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Oh, it's so sad to think about the good times, you and I...; you forgive, you forget but you never let it go (private)
Topic Started: Mar 15 2016, 05:35 AM (1,151 Views)
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“I’m not sure what you mean by that. I just never saw you with her, is what I’m trying to say.”

And really, Jasmine was quite offended by what Irene had just implied. Where did she get the impression that she was a control freak? Sure, she wanted to know what her friends were up to - that was why she asked the question in the first place - but she wasn’t their mother, she didn’t want to control what they were doing. Maybe she’d warn them if what they were about to do wasn’t a good idea, but otherwise she totally stayed out of their business. If they didn’t heed her warning, then she figured oh well, and when they came crawling back to her begging for forgiveness she was more than happy to take them in again. Really, Irene’s statement there was quite the eyebrow raiser, and it seemed that she was starting to catch on, which was a slight problem. Maybe it was best that she stepped back about it, at least for a while.

Well, that was what she thought about it initially, at the very least. Irene then started to go on about how the two of them were friends. Apparently, it was fairly normal, and Irene didn’t seem to be lying about it. Which was slightly disappointing, as mentioned earlier. Jasmine thought that it’d be so much more, like beef with another group or something more secret, so the fact that it was something comparatively not as interesting hurt Jasmine’s heart, just that tiny little bit. She was hungry, she wanted more, but she knew that if she tried to get more it’d be fruitless and there would be a risk that Irene would catch on. She’d just have to try another day, if she still felt like there was something there.

She giggled as Irene seemed to mix up what she was referencing. It, as per many other things, was something that she did, and Jasmine was happy that it happened. It was good. Everything was fine.

“Wait, hang on a moment,” she said. “There’s a moment I like coming up.”

They watched. While talking, for the most part. Nothing worth mentioning, just some things about school and drama and classes and teachers and other things that Jasmine didn’t think was worth putting down for later. Eventually, the episodes ended, and she stood up, stretching her muscles so that they didn’t feel weird. She had sat down for too long. Nothing about it more than that.

“That’s the season finished,” she said. “Anything in particular you really wanna do now?”

Jasmine had something in mind, but she wanted to defer to her guest to make sure it was okay to have it go ahead.
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"I mean what I mean. I mean, I couldn't really mean anything else."

Jazzy always seemed to get oddly quiet at moments like this. Would stare at nothing in particular, as if the moment had gone sour milk. It was odd. Like, something left not quite said, uttered only in the way that there had been nothing spoken. Like Jazzy was expecting something. What? Did she actually want Irene to admit that she had girls in different area codes?

... Huh. What if she actually went ahead and did that...?

Jazzy's giggle distracted, disarmed. No arms left for Irene to scratch at the itch of a niggling sensation she suddenly had over the front lobe of her brain. She'd just file the hunch away for later, where it surely wouldn't completely and disastrously backfire on her...


Irene stood up as well. She'd folded herself onto the deck of the floor like the card she was. Hadn't really stopped all the flailing and wiggling even sans Jazzy in her immediate space. But hey, it was some comfy carpeting down there. That 800-588-2300 was definitely on point. As had been the latest episodes in the series. Irene intended to compile her thoughts, stir and mix, pour to taste right over her Tumblr blog. But those plans were promptly forgotten, since they had places to go and things they'd already seen a hundred times apiece to see again.

"Park? We can roam and wander until at least one of our parents is worried." She mulled on that for a millisecond, then as an afterthought, "but not enough to get us into trouble, I mean." Wisdom straight from the spinal tap.
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Jasmine giggled, in response to Irene.

“Oh, they won’t worry about us. They’re out on a business trip or something today. We have the house to ourselves.”

Walking sounded like a good idea. It was actually something on her ideas list for this sleepover. There was a place in particular that she wanted to show Irene. Maybe she wouldn’t appreciate it as much as Jasmine did herself because that was what Irene typically thought whenever Jasmine tried telling her more important things, but it was at the very least worth a try. If Irene liked it, then that would obviously be great, and even if she didn’t there was still a chance that the both of them could have some fun there, and Jasmine could still have her sentimentality. She smiled, slightly. She knew that it’d be fun, regardless of what Irene thought. It was why she put it on her list of things to do. She probably mentioned it to Irene as well, either at the front door or in her room. It was probably why she specifically named walking as a thing to do.

