9
1607 Words
Jasmine
I paid the taxi driver and stepped out onto the sidewalk, pulling my coat tighter around myself as the cold evening air brushed against my skin. My body felt tired in that deep, bone-heavy way that came after a long day, and all I wanted was to get inside, take a shower, and crawl into bed.
As I climbed the steps to my apartment, I reached into my bag for my keys. The moment I got to the door, however, I stopped.
It wasn’t locked. In fact, it was slightly ajar.
My brows furrowed. “What the hell?” I muttered.
A knot formed in my stomach as I pushed the door open and stepped inside cautiously.
The apartment was tiny. One bedroom, barely enough furniture to make it feel lived in, and nothing remotely valuable. If someone had broken in, what exactly were they hoping to steal?
The lights in the living room were on. My eyes swept across the space carefully before landing on a familiar designer bag resting on one of the couches.
I froze.
Then I let out a slow breath.
Mia.
At least it wasn’t a burglar.
The relief lasted all of two seconds before something heavier settled in its place.
It was the person I had known almost my entire life, and yet she had betrayed me as if we had never known each other at all.
What unsettled me most wasn’t even the betrayal anymore. It was the silence afterward. She hadn’t called. Hadn’t texted. Hadn’t shown up at my door with an apology or even a pathetic excuse.
Nothing.
It was amazing how quickly that kind of silence could make you question years of friendship. You start wondering whether the person ever cared at all, or if you had simply imagined the whole thing.
I let out a quiet sigh and headed toward the bedroom.
I pushed the door open, already preparing myself for an argument, but the words died before they could leave my mouth.
My brow pulled together. “What are you doing?”
Mia’s luggage sat open on the bed. She stood beside it, pulling clothes from her side of the wardrobe and stuffing them into a large suitcase.
She didn’t answer. I watched her grab another armful of clothes and dump them inside.
“I’m asking you a question, Mia.” My voice came out sharper this time.
She finally looked at me. “What does it look like I’m doing?” she snapped, shoving the clothes down. “I’m moving out.”
For a moment, I just stared at her.
“You’re moving out?”
I folded my arms across my chest while she continued packing as if we were discussing the weather instead of the fact that our friendship had just been destroyed.
She ignored me completely and struggled with the zipper of the overstuffed suitcase.
The disbelief bubbling inside me almost made me laugh.
“You really are something else, Mia.”
That got her attention. She straightened, her gaze fixed on me.
“You’ve been sleeping with my boyfriend behind my back for months. Months. Then you disappear without a single call, text, apology—nothing. You go completely M.I.A., and the first time you show your face again is to pack your things and leave?”
My throat tightened.
“I thought we were best friends.”
Mia snorted loudly. “If you still think that after what happened, then you’re more delusional than I thought.”
She lifted the suitcase from the bed and dropped it onto the floor with a thud. “I f****d your boyfriend, Jasmine,” she said flatly. “And I don’t give a f**k how you feel.”
For a second, I just stared at her.
The words hit harder than they should have.
Not because of Jason, but because of her.
This was Mia, the girl who knew every secret I’d ever had. The girl I’d defended more times than I could count. The closest thing I’d ever had to a sister.
Or at least I thought she was.
“That’s it?” I asked quietly. “That’s all you have to say after everything?”
Mia rolled her eyes and took a few steps toward me.
“Oh, please.” Her expression hardened. “You’re just mad that I took your high school sweetheart.”
The smile that followed was cruel. “And despite how in love with you he acted, it was actually pretty easy too.”
My chest tightened painfully.
For a moment, I couldn’t speak.
I could still see them together. Still see the look on Jason’s face when I walked in.
The hurt was fresh enough to sting, but I refused to let her see it—because if she did, then it meant I’d let her win.
I blinked back the tears and lifted my chin.
She didn’t deserve my tears.
“Get out,” I said, my voice low but harsh.
Mia frowned. “What?”
I pointed toward the door. “Get out of my house.”
Something in my voice must have reached her because she actually looked surprised.
“Jasmine—”
“No.” I took a step forward, my hands shaking at my sides. “Get out, and don’t ever come back. You’re dead to me.”
Her eyes widened briefly before narrowing again. Without another word, she reached for the handle of her suitcase. “I was planning on leaving anyway.”
She dragged it toward the door, then glanced back over her shoulder.
“Have fun being a pathetic, lonely loser.”
Then she walked out.
I stood there long after the door slammed shut behind her, staring at the space she’d left behind.
The silence felt strange and heavy.
When did it go wrong?
The question wouldn’t leave me alone.
Mia had been part of my life for so long that I couldn’t remember a version of myself without her in it.
We had shared everything growing up—secrets, dreams, stupid inside jokes—and somehow none of it had mattered in the end.
What did I ever do to make her hate me this much?
My throat tightened.
I quickly wiped away the tears gathering in my eyes and forced myself to take a deep breath.
I wasn’t crying over them again.
Neither Mia nor Jason deserved that.
Needing something to do, I threw myself into cleaning.
I started with the bedroom, then moved to the living room and kitchen, scrubbing and organizing anything I could get my hands on.
It wasn’t really about the apartment.
I just needed something to keep my mind busy.
By the time I finished, exhaustion had settled into my bones.
I took a cold shower and collapsed onto my bed, hoping sleep would come quickly.
But it didn’t.
I tossed from one side to the other, closed my eyes, opened them again, and stared at the ceiling.
No matter how tired I was, my brain refused to shut off.
With a sigh, I reached for my phone. Maybe scrolling through t****k for a while would help. The screen lit up with several unread messages.
Most of them were from Jason.
I didn’t bother opening any of them.
My thumb moved past his name and landed on a message from an unknown number.
Our session will be rescheduled to 8 p.m. Same venue.
I stared at it for a moment. No introduction. No name. Still, I knew exactly who it was.
A quiet scoff escaped me. Even his texts sounded cold.
Noted.
I sent the reply and should have put my phone away after that.
Instead, I opened Chrome and typed his name into the search bar.
Davin Jackson.
The results appeared instantly.
Articles. Interviews. Awards. Gallery features.
I clicked on one link, then another. The deeper I went, the more surprised I became.
His achievements seemed endless, and the artwork was even more impressive than I expected. Painting after painting filled my screen.
The women he painted looked alive somehow, as though he had captured something deeper than their faces.
And there were a lot of them.
Far more than I expected.
I kept scrolling, moving through exhibitions, awards, and photographs from events all over the world.
The man standing beside the podiums and shaking hands with important people looked nothing like the professor who spent most of his time staring at me with that unreadable, cold expression.
Yet somehow they were the same person, and for reasons I couldn’t explain, I kept scrolling.
One article led to another photo, and then another.
In this one, he was smiling again.
Standing beside him was a gorgeous woman.
His arm rested comfortably around her waist while she leaned into him, both of them looking entirely at ease in front of the camera. They looked good together. The kind of couple people glanced at and immediately assumed would last forever.
My eyes lingered on the photograph longer than they should have.
They looked comfortable together. For some reason, that surprised me.
Then again, I barely knew him at all.
I frowned and scrolled past the photo. A few seconds later, I scrolled back up.
“What is wrong with you?” I muttered to myself.
It wasn’t like I cared who he dated.
I barely knew him.
In fact, everything I knew about him suggested I should stay as far away from him as possible.
Yet my gaze drifted back to the photo anyway.
With an annoyed groan, I exited the page and tossed my phone onto the bed beside me.
- Writer
