Page 69 of Burn for Me

I’m just like everyone else.

-Jasmine

I glance up at the sky, pausing my steady brush strokes against the fabric in my hands. It's a stark contrast to what I usually prefer. Instead of stars emerging to illuminate the night, they are fading away under the bright beams of light that rise slowly, casting warmth over the vast city.

After our bath last night, Sam brought me a plate of food and checked the bandage he had placed on my backside. I haven't seen what it looks like back there, and I'm not in any hurry tofind out. Sleep evaded me throughout the night; I couldn't drift off no matter how long I wrote because a bare, scarred chest wasn’t pressed against my cheek, and the steady, rough thump of a heartbeat wasn’t against my ear.

Eventually, I gave up and decided to see what kept him from joining me in bed. To my surprise, I found him on the couch, his laptop sprawled across his lap and soft snores escaping his nose. I had no intention of waking him, so I gathered the supplies for his mask and headed up to the roof.

I flick my attention back to the work as I finish painting the white markings, shifting to my side to relieve the pressure on my butt cheek. For the longest time, I hadn’t touched Sam’s balaclava; I didn't know what to do with it. But now, I can't think of anything better for him.

Dipping the brush back into the red paint, I glance over the wet markings, silently praying they don’t fade as they dry. It’s not perfect by any means—some paint has splattered on the hem, and a few lines look shaky—but I think it fits him.

It fits us.

A strange noise catches my attention, prompting me to glance over my shoulder. But I’m still alone, so I refocus my gaze on the sky. It's unusual for me; I've always loved the sunshine. The warmth feels like it could burn away all my bad feelings, and the light serves as a beacon of hope. However, as I tilt my head to watch the bright sunlight silhouette the tall skyscrapers, I don't feel the usual urge to take a deep breath.

I stand up and walk to the ledge, peering at the chaos below. Horns blare, and cars swerve as people rush along the sidewalk, unaware of the internal turmoil unfolding many stories above them.

This is what I wanted—to fully express myself and prove to those around me and myself that I’m not just a useless pawn in some idiot's game. I want to accomplish the right things insteadof the wrong ones. So why am I still feeling this way? It’s like I’m stuck in limbo. Sam says he forgives me, which gives me a flicker of hope, but that feeling vanishes quickly when I realize I can’t forgive myself. No matter how much I try to justify what I did, I just can’t accept it as a desperate act.

As I step closer to the edge, my knees tremble, and my heart races. Sam's mask shakes in my grip, reminding me he’s not here to catch me if I lean too far. His face flashes through my mind, with memories flickering like a film: the first time his unruly hair fell over his deep brown eyes, offering me safety; the hard stares he gave me when I purposely acted out as if he could see through my intentions; and the ghosts of smirks that accompanied subtle touches.

I lean further, gripping the edge as my hair cascades around my face, tempting the drop below. But the memories that haunt me the most are the ones filled with disgust—moments when I sent his world crashing down. I can still see how his lips curled when he said my name as if it were a curse.

I’m just like everyone else.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes as the world around me falls silent. No matter how many apologies I offer or how hard I try to make amends, it will never be enough. I know I will always be questioned about my loyalty and the sincerity of my words. It only takes one wrong move for him to remember my betrayal—he would relive those seconds and regret all our stolen moments together.

My nails dig into the rigid concrete barrier as I try to pull myself together, but my thoughts are all over the place, making it hard to stay calm. I’m not in hell, and I’m not headed toward a bright light; instead, I’m stuck in this awkward space, watching the chaos I’ve created while trying to deal with stuff that I just can’t control.

I know I’m not a terrible person, but my life hasn’t been great, either. Sure, my choices aren’t always the best, but I never make them with bad intentions.

Good bad. Good bad. Good bad.

The words echo in my ears like the horns I’m sure are blaring below. There’s no way to be one without the other. I can’t beg God or make sacrifices to the devil to choose a side. I want to be good enough to be loved but also bad enough to fight for what I cherish: my family, my team, my friends, myself…Sam. How can I juggle all of this when I’m just one person?

“Jasmine.”

Gasping, I quickly push away from the ledge and stumble back as I look around. Swallowing hard, I take a moment to compose myself, realizing that I’m still alone. Picking up the paints, I calm my breathing and immediately direct my attention to the ledge.

I lied; I’m not alone.I never am.

No matter where I go or what I do, I’ll always have deep brown eyes following my every move. I’ll see a toothy grin that looks like it could bite, reassuring me that I’m strong even when I don’t feel like it. I’ll hear a foul-mouthed comment thrown my way just to draw a laugh. I’ll have a team at my back, ready to fight for me when I cannot do it alone.

Sam. Sharkie. Moe. Even Caspian.

I’ve always protected the family I was born into, but the only one who has remained consistently by my side is the family I found. I am not just one person; I’m an army of masks, each carrying more threats than the last.

Shoving the small containers and brushes into the waistband of my sleep shorts, I head out the door. I squint against the darkness, reaching for the railing while keeping Sam's mask close to my chest.

“You need to work on being aware of your surroundings, Darlin’,” he says.

My heart races, and I worry that if it keeps up like this, I might end up with a heart attack by twenty-four. It doesn’t take long for me to realize who it is, and I relax my shoulders, turning to face him with a straight face.

“You need to work on not hovering so much.”

He gives me one of those almost hidden grins that makes it hard not to smile in return. He walks over slowly, his footsteps echoing, and then he stops, grabbing the fabric of my shirt and pulling me closer.

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