...Huh. She was slightly impressed. Irene had apparently remembered that. That was not something Jasmine expected to be within her limits.

It didn’t really matter, though. At least she could lead into what she was going to say next without sounding weird to her.

Not that Irene would really care, bar the slight ribbing, but it was something Jasmine had to think about.

“But yeah, I was thinking about walking. I don’t think we’ll get lost, either. I’ve got a place in mind and it isn’t very hard to find.”

She noticed her own rhyme as she walked towards the door.

“So unless you have any objections, I guess you should put your shoes back on?”
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"... We have the house to ourselves."


"... I’ve got a place in mind and it isn’t very hard to find."

Ooh, nice rhyme. That one had the ever familiar awkward laughs ticklish on the epithelials of her throat. Felt all kindsa funny. Exactly just like the rhyme had been. "Nice rhyme Jazzy. Yeah, I'll get my shoes on!" They had been pretty carelessly tossed into a corner, corpses of her Vans lay fallow and desolate. Right back onto her feet, where they were snug and they belonged. Moment Jasmine opened the door Irene happily bounded through it with her shoelaces only vaguely approximating a tied state. Floppy bunny ears bounced in time with her energetic pace.

"So where are you bringing us, Jazzy?" While she waited for Jasmine to catch up Irene milled about, wearing geometric ruts into Jasmine's front yard. Idly trying to see if she could peep that neighbor's sweet pool from here. Idly trying to think about...

Huh. It was, like, one of those things in all the romantic movies Mom and Sis liked to watch. All the cliches had reasonably lined up, hadn't they? Girls alone in a house, sleepover, watching TV and gossiping. A secret place only the two would know and a journey there under a... Okay usually those movies weren't this sunny and dry on the skin. Kingman was a bit too saturated in hues to be a cinematic scene, but still. What had it been Irene had been thinking about earlier? Girls? Area codes? Maria? Confessions? ... Jasmine.

There was Jasmine, incidentally. Right over there, getting closer. Irene watched her intently, distracted as she wanted to be by everything else she somehow couldn't let herself be!
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Jasmine smirked, slightly, as she replied to Irene’s question.

“You’ll see. Just follow me.”

She giggled, as she turned towards the door. She had rhymed again. She couldn’t say that the second time was intentional, either, but she didn’t really mind that. Irene would think that she had done it on purpose, but she didn’t really think that that would be any sort of issue.

“But anyway, let’s go!” She said, heading out the door.

It was slightly cold out.

Only slightly. It wasn’t too much of a problem, but Jasmine could still feel the edges of it on her skin. Again, it was only slight, not something that she’d notice normally, but the lack of anything to distract her meant that it was currently the greatest thing on her mind. They hadn’t spoken since they had started walking. It wasn’t really due to anything, they just hadn’t. They were both walking past a school, Jasmine in front. It was the one that she used to go to, before she met Irene. It had changed, slightly. There were new buildings, from what she could see. There was a billboard, with news about upcoming events on it. Still, even with those new additions she couldn’t see anything else major. The buildings where her classes were were still there. The mural on the library was, as well. They still hadn’t removed the old playground. Even with everything that had been added, she could still see it for the place it once was.

She hoped that she got to go back, one day. When she finished school proper. When everything had worked out for her. She could come back, and show everyone there what she had become.

She smiled.

That would be nice.

The cold hit her again, chilly sensation brushing against her lower arms and legs.

Her smile dropped.

She really should have brought a jumper.

It was a right turn, after the school. Two, if you counted crossing the street. There was a crossroads after that; left, right, or forward. Going right would have put them in a circle, and going left would have sent them in the wrong direction, so forward it was. Down the slope, onto the bridge, and stop.

She was here. Irene was still on the slope.

