.
A savage grin hijacks my lips and I scream into the mic.
"Hello, Arizona!"
The crowd roars, raising their plastic cups in a toast as if they've just been handed a reason to celebrate.
I laugh softly, scanning them one by one. There's Beatrice. Naomi. Rita. My freshman roommates-who saw a party girl and nothing more. Then there's Julia. Sara. And Lynx-the friends I plucked like petals from school and compelled into loving me.
And then-my gaze catches on him.
He's leaning against the far wall like the night built him there.
Low haircut, clean and severe, the kind you see on men who don't need noise to make a point.
He's all brute restraint-shoulders broad beneath a faded black tee, arms folded tight across his chest like a gate that doesn't open for just anyone.
At first glance, he doesn't look like trouble.
No tattoos coiling down his neck. No glint of silver in his brow or lip, or ears.
None of that wolfish grin men wear when they want the world to know how easily they destroy it.
He's still.
Unimpressed.
The room is full of chaos-cheers, shrieks, bodies crashing into each other like waves drunk on themselves. But not him.
He doesn't join it. He watches.
Not like the others-eyes flicking over ass and legs.
And his eyes don't roam, they rest.
And in that stillness, I feel seen in a way that feels less like recognition, and more like fate dragging its nails down my spine.
As if, in the ruins of this night, he's found what he came for.
And it's me.
"My name is Jessica..."
I say it sweetly, like the last lullaby before the slaughter, and the air around me warps as I offer one final, twisted benediction.
"And I love you all."
At first, it's a tiny quiver beneath laughter-an imperceptible note out of tune. Then the air distends, as if swollen with dread. One by one, they convulse-skin ballooning until the seams of bone protest. Laughter mutates into strangled screams; tongues swell, voices choke. Flesh bubbles, blisters bloom across their skin.
And the-pop!
A blood bath unfurls, fragments of them tearing free-chunks of flesh, splintered bone. It rains warmth and ruin, baptizing me in the blood of my twisted communion. It drips into the folds of my dress, streaks along my arms
I wipe my face with the back of my hand and smile at the silence, my gaze dropping to the floor now slick with what used to be people.
My eyes rise again to the figure leaning on the wall. He's drenched in their remains but doesn't move. And he's alive.
He doesn't blink, he doesn't flinch. Not even when the room starts to rupture-people bursting like overripe fruit. Blood paints him head to toe, but he doesn't wipe his face, he just stands there looking at me.
A laugh claws its way out of me, raw and ragged, and I step through the ruin, out into the night, leaving the slaughter behind.
Out on the street, drenched and dripping, the cop cruises past before screeching to a halt. A voice crackles from its speaker. I stop, my body turning with the slow grace of something moving through water.
His mistake? Our eyes meet and he doesn't look away.
His eyes start to steam-actually steam-and then boil, like his skull's cooking from the inside out. He screams, but there's no sound.
I stretch out a hand and his walkie-talkie rips from his dash into my waiting palm.
I bring it to my lips. "Go to sleep."
His head slumps over the wheel, along with anyone else unfortunate enough to be listening.
I walk two more blocks, then reach into the air and tear it open. A portal opens and I step through. It drops me into the dead quiet of a cemetery. And in the cemetery, there's only one grave that matters.
I halt before a tombstone where a black rose lays besides it. Gemma Rollins. Gone but not in our hearts.
My hand instinctively goes to my belly. There's no scar, no mark. But the ache is still there, a ghost pain that never leaves.
"I know it's lonely, sweetheart. But don't worry... mommy is here to keep you company..." My chest tightens. "Mommy will find whoever did this to you, and then, you'll decide what mommy does to him."
I conjure a single black rose, its petals the color of a starless night, and kneel to place it on the cold granite next to the other dead ones.
Again, another future is stolen from me before it could even begin. I close my eyes and there she is-small, perfect, weightless in my arms. I'd rock her gently like a mother does, humming nonsense songs that make her blink up at me.
And when she's eight: "Mummy," she'd giggle sweetly, and then reach for my face with the kind of love no one teaches but the kind you're born knowing.
