Hours passed before the fog lifted.
When I finally came back to myself, I was curled on the couch, wrapped in Jasper’s arms. My head ached, my cheeks were sticky with dried tears, and my chest felt hollow.
I blinked up at him. “Jasper…?”
He let out a shaky breath, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Hey, baby. You’re back.”
I buried my face into his neck, choking back a sob. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He tightened his arms around me. “Don’t you dare apologize,” he murmured fiercely. “I should’ve been here. I left you alone when you needed me most.”
We stayed like that for a long time.
Eventually, my mother showed up, heels clicking sharply against the floor. She took one look at us and sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“Well,” she said briskly, “at least you’re lucid now. Jasper, thank you for coming. Maybe she’ll listen to you.”
Jasper rose slowly, still cradling me against his chest. His eyes were steel when he looked at her.
“She’s not a project you can manage, you know,” he said quietly.
My mother’s jaw tightened. “I’m doing what’s best for her.”
Jasper shook his head. “No. You’re doing what’s best for her image.”
There was a moment — a long, brittle silence — before my mother turned on her heel and walked out.
When the door clicked shut, Jasper pressed his forehead to mine.
“We’ll get through this,” he promised softly. “I swear to you, Brit. We’ll get through this.”
For the first time in months, I believed him.
That night, we sat on the floor, surrounded by the remnants of my strange birthday celebration. He helped me peel the stickers from my cheeks, laughed softly as he pulled the tiara from my tangled hair.
We talked — really talked — for hours.
I told him everything. About the hospital. About Ace. About the nights I cried myself to sleep, the days I spent pretending to be perfect.
And he listened.
When I faltered, when my voice shook, he caught me.
When I tried to laugh it off, he stopped me.
When I broke, he held me.
As the sky outside turned from black to gray, I curled into his side, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
Maybe, just maybe… I wasn’t alone anymore.
Chapter 19
Brittany
The Past (Age 22)
I stood by the window, staring out at the golden rays bleeding through the glass, the air heavy with the scent of lilies from the vase Mom had brought in earlier. My fingers absentmindedly toyed with the lace of the pink doll dress on the chair — the one I had bought during my last episode.