She looked down, off the bridge. She could still see the river coming down. She looked to the side, at the slopes. There were still rocks there. Big enough to throw in, as well. The slope to the side, the one that led down further into the river, also seemed to still be there.

She smiled.

This place hadn’t changed.

“And we’re here!” She exclaimed. “What do you think?”

She hoped Irene could appreciate it.
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Cold, cold as ice cream and snowballs to the face. Stingy like those things too. Irene shuffled a little of her excess energy out of her pores, that warmed her up a little bit and then a lot, in lieu of a sweater or coat or jacket or other thing that made things not cold and likely announced her anime tastes to the world. She envisioned her black homemade not-by-her Witch of Space sweater, how cozy it would feel at that exact moment. Jasmine was leading the way, not speaking much. Irene lacked for something to say, or something to hear. Thus, unfortunately, her thoughts were too loud.

Her thoughts were thinking, wondering if Jazzy was also cold. What would happen if they... Maybe. Maybe shared body heat. Maybe. Like. Just a little, just to get them both warmer. She envisioned herself and Jazzy, how cozy it would feel at that exact moment. All cuddled up and Jazzy would be there, warm and thick and buttery like she was when she hugged Irene sometimes only it'd be longer and she'd be all four horizons around Irene and it'd be temperatures between hot and cold, yes and no and kissing a girl because she liked it and


At least she felt all warm now, like microwaved popcorn. The kernels bounced in her grey matter until she was about ready to explode, with words and feels and fuzzies and hormones and other awkward things along those lines. She could feel the flush on her skin like a toilet, and she was glad that she could just stare at the ground, heads up seven up, and that Jazzy wouldn't look back and see Irene going all weird on her like Irene usually did.

Left forward. Right forward. Forward forward backward backward left right left right B A.

Irene bustled excitedly after Jasmine, her blood hot as an oven, and for her efforts she nearly ran herself straight off the bridge. Only a hand and a painfully doorstoppered-on-the-bone arm stopped her from becoming one part of the river below. Whoops. Gravity almost had her there, with that 9.8 m/s squared dispersed at a rough angle and all.

“What do you think?”

Irene could only ring herself to look at the most glancing of angles. Most of her face was still drinking in the sights.

"It's uh..."

Drinking in the sights. Like Jazzy smiling at her.

"Really pretty! I don't think I remember seeing this place around? Though to be fair I forget things a ton anyways." Irene did forget things a ton. Like her sweater, and her homework, and her iThing back somewhere in Jazzy's house and her book she'd used for her history essay and her common sense and her
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There was a smile.

There was a beam.

There was a feeling, deep down and rising up within her body which was warm which was full which was just so happy because yes yes yes Irene actually liked this place even though Jasmine didn’t think she would. She wan’t sure what to expect before going here. She hoped that Irene liked it but she didn’t know if she would. Knowing what she was like Jasmine thought that… she didn’t know. She thought that she’d mock her for liking it. Mock her for how serious she was being. She knew that Irene would mock her for some reason but she knew that she wouldn’t mind too much, they could just talk and go home and do things there - there was still so much she wanted to do, after all - but she didn’t even have to worry about that now! Irene liked this place! Now there was probably more that they could do here! She couldn’t wait.

And for once, she was actually happy that she was wrong about something.

She turned her head away, back down onto the river, then to the right. The other side of the path still stood. The stones were smaller, as they always had been, but they still likely made a splash. That was good. The place hadn’t changed at all. Not since the days where she and dad came here while walking to school. Not in the years passed. That was good. That made her happy. She could come back to this place and do exactly what she did. She couldn’t quite say that she could continue walking to school after, but still.

And Irene liked it, too! She turned her head away from the river, and back to her.

She was standing where she had been previously, but she was… different. In an odd position. Leaning. Looking away. In the distance. At nothing.

That was odd. Was there an issue? Jasmine didn’t know.

She tapped her fingers, grabbed the railway of the bridge.

It was probably best if she tried to find out.

