“Why would you want me to…” She broke off with a sharp shake of her head. “You know what I’m like. You know better than anyone what I’m like.”
“Exactly.”
A single word, three syllables, as if it were really that simple. He knew her, and that was why he wanted her in a way she couldn’t live up to. Well, she was glad things were so clear to him. She felt like she’d been hit over the head.
Because she had never deserved that kind of certainty. She hadn’t done a single thing to earn it. And she was too intelligent to convince herself that the power of love, or some such bullshit, could fix all the gaping holes inside her. Only she could fix them, and she was working on it, God damn it.
But she’d been working on it forever, and she still wasn’t better. She wasn’t fixed. She wasn’t safe, and he shouldn’t be looking at her like, that or asking her for this, or treating her so gently when she could tear his heart out.
“I’m not good with relationships,” she said. Understatement of the fucking year. “Any relationship. It’s a miracle we’re still friends.”
He shook his head. “It’s not a miracle, Jas. You’re a good person.”
“Stop it,” she snapped. “You don’t have to tell me that. Just like you don’t have to tell me that I have intimacy issues and I drink my feelings and I corrupt everything around me. I don’t want to wake up one day and realise I fucked up my best friend. I don’t want to hurt you—”
“So don’t.” He made it sound so easy, so reasonable. “Just come home with me, and when you’re ready, we’ll talk. Doesn’t matter how long it takes. Doesn’t matter if you say yes or no. Don’t freak out, Jas.”
He looked so earnest, and so sad, and her heart was kind of breaking at the sight of his beautiful fucking face, and how little he asked of her, and how much he seemed to care, and the pressure was enough to turn coal into diamonds. But not enough to turn her into someone else.
She wished she could get herself under control and tell him—tell him that she adored him, that every time she saw him something another woman might call love threatened to burst free. But she couldn’t say any of that, because what was the point of mentioning love when she wasn’t capable of doing it correctly?
Sour panic coalesced with biting anger, not at Rahul but at the fact that she was here, cornered and spitting like a cat, all because the guy she’d been seeing—call it what it fucking is—wanted to, what? Keep seeing her? Use words that suited adults instead of a scared teenager?
Why did she have to be like this? Why did her chest have to tighten, and her heart have to pound, and her gut have to swirl, and her skin have to burn? Why couldn’t she just be okay?
She stepped towards him, but he didn’t look relieved. Because he knew her, and he knew the look on her face.
“Jas,” he said. “Don’t say something you’re going to regret.”
“I won’t regret this,” she lied. Didn’t matter that it already tasted like ash on her tongue, and she hadn’t even said it yet. Truth was truth. She looked him in the eye and forced herself to say, “What happens when I leave?”
“Jasmine.”
“You know I will. I’ll have to. I’ll have to leave you while it’s still perfect, so it can always be perfect, and if we’re just friends who are fucking, maybe that will be okay, but if we’re anything else—anything more—”
He caught her hand. “I wouldn’t be saying any of this if I wasn’t serious about you.”
She laughed, the sound bitter. “Serious? About me? Sweetheart. You’re too smart for this.”
“Don’t,” he gritted out.
“Don’t what? Don’t be a bitch? Don’t push you away? Don’t protect myself?”
“Don’t treat me like I’m someone else.”
She sucked in a breath. The words were sharp, deliberate, and they cut deep because they were true. She wasn’t treating him like Rahul. She was treating him like her greatest fear. But she couldn’t make herself stop.
“It has nothing to do with who you are,” she whispered. “Nothing alive can last forever, and nothing dead is worth feeling. Whatever it is you need from me, one day the need will fade. When it does, I will react badly. I’m not ready for that. Not with you. I don’t think I ever will be.”
His hands closed around her biceps as if he wanted to shake her, but of course he didn’t. He just pulled her closer, as if proximity could make his reality hers. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice low, his eyes burning. “I am not going to leave you. Ever.”
Her laughter sounded like a sob. “This is what I mean. We’re not even together and you feel like you have to say shit like that. What, do I need marriage before I can feel safe on a fucking date?”
“I would marry you tomorrow,” he said, and he sounded disturbingly serious. “I would marry you, and then I’d take you on a date. I will do whatever you want, whatever you need, as long as I can be with you. And I will never leave.”
“Rahul—”
“Do you know how long I’ve been in love with you?”
She felt like she’d been punched in the gut. Even choked on the breath she tried to drag in, as if a fist had really sunk into her stomach. “You’re not in love with me,” she said, her voice ragged, the world around her tilting slightly.
“Yes I fucking am.” His expression was ferocious and quietly certain all at once. There was that furrow between his brows, the one she’d always wanted to kiss—the one she had kissed. She squeezed her eyes shut and felt a tear leak down her cheek, which was really just the cherry on top of this absolute fucking nightmare.
He brushed a thumb over the tear. “Seven years, Jas. Always. I have always loved you. You’re my best friend, and I need you, and I will never leave. No matter what. Even if you want to forget this ever happened and go back to being friends, I won’t leave.”
She jerked back. “You can’t—you can’t just—seven years?”