She was to live.
She was supposed to live because I saw her grow up. But unfortunately, the kicks didn't bring her closer to life, they ripped her away from me.
Hand still resting above my belly, "I still feel you, Gemma," I whisper, the words cracking as blood and tears trace the same path down my face. "My sweet baby."
I dig my nails deep into the dirt, desperate to feel something real, to stop myself from falling apart again. But the more I think about her and how she died, the more everything inside me starts to shift.
And then I'm screaming again.
Erasing everything on this pathetic planet again, until I'm the only one left standing in the ashes.
Or so I think.
I'm forgetting the one person that always follow me, no matter where I go. I turn and he's there.
I turn now and I see him again, looking at me from the destruction I've made. Always looking at me.
"Stay the hell away from me! Why can't you just leave me alone?!" I roar at him, to protect him, maybe. But he doesn't move
And again, I snatch the timeline, reeling it back with a violent tug, pulling it past the apocalypse, past the screaming cop, past the massacre, until I land with a jolt back in the center of the room, the microphone cold and solid in my hand.
"Hello, Arizona!"
I shout again, and then rewind.
Over and over and over again until the rage turns to exhaustion and the memory finally fades-for now.
And yes. I'm having a blast in college.
Back in the club, I blink back into the present. My glamoured smile returning back on like it never vanished.
"Thank you, Francis. You're looking good too." I say softly, and then use my hand to physically push a space between him and Beatrice so I can see the stripper swaying by the pole.
"I see you've met Freya?" Beatrice asks, eyes on me.
"I haven't," I say, my eyes locked on the dancer's fluid motion. "But I want her."
"That can be arranged,"
Francis smirked, already moving away to make it happen.
"You two look happy."
I mutter, taking a sip before looking up. But she doesn't meet my eyes for a second.
"Yes..." She sighs. "He loves me... Unlike someone who finds it hard to say a simple word like 'I love you'. Francis says it to me all the time."
I smile, knowing where she's getting at. "Well... at least you got what you've always wanted. Someone with balls."
Now she looks at me. "You know what, Francis is right. You're looking good now. Care to tell me why?"
Our eyes lock. "Let's just say... That the glamour fits perfectly."
I know I miss her, but again it hurts to have this conversation with her. If I see any means to escape this tension I will.
I barely finished the sentence in my head before Naomi, Rita, and Sara glide over like they've been waiting for their cue.
I wanted an escape plan, not chaos on heels and skirts. I'm already groaning in my head when Rita aims for the first jab.
"Jessie," she began, head tilting toward the far wall, "you brought your little bodyguard to party with us?"
I groan, already regretting being here. "Okay. Who told him I'd be here?" My eyes sweep over each of them.
"Which one of you sold me out?"
"Who are we talking about?" Sara squints, following Beatrice and Naomi's line of sight.
"Someone who keeps showing up where he's not wanted," I mutter, already tired.
"You see that guy leaning on the wall over there.?" Rita points, smirking like this is a game. "His name is Abel."
"And apparently, he's into Jessie," Naomi continues, first glancing at me. "But Jessie won't even look at him."
"Ohhh, I see," Sara mutters, sipping her beer. "Why not just tell him to leave?"
"Yes, Jessie, go send him away," Rita says, clearly enjoying herself.
Naomi throws a hand on Sara's shoulder, laughing."She has tried. But every time she pushes, he pulls closer. The kid, though innocent, appears to be persistent and clingy."
I groan, more tired than angry. "If I'd known he'd be here, I'd have stayed in bed."
Rita throws her hand in the air. "He is only here because of you, isn't that obvious? I still say give the church boy a shot."
"A church boy?" Sara frowns.
I turn to Rita, deadpan. "Are you drunk? What exactly am I supposed to do with an oversized kid?" I jab a finger toward his direction. "How am I supposed to flirt with him without using bible verses?"
Rita shrugs. "I don't know, mi amor. Use whatever charm you've got left. Because from where I'm standing, he looks pretty locked in. And he's not going to leave."
"Yeah," Naomi nods.
"I think he wants you to take advantage of him. Jessie. Why not start from there."