“Is anything wrong?”
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arm which was being pried off by the railing and her birthday present for her sister's birthday and her sister's birthday and her

youthful innocence, blossoming away like the thick rose on her cheeks. Irene could see possibilities, probabilities in numbers. It hurt, but she slowly wrenched herself back into position. Her neck twisted licorice. She was looking at Jasmine. Jasmine's smile. It was getting closer, bigger, the thick of her lips because Irene was getting closer step by step and okay she didn't want to get to close because she wanted to be appropriate and stuff. Appropriate. What was appropriate? Small talk? Sob story? Irrelevant tangent? It was all too fast, Irene barely had a second and now the white of her eyeball was right on the cupid's bow of Jasmine's lips, a present like that Irene had never quite known in her life before. Too fast. Too close. She had to

"Jazzy, I-"

And Jasmine was staggering back and maybe, maybe this was wrong and this was a bad idea? But words fell out of Irene's mouth, glances fell out of Irene's dilated iris, she probably would have fallen out of her clothes there and then because she forgot. She forgot everything, everything except

"- I... I- I, I-"

Yep. Eye to eye.

"I like you, Jazzy. I like you a lot. I want to be your..."

It came out so fast she wasn't even sure what she'd said, but she'd said it and it already hurt, right in her heart with it's ventricles. She had four of those, because 'love' was a four letter word. Like the quiet agonizing flutter of her four parts of heart the word she really wanted to say couldn't be heard, but Irene was there and she heard it, her heart thumping against her chest. Right in the hollow chamber of her ear, echoing, echoing like the sluice of the river below her feet and the peaceful rumble of the earth through her shin and Jazzy right to her face saying
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Irene heard her. That was good. It meant that it probably wasn’t anything too serious like a sudden health problem, or something. Irene started bounding towards her, running in that odd way like she always did. She smiled. There didn’t seem to be a problem. It didn’t seem that it was really an issue after all. Again, that was good. They could just talk to each other or throw rocks into the river before going home. Then they could order something for dinner as her parents were away and they could watch movies or do something else before they both went to sleep. It was perfectly planned. She’d tell Irene about it when she got to where Jasmine was standing. She was getting closer, just one or two more steps and then-

Wait. Too close. Irene was right in her face. She stepped back to give and-

Irene stepped forward again. Too close. She stepped back and then-

They were looking each other in the eyes. They were brown. Black pupils. She didn’t know what Irene was doing. She wasn’t sure what was happening.

And then Irene confessed her love for her.

Jasmine’s hand was still on the railing. It tightened. She didn’t know what was happening. Irene liked her. That wasn’t something she knew. She had spent the entire afternoon on a couch with her touching her and smiling at her and hugging her and being her friend and she had a crush on Cris and possibly Mary that was what was in her book and that was what was in her head and nothing suggested that Irene liked her and she had given her everything she had done today and at school and she was her friend and she lied to her face and-

She remembered. Back to the first day of middle school. They were placed together by the English teacher. The bell rang. Jasmine went to be alone, Irene followed, and they talked. It happened again the next day. Her first friend. Her best friend.

Did Irene have a crush on her then? Was that why they became friends in the first place? Jasmine didn’t know. She didn’t know what the answer was and she was scared and-

Irene got closer. Another step forward. Right in her face. She was too close. Jasmine took a step back and no no no no she was too close again. She stepped back and-

They were looking each other in the eyes again. They were brown. Black pupils. They were the eyes of a friend.

They were the eyes of someone that betrayed her.

Irene took another step forward. They were touching. They were touching and they were too close and she had surprised her and she had betrayed her and they were too close and-

“Get away from me.”