He gave a helpless shrug. “I tried to stop. I really, really did. But I couldn’t. So if you ever doubt me just remember, even when I did my absolute best not to love you, I couldn’t manage it. It certainly isn’t going to happen by accident.”
She saw the truth of his words written over his face and felt like she might be sick. All this time. All this time, she’d tried not to want him, tried to be his friend, and he’d been… what?
She pushed him away. Hard. And he clearly hadn’t been expecting it, because he stumbled back against the wall. “Jas—”
“So you were just… hanging around all this time hoping you’d get a chance to fuck me again?”
He set his jaw. “If that’s what I wanted, we never would’ve been friends at all.”
“Right.” She nodded woodenly. “But you decided to play the long game. That’s smart. You’re smart.”
“You don’t really believe that.”
“Don’t I?” She had no idea. Her head was swarming with angry suspicions, and each one had a sting in its tail. She could hardly hear herself over the buzzing in her skull.
“No, you don’t. You know our friendship is real. You know I wouldn’t use you. You know I had no idea that this would happen.” He was achingly still, everything about him rigid, and she knew what that meant. She knew he was in pain, that he didn’t know what to do, that she was hurting him.
Already, she was hurting him. What a fucking surprise.
Almost as quickly as the accusation had formed, she realised how ridiculous it was. Whether he thought he loved her or not, he’d spent seven years being everything she needed. He hadn’t started this.
She’d started this. And look how badly it had fucked everything up. Now her best friend had convinced himself the bond between them was love, which it fucking couldn’t be, because only one person in the world loved her and he was morally obligated and biologically motivated.
“Rahul,” she said finally, when she could work words past the fear lodged in her throat. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t say
that,” he gritted out. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
She shook her head, because she wasn’t about to argue. “I’m going home.” It took him a moment to realise what she meant. Or maybe he only realised when she skirted around him and started climbing the stairs again.
“Jasmine,” he called, low and warning. “Stop.”
“No. My room’s ready. I’ll pick my stuff up tomorrow.” Or the next day. Or fucking never.
“Then let me walk back with you.”
It was dangerous, but she forced herself to turn around and look at him. It was the only way he’d take her next words seriously. “I need you to leave me alone. As of right now. Please.”
If saying it was hard, the look on his face was… Well. She only saw that flash of agony for a split second before he schooled his features into something neutral again. Every syllable painfully clear, he said, “Understood.”
She left him there.
When Tilly answered the door, she frowned. “Did you forget something, darling?”
“No,” Jasmine said shortly as she pushed her way into the flat.
Yes. I forgot myself.
An hour later, as she sat in the bedroom she barely recognised—the room Rahul had checked so thoroughly—it hit her.
Really hit her. The pain was a physical force, a blow that ripped a gasping sob from her, one that shook her whole body. Another sob followed. And another. Her chest felt dead and empty as scorched earth, her gut churned, and her heart was hopeless. Jasmine screwed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth against the sudden, suffocating fear, but a strangled wail tore her jaw open.
She pressed a hand to her chest as if that would stop her from breaking in two. It didn’t.
“Shit,” she whispered to the empty room. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”
She’d fucked up, hadn’t she? She’d really fucked up. And this was the point where she lay down and died in the dirt.
Jasmine curled up on her bed and held her knees to her chest, but the pain wouldn’t stop. It was a physical thing, and it had her by the throat, and its name was regret. All she could see was the look of utter devastation on the face of the man she loved, and all she could think was that she’d put it there—
Jasmine’s thoughts stuttered. Stopped. Shock forced her eyes open, and she felt hot tears slide down her cheeks.
She loved him. She loved him. She loved him.
She was still for a moment, absorbing that fact. Taking it in. She loved him. She could love him. She did love him.
It took a long time for her mind to move past those truths and start thinking sensibly.
Does it matter? Does it matter now, after you hurt him like that? Would he even believe you if you told him?
She had a sudden vision of today’s argument in reverse. Of Rahul rejecting her love, spitting on it the way she’d spit on his, denying her, taking a blade and twisting it deep in her guts.
Her stomach churned
Is this how you treat those you love? Is this what your love is worth?
Yes.
But she didn’t want it to be. And suddenly, that distinction seemed to matter.
Maybe she was fucked up. Maybe she was cruel. Maybe she was a fucking mess. But she didn’t want to be. That should count for something.
Not for everything, though.
Jasmine searched for the phone with frantic hands. Dialling felt like a nightmare in itself. Waiting as the phone rang was a torture worthy of the Spanish Inquisition.
But eventually, Asmita answered. “Hello, darling. How are you?”
Jasmine burst into tears.
21
Now
It was over.
He’d known it instantly, seen it as clearly as the horror in Jasmine’s eyes when he told her—
Fuck. When he told her the truth.
He hadn’t slept all night, remembering the way her lips had trembled before they’d hardened. The way she’d leant into him before she’d pushed him away.
There’d been people like him in her life, over the years—usually men, occasionally others. People who thought they could change her. People who thought they could chain sunlight or cage a hurricane. He’d watched them fail and thought they were fools. But the truth was, Rahul was worse than they’d ever been.