My gaze swivels to Beatrice and she quickly looks away.
"So?" Sara asks. "What do you say, Jessie-"
"Guys, he's coming. Shhh."
Beatrice nudges after my third drink.
Rita snorts, "It's past Mama's bedtime already?"
"Shut your apples, Rita," I hiss, my face burning.
"Good evening, ladies."His head dips, the neon cuts off as his shadow spills across us.
"Hi, Abel," Naomi beams.
"Want a drink?" Sara offers, already reaching for a cup.
He shakes his head.
"No, thank you."
Naomi leans in.
"So, what brings you here?"
Abel's eyes met mine.
"Only Jessie? Naomi whines, pouting her lips.
I say nothing, but my stare sharpens in on her fingers as they work their way up Abel's arm, as if testing for sparks.
Abel watches the fingers but doesn't react to anything.
See? That's the problem right there.
I don't need another stone-faced statue in my orbit. I've collected enough unfeeling men to last me several lifetimes. What I need now, is something alive. I want someone who feels, who breathes, who leans into a touch, who doesn't fight his feelings. Not this emotionally bankrupt statue.
And yet, I see him in my future and I wonder why. But it's actually a good thing that I don't believe in visions anymore.
And I'm not worried.
Because I'm certain that sooner or later, something or someone, is going to take him out for me. And maybe then, I'll finally stop grinding my teeth when I think of him.
Francis joins us, grinning like an idiot. "Good news, Jessie! You're in luck, Freya's free for you tonight." He stops, glances up at Abel, then to me. "The question is... are you?"
I think I hear Rita's scoff, the smirk on her face saying she's already scripting how this ends-and it's not with me winning. But I'm not losing tonight. I'll cheat if I have to. My eyes shift from Francis to Abel and then back.
"I am-"
"She's not."
The whole group falls silent, but their expressions never changed. Apart from Beatrice who suddenly buries her face into her drink. And I'm not talking about Rita, who is clearly enjoying this.
"Excuse me?" I lift a brow.
"We're going home, Jessica."
"I'm sorry, who employed you as my weekend dad?"
He turns to the girls. "Naomi. Beatrice. Rita. Umm-"
"Sara," she mutters, raising a hand.
"Sara," he repeats, then nods at Francis. "Sir." And just like that, his hand clamps around my wrist. "We're leaving."
"Oh no, you are!" I shout, twisting in his grip, but he only tightens it. "Let go of me!"
He looks at me for a moment, probably asking for permission before he assaults me, and when I don't offer any, he lifts my arm, draping it over his shoulder before hauling me up effortlessly. The ground drops away, and I catch a glimpse of Rita and Naomi's slack jaws, while my face burns with shame.
Did my eyes give him the wrong command? How does this face reading thing work?
"Abel! Put me down!"
I pound on his back with my elbow, also clinging to him with my other hand. You don't realize how high up you are until someone actually sweeps you off your feet-and then starts moving.
I hold him tighter, "Abel, I said put me down!"
"Abel, do not put her down or she'll kill you," Rita chirps, too amused to let it go.
"Abel?"
Beatrice's quiet voice halts him.
"Make sure she takes her sleeping pills. She has nightmares without them."
I actually thought she had something better to say, but of course she told him. The second anyone acts like they care, she unloads my worst parts into their lap-including the one I'd rather see take a long walk off a short cliff.
Thirty minutes later, and we still haven't gotten any vehicle.
Abel decides to walk, and I'm stuck on his back, faking indifference while he carries me home. Normally, I'd portal myself there in seconds, but how can I do that when he's carrying me?
I've got no choice but to pretend I'm too tired to complain, just so I won't have to talk to him.
After a while, his pace slows, then stops completely. A minute passes, maybe two.
He glances back, barely enough to meet my eyes. "Jessica..." His voice is low, rough at the edges, but something tender creeps in. "Jessica?"
"I'm still alive," I mumble, still pretending.
He continue his slow walk.
"You know," I start. "I don't get you."
He keeps walking without saying a word.
"How are you not tired? We've been walking for, like, forever."