Her hands went out, into Irene's chest.
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that Irene had to go away and it was echoing endlessly and Irene's heart was saying she wanted to say, right there where her feet were but that heart was being pushed away by an impact of hands. Soft, pretty hands right to the spot of skin under which Irene's treacherous heart continued to pump and circulate the hormones that made her

See numbers or symbols or something that wasn't Jazzy. But it was her. It was hours and days and weeks and years. Years that she'd known Jasmine, since a quiet middle school day where Irene had seen a lonely looking girl and said 'hello' all happy and spastic. Numbers, like the numbers of pizzas ordered out, like the numbers of injuries sustained doing stupid stunts while Jazzy watched and laughed and the numbers of laughs that Jazzy liked to giggle when she breathed out and the scent would be all in Irene's face and she hadn't even noticed she'd liked it until one day when Irene had realized it all added up. So many numbers and Jazzy. Jazzy made it stop adding up. Jazzy had said go away. Irene didn't get it, because Jazzy had said go away. She hadn't said yes. She hadn't even said no. She had only said that didn't want Irene's heart there, she wanted it further away from her. Not a friend. Not a lover. Years. Numbers.

It just didn't add up.

But if that's how she wanted it to be.

Irene's dilated pupils imploded onto themselves. She bit at tooth so hard the enamel cracked, the gums cracked, her skull cracked for good measure. She could cry, she would cry. Would count each tear for each memory that Jazzy had pushed away.


"Be that way."

Steps. She could count the number of steps she moved away from Jasmine at a half-run that tore earth asunder under her feet. She could count steps and furious tears whipping at the apples of her cheeks and Irene's hands were all over her face smudging and blurring. She couldn't control it, she didn't want to. She was moving away, but her eyes were still on Jasmine's the whole time.

'Jazzy'. The contact her moist and greasy and fumbling fingers found from her phone, after a mistaken swipe eliminated some Jeremy Frasier's email from existence.

"Don't ever talk to me again you-" And Irene's heart continued to mumble and meander through pretty words she could never have a hope of saying. At the BPM speed of a song, a song Jazzy would never hear. Words. What to say. What was there left to say. Irene didn't know. She didn't know anything, except that tears hurt and she hated them like how she hated how her heart felt exhausted and weak. She knew other things. She knew she needed a bath, and a real friend, and a rant,

and to never see Jasmine King's face again.

So she hoped that someone who'd broken her heart was counting her steps as she stormed off.

Eat her dust.

((Irene Djezari continued in The Weekly Grind))
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Do you know what the worst part was?

She was sorry.

As Irene turned her back and ran away, all Jasmine could think about was how to apologize. How to say sorry for breaking her heart. How it was all a misunderstanding. How, as she was knocked back by her own push, hitting the concrete of the bridge behind her pant legs first, she didn’t mean what she said. She was scared. She wasn’t thinking straight. She made a mistake and now she had to pay the consequence for it. She could have tried to defend herself. She could have tried to blame her. She could have tried to do anything that led to the conclusion that Jasmine King was in the right, Irene Djezari was in the wrong, and it was best that this happened before Irene’s pure toxicity spread to her. But she didn’t. As Irene turned her back and ran away, all Jasmine could think about was how to apologize.

But she didn’t. As Irene went back up the slope - one, two, three, four steps, before going out of sight - no words came out. There was nothing she could think of saying .There were words in her head but none fit and she struck them down and by the time Jasmine realised that she couldn’t she was gone. Another mistake.

A bitter cherry on top of the disgusting cake.

So she sat there, for a while. Staring at the slope. She could tell where her last step was. Where she had been before she had vanished forever. From her life. Oh god, from her life. They couldn’t be friends anymore. They weren’t friends anymore. Her first friend, no longer there.

Her breaths were ragged. Hard, as she realised this. She looked up. The sky was grey. It was nearly evening.

She shook her head. She just needed to not be here. Thinking about this here wasn’t a good idea. She needed to go somewhere where she could.

So she stood up, turned around, and left, via the other side of the bridge. She didn’t look back. She tried not to think about it. About what had just happened.

But she knew. This was the way they would have gone as the both of them went back to her house. They’d talk. About things. Topics. She didn’t know. It was the way she went home from her first school. It held something. They could have talked about that.

And when they were home, they were going to get something to eat. What it was? She didn’t know. It wasn’t something they… she was going to cook. Takeout. Julian could have leftovers from the fridge, if he cared enough. They were going to decide together. As friends.

She ordered pizza. Meatlovers. Extra Large. She ate alone.

