What If?

Soundtrack:

-          Everybody's Fool – Evanescence

✵ ✷ ✵ ☾ ✵ ✷ ✵

Jordan stormed out of the bathroom, chest tight, fury and heartbreak knotted so tightly together she couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

The party noise barely registered—muffled, distant, like sound underwater. Voices reached for her—Amara's, maybe someone else's—but she didn't slow. Didn't look back.

Her feet moved faster than her thoughts, carrying her outside before she realized she was leaving.

Cold air slapped her face, sharp against the heat still burning beneath her skin.

She didn't care.

She dug into her bag, hands trembling as she fumbled for her keys, cursing under her breath when they slipped from her fingers. She snatched them off the ground, biting the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste blood, and practically threw herself into the driver's seat.

The car roared to life with an angry twist of the key. She slammed the door shut, her breathing ragged, her hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. Without thinking, without checking, she backed out, tires screeching as if the sound could drown out the pounding in her head.

Fuck.

Tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them away, refusing to let them win.

Fuck Jaxon Carter.

Who the hell did he think he was? Nearly killing a guy because of her, acting like it was some noble fucking sacrifice, and then—then—throwing it in her face like she was a burden he'd never asked for. Like she was some problem he'd been forced to carry.

I didn't exactly ask for it either.

Who says that? Who saves someone—claims to care—and then spits it back like poison?

She punched the steering wheel, a choked, frustrated sound escaping her lips. The tears slipped out anyway, hot and unwanted, and she swiped them away with the back of her hand, furious they existed at all.

This is why you don't let people in.

Walls kept you safe. Kept you from moments like this—shaking behind the wheel, breath uneven, heart cracked open and raw.

Because when you didn't need anyone, they couldn't disappoint you. Couldn't make you feel like something broken they regretted trying to fix.

She hit the gas harder, the speed doing nothing to calm the rage boiling inside her. Her hands were still shaking, not from fear, but from the sheer, overwhelming frustration clawing at her chest. She wanted to scream, to hit something, to make the ache stop.

Because underneath it all—under the fury, under the tears she didn't want—was the truth:

It hurt because it was Jaxon.

It always fucking hurt.

Because it was him.

☽༓･˚⁺‧͙ ‧⁺˚･༓☾

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, cold and constant. Their sterile glow cast everything in hard, unflattering lines.

Jordan sat stiff in the plastic chair, fists clenched in her lap, nails digging crescents into her palms.

Around her, the tension was palpable.

Amara shifted beside her, restless. Lucy's foot tapped a quick, uneven rhythm against the linoleum. Her parents sat close—too close—their expressions carved in stone. Controlled fury.