Still nothing.
"Am I talking to a wall?" I nudge his side with my foot, but he doesn't react.
"Ughhh."
Forty one minutes later-or maybe two-and still no cab in sight. This is one of the reasons why I hate Francis; why would someone in his right senses have a house so far out of town? It was easier using portals to get to the party, but what happens when you're met with a moment like this?
"I can't read your mind," I mutter under my breath, and suddenly he stops, then walks again.
"Everyone's mind is like an open book," I continue. "And I flip through them like pages. That's how I stay safe, you know, from danger."
He stops again.
"Why would anyone want to hurt you?" He asks. His voice is soft, he doesn't even sound exhausted.
I gasp, tightening my grip on his shoulders. "You spoke!" I clear my throat, before resting my head on his back. "I mean... shut up. Don't interrupt me."
He moves again, quiet.
"I'm sorry." He says softly.
I let out a long sigh. "I kinda know what everyone's thinking-what they had for dinner, what they're doing tomorrow... but you? You're a pain in the neck."
"Why?"
I lean in, close enough that my lips brush his ear. "Because I can't read your mind... I don't know what you're thinking. Whether you want to hurt me or not."
"The day I hurt you... Is the day I die."
If only words could freeze a soul, I'd be trapped for eternity. But his words don't just send shivers down my spine, it makes it burn too.
The drinks. It has to be the drinks. There's no way his words are getting to me.
"Well, good for you," I force out, trying to keep my cool. "But I know you won't hurt me, because I'm going to hurt you first... Like this!"
My teeth find his earlobe and I bite lightly.
But then the shiver that runs through him is full-body.
He shudders so hard his grip looses around my thighs, and I squeal in surprise, clutching him tight.
"Abel! You almost dropped me!"
He doesn't speak, he just breathes hard, like his soul just left and he's trying to reel it back into his body.
"I'm-I'm sorry." he whimpers.
What's up with him?
"Abel?" I lean down, trying to see his face. "Are you okay? I can feel your pulse from back here."
But he doesn't answer, instead he staggers forward.
"Okay, back in your shell of silence, got it. But would you at least put me down when you get tired?"
Ten minutes later.
"Abel, put me down."
Fifteen minutes later.
"Abel... Please put me down."
Another extra hour later.
"Abel, I command you."
Three hours later, and even I have become too exhausted to keep track of time. Too exhausted to do anything at all.
My lashes flutter once, twice-each blink syncing with his quiet footsteps as the world wobbles at the edges, heavy with a sleep I didn't invite.
Or probably because I'm finally starting to get comfortable on his back.
But just far ahead, my apartment complex cuts through the blur like an anchor, and that's enough to let me drift now. Obviously not because I trust him but because I can see home, about second streets away.
I count numbers in my head, each one matching the rhythm of his stride.
And then-My body sinks.
The sofa cushions catch me. When I open my eyes, Abel is crouched in front of me, kneeling on one knee. A glass of water in one hand, a small white pill resting in the palm of the other.
I press my palm to my forehead and slowly lift myself upright. My voice scratches out.
"How did we-how long was I out?"
My eyes flick toward the door, securely shut. Back to him.
"And how the hell did we get inside?"
He tilts his head, as if the question's strange. "Through the door."
I blink.
"Yeah, genius. But you need a code."
"You gave it to me," he says.
"Then you told me where you keep your pills."
A tight, quiet noise tears from my throat. "What?" I rake my fingers into my hair, trying to grasp a memory that isn't there.
"When did I do that?"
"Take your medicine, Jessica," he says, offering the pill again.
"Then go to sleep."
"I'm changing my passcode."I mutter under my breath, snatching it from him.
He doesn't react, only nods, his gaze gliding between my hand and my face.
I blink once, then twice.
Sleep.
I have to believe it is just some deep, instantaneous sleep, because the alternative-any other explanation-leans into territory I'm not willing to touch. If I weren't the only witch alive, I'd think he enchanted me, dragged me through some goddamn portal while the world spun sideways.
"Jessica," he whispers, his voice pulling me from my thoughts.