And then, after that, she went upstairs. To her room. Stared at the ceiling, as Molly snuggled in next to her. That wasn’t on the agenda. They were going to watch a movie. Her choice. And they wouldn’t talk, just as they wouldn’t now. It was important enough to warrant that silence. She knew that it would be better if they didn’t talk. It’d be best for the both of them. Either way it went.

She knew that.

She knew she wouldn’t be able to keep it.

But she knew that it was for the best.

And they were supposed to be together, as they slept in her room. In separate beds, of course. They would talk about life, until the both of them were too tired to keep doing it. They would talk about their future. Together.

At least she wasn’t alone. The cat was by her side, as she cried in her bed that night.

She was gone, on Monday. Mary, too. Everyone showed up at the picnic tables, except for the both of them. They had asked why, of course. She had been in Science that day, so why wasn’t she here? She had an answer for that. She had a day to rehearse it. There were differences. There was something wrong with her. Irene no longer fit within the group, so she decided to take her leave. Mary followed. They believed what Jasmine was saying. She was a good actor. She was a good liar. It was only natural that they believed her. And how could they not? They didn’t know what had happened. There was no way they could have guessed. She had a crush on Cris. Everyone knew that. And they didn’t know any better.

And eventually, everyone moved on. There was a couple days of confusion. A couple days in which Jasmine had to work so that nobody found out, but eventually, those days passed. Jordan came over to the table more often. New people had arrived to replace previous ones. Nobody had found out. Nobody knew any better. Eventually, nobody cared. She was sitting on the other side of the classroom, now, with all the popular girls. Rea. Mary. Maria. The wrong crowd. Bad influences. People the group at the lunch tables never associated with. It didn’t matter too much, though. They used to be friends. They weren’t, now. Jasmine focused on her studies, so that she could end up the best person she could be. She didn't know what that person was, but she knew she’d make it.

But one day, they were assigned to particular seats by a substitute teacher, for some reason. Nobody knew why, but they just went with it.

But the way it worked out, Irene and Jasmine were sitting next to each other. By pure coincidence. She didn’t look at Jasmine initially, she was pretty sure. Jasmine spared glances at her. During the last moments, she spared one as Irene decided to look down at her bag.

And for the first time in forever, their eyes met. Brown. Black pupils. Baggier than they used to be.

Hi, Rene.

I’m sorry for what I did.

I miss you.

Please be my friend again.


The bell rang, and they both went to lunch.

This time, Irene didn’t follow her.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Jasmine sat on the couch in front of her family’s TV, the sound of her watch being the only noise amidst the silence. She put her hand on it; twisted it, slightly, as she looked out the window. There still wasn’t anything. Not in front of the door, not in the driveway. It was… understandable. She had only been down here for two or three minutes, at most, since she was quickly typing up something and allowed herself to be slightly late. That was okay. It wasn’t like it needed to be perfect, there. There was always the margin of human error and even without it being there she would still be five minutes early, which she felt was slightly unnecessary. Just so long as she got here before Julian did, and things would be okay.

She tapped her foot on the ground, the sound drowning out the ticking of her watch. It was 1:30 by now, right? It had to be. She’d be surprised if she was wrong. She turned her hand around.


Her guest was officially late.

That was okay. It didn’t need to be perfect. She would be happy if she didn’t have to wait very long, but she didn’t have to stress about this. They were coming, and then they were going to have their sleepover. So long as she stayed patient, she would be rewarded. It was as simple as that. Wait, and eventually things would happen.

She closed her eyes. Breathed, for a second.

The door knocked, and once again, the sound of her watch had been drowned out. Slowly, she stood up, and walked over to the front door. Her hand slowly clutched the metal of the knob, and she twisted it open. The lock of the flyscreen door went up, and soon, that opened as well.

She looked up off the knob, and locked her friend in the eyes, smiling. Kiziah Saraki.

Her close friend.

Her best friend.

She greeted her the best way she knew how, jumping down off the step and hugging her. It was nice. Warm. Comforting.


“Hey, Kizi,” she said, smiling as she held her.

((Jasmine King; Memories Concluded))
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