He skipped the gym the next morning, because for once, staying still seemed like the only chance he had of keeping himself together. Of maintaining whatever scraps of control he had left, holding them tightly to his chest with both hands.
So when the doorbell rang, he was sitting on the sofa where they’d first kissed, trying not to think about the way she looked at him when she forgot to hide her feelings away. It took his tired, sluggish brain a moment to register what the ringing bell signified, but when it did, he leapt to his feet. She was here.
She was not.
Asmita stood in the doorway beside a woman he’d never seen before—but he thought it might be her girlfriend, someone Jasmine had mentioned a few times. He remembered her laughing about it with him one night. I do believe Asmita has fallen in love. I’d be horrified if the girl wasn’t so brilliant.
“Hey,” Asmita said. “This is Pinal.”
That was it; that was the girlfriend’s name. Pinal. He nodded at the smaller woman and tried to smile. She looked alarmed at whatever expression passed over his face. He stopped.
“You look like crap,” Asmita said, pushing her way past him. Pinal hesitated, flicking a wary look in his direction, then followed.
Jesus. How bad could he look after less than a day of wallowing?
“What’s going on?” He asked, shutting the door and following Asmita. She’d only been to his flat a few times, with Jasmine, but she steamed down the hallway as if she knew the place like the back of her hand. Then again, it wasn’t exactly huge; she probably remembered it just fine.
“We’re here to get Jasmine’s things.”
That stopped him in his tracks.
Of course they were. Of course she wouldn’t come here, wouldn’t be alone with him, after yesterday. And he shouldn’t feel like he’d been slapped because of it.
He was starting to realise how fucked up he was over Jasmine. Not just after yesterday. In general.
Asmita paused between the two bedroom doors and turned to look at him, flicking her hair like it was some kind of weapon. “Which one’s her room?”
He took a breath and pointed. “That one.”
So she and Pinal went in there, and he went into his own room to gather up her clothes, and the scarf she wore to bed, and the book she’d been reading. When he emerged with the armful, he found Pinal leaning against Jasmine’s doorframe with her arms crossed. She looked down at the things he was carrying, then back up at him.
“Hm,” she said.
From inside the bedroom, Asmita called, “What, babe?”
“Nothing,” she called back. “One sec.” Then she pushed off from the doorframe and said to him, her voice low, “Walk with me.”
He walked.
They wandered down the hall and into the living room in silence. He followed her to the wide window that looked down on the city, and they stood for a moment.
“I don’t know Jasmine that well,” she said. Her voice was kind of raw, kind of rusty. It was a nice voice. “I mean, I’ve heard a lot about her. And I’ve met her. And I spoke to her this morning.”
His heart leapt. “You did?”
“Yeah. Because she and Mita spent all night at hers while she cried over you, and then I brought the car around for this little trip.”
Rahul swallowed. “She… she cried?”
Pinal shrugged. “Don’t ask me for details; I don’t know them. Anyway; I’ve heard about you, too.”
He watched the cars trace the streets below, rapid and shiny like legions of beetles. Tried to get the idea of Jasmine crying out of his head. Tried to stifle the need to find her and fix whatever the problem was, because honestly, he couldn’t even comprehend the problem. Why w
ould she be crying? Because of him? It couldn’t be because of him.
He set the thought aside and said, “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I heard you’ve been in love with Jasmine forever.”
Rahul’s gaze snapped from the streets to the quiet woman beside him. She gazed out of the window as if she might find a secret message in the skyline. He waited, heart pounding, for her to continue.
“Asmita told me,” she said. “She told me you’ve loved Jas as long as she’s known the two of you, and Jasmine doesn’t even know it. She told me you’re best friends and she doesn’t know how you do it. I told her I know exactly how, because I’ve done it too.”
He swallowed as those words sank in. Hope chose that moment to rise in his chest like a wave. “You have?”
“Yeah.”
But she didn’t say anything more. His fingers gripped the windowsill as he took a deep, calming breath. He didn’t want to sound demanding, but he had to know. “What did you do?”
Pinal shrugged. “I lost her. It was the worst thing that ever happened to me. I’m fine now, though.” Her dark gaze flitted towards the door. Towards Asmita. “I’m better than fine. Better than I ever was, back when I loved her.”
Disappointment was so cold it burned. Slid along his spine like blue fire. “Oh.”
“Yeah. I was a lot younger then. And I didn’t realise it at the time, but I know now that I lost her because… I let needing her consume me.” She leant against the window slightly, shifting her weight. She never seemed to stand up quite straight, never seemed to remain unsupported. He looked down, but her long, blue skirt grazed the floor.
Rahul considered those words. “You mean you—you wanted her too much?”
“I mean I had nothing left to want with. I didn’t give her anything to want. It got to the point where I only existed to pull when she pushed.” Pinal shrugged. “You can’t love or be loved when you’ve turned yourself into a tool.” She looked at him again, then down at the bundle of Jasmine’s things under his arm. “Anyway. I should go and help Mita.”
“Right,” he said, his voice hoarse, his mind racing.
Wanna Bet?: An Interracial Romance Page 20