Page 50 of Summer Breakdown
Jasmine sits up. “What?”
Frankie blinks, her mouth wet. “I just—I didn’t know if you wanted to—like last time.”
Oh. She does remember. Of course she fucking remembers.
Jasmine found a random fact deep on Wikipedia that hasn’t been referenced in years, and she took that to mean Frankie didn’t remember. She would have gotten laughed out of college for using it.
Frankie just doesn’t care about her enough to talk to her about that night.
“What?” Frankie asks, her eyes wide. “What’s wrong?”
Jasmine shuffles, ungracefully getting off her face.
“Sweetheart, talk to me, please.”
Jasmine huffs out a laugh as she pulls her top back on. God, she’s so fucking stupid. She pulls her skirt back down.
“Jasmine.”
“I just—I’m not in the mood.”
“Did I do something?” Frankie asks, and she looks like Jasmine is sure she looked when Frankie ran out and left her.
“No,” Jasmine whispers. “That’s the point.”
“Jasmine, please,” she begs.
Jasmine wants to leave. She wants to run out and let Frankie overthink every single second of this night. But Jasmine cares about Frankie. The thought that she’d worry about it weighs on her heart, which makes it worse that Frankie doesn’t care about her. Jasmine runs her hand over her face as she looks at Frankie on the blanket, still topless, still unreasonably sexy, still saying absolutely nothing.
“Do you remember the night we were together?” Jasmine asks.
“Of course I do.” Frankie frowns. It should make Jasmine feel better, but the admission hits her in the chest like Frankie should have when she tried to take her down.
Jasmine huffs. “Imagine I leave now,” she whispers, “and I don’t tell you why, and I never mention it again, even though you have asked me to.”
Frankie’s face falls. Good. Jasmine’s tired of being here alone.
“I would never do that to you,” Jasmine says, pulling her lip between her teeth. She looks up at the stars, tries to find the strength they give Frankie. It doesn’t come, but Frankie’s anxiety does, and Jasmine doesn’t want to hurt her.
“So,” she says, steeling herself with a swallow, “I need you to know that you didn’t do anything wrong. Not tonight, and not the last time either. I’m not physically hurt. I just can’t do it again. I’ve never slept with a woman before and I am overthinking every touch I make because I’m terrified I was awful last time, or you were bored, or I did something youdidn’t want—something that made you want to leave me half-naked in bed.”
“What?” Frankie asks, her voice broken. She doesn’t say anything else. Jasmine didn’t expect her to.
“You know,” Jasmine says, wrapping her arms across her body like it can protect her heart, “I convinced myself you had a low moment and didn’t remember it, because it’s so much easier than thinking you do remember and you don’t care enough about me to talk about it.”
“I do care about you,” Frankie says, but the declaration gets swept away with the breeze.
“I don’t know how to get it out of my mind,” Jasmine whispers. “I am trying to get over it and let it go. I want to be your friend, but I need you to give me something. We see each other all the time, and it’s…” Jasmine’s face drops.
“Don’t you think it hurts me? Don’t you care that it upsets me?”
“Yes,” Frankie replies rapidly. Jasmine wants to believe her. “I do care. I hate that I did anything that made you sad. I’m sorry I left.”
“I know you are,” Jasmine replies. “You should always leave if you want. I don’t care that you left. I care that you haven’t said anything.”
“Oh.”
“I have asked you directly, and indirectly, and you just—“