I press the pill to my tongue and chase it down with water.
He rises slowly, like he doesn't want to wake the silence in the room. "Good night, Jessica."
Wait, what?
He can't be serious.
He can't just leave, not when it's quiet enough to finally hear his heartbeat. Not when it's just us after a really long time.
"Aren't you going to ask?"My words slips out, quieter than I expected.
He stops, but he doesn't turn.
That's fine. Maybe I couldn't look him in the eye right now even if I tried. Not after everything. Not after swearing I'd never cross the line of speaking to him again. Never cross the line to hope. To wait.
But still-
"You were not just an oversized church kid to me, you were a friend and we were close... closer than I was with anyone that mattered. Beatrice was close to becoming my best friend but you were much closer to me than her. Aren't you going to ask why I hate you now?"
The room holds its breath.
He doesn't move. He doesn't speak.
"Abel." My voice sharpens. I rise to my feet.
"Say something."
"Go to sleep, Jessica."
"No." I swallow, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Answer me. Why do you think I hate you?"
He continues his walk, his hand reaching for the doorknob.
"Walk out that door—and it's over."
He stops, lowering his hand. "You don't hate me, Jessica," His voice lowers. "But I wish you did."
I tilt my head, confused. "What?"
He turns with the slow gravity of someone forcing himself to look at what hurts, jaws sharpens under the weight of restraint, clenching as if every word he swallows is a blade.
"You don't punish those you truly hate, Jessica, you put a knife through their heart. So if you hate me, let me rot in silence, not suffer in your gaze."
The room holds its breath with me.
"You think this is some kind of punishment?"
A bitter shake of the head,
"No...this is torment; watching you become someone you're not, watching you fall apart and be ordered not to look away."
The glint in his eyes dulls, deadening into something cold like glass as tears climb to the edge but never fall.
"That's not punishment, Jessica. It's torture. And even now... I'm still trying to make amends for what I did."
"What you did," I step forward, the sound of my heel biting into the silence.
"What exactly did you do?"
"No,"
His voice thins, shaking his head again as he lifts his hand halfway between us, palm trembling like it wants to block the blow before it lands.
"Jessica, please-"
"I want to hear it." Another step forward. I don't realize I've moved until I feel the tension shift between us.
"Let's see if you even know what you did."
He draws a breath so slow it almost burns.
"I shouldn't have kept you waiting," he admits.
"I knew I wasn't coming back out. And still... I told you to wait."
He swallows.
"And you did. You waited. Even when it rained. Even after the rain stopped. You stood there-convinced I'd return. But I never did. And now you're punishing me."
Silence slips in.
"You're forgetting something," I say quietly.
"You never offered an explanation. You never knocked at my door once. Never asked if I was okay."
My voice trembles-but I steady it with fury.
"You just... left."
"I was a coward." His voice breaks for real now.
"I was ashamed to knock. To look you in the eye, after what you became... I thought you'd treat me like you did Luther."
"Luther?" I almost let out a laugh.
"Luther didn't know me half as much as you did. But he still came. He showed up. He saw me falling apart and he asked why. Asked why I stopped talking to people, why I wore a dead girl's expression for months. Why I iced out everyone who tried."
I breathe.
"My freshman year turned into a horror show... because someone I thought was my friend didn't even see me as his."
My voice drops like ash.
"And now you think showing up with charm and timing is enough to erase that?"
He takes a step closer without permission. Then another, slowly bridging the gap between us until the ground spins and I almost reach out for support.
"So, If you're going to hate me-do it hard. Don't hold back."
His voice hardens, lips close enough for his words to braid into my pulse, enough to taste his breath.
"And if you're going to punish me, Jessica... then do it properly."
"I will..."
I tilt my chin upward, forcing myself to meet the heat burning in his gaze. His eyes dare me to break first, but I don't.
"After I forgive you."
Then I turn.
His challenge is silent yet it pounds through the room like thunder. And I know he expects fire in return.
But not tonight.
The medicine is already taking effect, I need to let it do its work.
"Goodnight, Abel." I murmur as my hand brushes the frame of my bedroom door.