6: Cracks In The Armor
586 Words
The week after Jason stepped in to stop Trent, something shifted—subtle, but undeniable.
He didn’t stop tormenting me completely. He still called me Princess in that infuriating tone, still smirked whenever I got flustered, and still found ways to make my life at Brookwood just a little harder than it needed to be.
But every now and then, there were moments. Small cracks in the armor he wore so well.
Like the time I dropped my books in the hall and before I could bend down, Jason crouched to pick them up, tossing them onto my pile without a word. He didn’t smirk, didn’t tease. He just walked away.
Or when I saw him in the library late at night, sitting alone with his headphones in, staring blankly at his open textbook. His jaw was tight, his shoulders slumped—not the posture of the golden boy everyone admired. He looked… tired. Human.
And then there was that night.
⸻
I couldn’t sleep, so I wandered downstairs into the kitchen for some water. The house was quiet, the kind of silence that pressed in on you. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I noticed Jason sitting at the counter, a glass of something amber in front of him.
“You scared me,” I muttered, clutching my glass tighter.
He didn’t look up. “Not my problem.”
I frowned, about to snap back, but then I saw his face. His usual smirk was gone. Instead, he looked… lost. His eyes were distant, his mouth pressed into a thin line.
“Why are you up?” I asked cautiously.
Jason swirled the drink in his glass but didn’t answer right away. Finally, he said, “Couldn’t sleep.”
It was such a simple answer, but it felt heavy, like it meant more than he wanted to admit.
“Nightmares?” I asked before I could stop myself.
His eyes flicked to mine then, sharp and guarded. “What makes you think I’d tell you even if they were?”
I swallowed, unsure how to respond. He was shutting me out, retreating behind his walls. But for a brief second, I’d seen the c***k.
“You don’t have to,” I said quietly. “Just… maybe don’t carry it all by yourself.”
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might snap at me. Instead, he leaned back, exhaling slowly. “You don’t know me, Olivia. Don’t try to.”
“I’m not trying,” I said softly. “I’m just… noticing.”
For the first time, Jason didn’t smirk, didn’t sneer, didn’t throw my words back at me. He just looked at me, really looked at me, like he was trying to figure out who I was—and maybe why I wasn’t afraid of him.
The silence stretched, heavy but not hostile. Then he broke it with a dry chuckle.
“You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?”
Relief flickered through me, though I didn’t show it. “Not when someone needs to hear it.”
Jason shook his head, downed the rest of his drink, and stood. “Goodnight, Princess.”
But his tone was different this time. Softer. Almost gentle.
And as I watched him disappear up the stairs, I realized something terrifying.
The more I saw the cracks in Jason Cole’s armor, the more I wanted to know what he was hiding beneath them.
And that was dangerous. Very, very dangerous.
- Writer
