Joshua
When Jasmine—Leslie—looked at me like that, I wanted to vomit. Her expression was so weak and pathetic, so fucking stupid after all the pain she’d put me through! I couldn’t believe that she’d dare to cry in my presence, much less try to weasel her way out of owning up to her own goddamn crimes. I felt sick when I looked at her. How could she expect me to defend what she’d done? How could she? When she'd first owned up to being Leslie, I'd felt shocked. But now, anger was coursing through my veins like molten lava. I didn't care what happened to Jasmine, but I never wanted to see her again. I didn't care that I'd loved this woman, pined for her for years. I forgot about all of the sleepless nights I spent researching Leslie online, looking for her without finding a clue. And I forgot about all of the hot tears that I’d shed when I realized that the love of my life was really gone. Leslie hadn’t just disappeared, she’d vanished. When she’d left, I hadn’t been able to find a single trace of what had happened to her.
"What?" Jasmine was staring at me uneasily. She was fully dressed now, and I thanked God that I couldn't see the dangerous curves of her sweet body. I had to turn away; if I kept staring at her, I was going to feel like spitting on her.
“I can’t talk to you anymore,” I said, standing up and crossing my arms over my chest. Jasmine stared at me.
“What?” She frowned. “Why, Joshua? We just came so close to solving this!”
I shook my head. “I don’t care about what happens,” I said flatly. “Call the cops if you want. Don’t if you don’t. I don’t give a shit, Jasmine. I’m done caring. Can’t you fucking tell?”
“Why?” She stepped closer and I saw a note of panic in her lovely blue eyes. “What’s going on? Joshua, please,” she added, her voice taking on a husky note that I recognized. “Please talk to me.” She reached out for my arm with both of her small hands and I twisted away before she could touch me.
“Don’t touch me,” I snapped. “Don’t fucking touch me.” I’ll die if you touch me, I thought grimly.
Jasmine stared as though I’d punched her. “Joshua, you can’t be serious,” she said. “After all this time, this is our chance! We can fix things! We can fix both MCs!” She was pleading and her eyes were filling with tears. I was afraid to look in fear that I'd find something about her too compelling to look away. After all, this was the struggle that I was all too familiar with. Jasmine had always had an energy floating around her head, something about her that sucked me in.
“We can’t fix anything,” I said in a heavy voice. “And I don’t care about what happens on Saturday,” I added in a moody voice. “I don’t give a shit, Jasmine. You want to ruin me, go ahead and ruin me, then. But I don’t care about you,” I said cruelly.
Jasmine's lip twitched. I half expected her to start crying, but instead, she narrowed her eyes and flared her nostrils in anger. "I hate you so fucking much," she spat. "You have no idea what it was like for me! You have no idea how much it hurt to be away from you for years and years!"
“God, spare me the drama,” I snapped, rolling my eyes. “How about this, bitch: you don’t have any idea of what it’s like to be goddamn heartbroken when your fiancée disappears! You have no idea what it’s like to think she’s dead, for years!” I could feel my anger getting out of control but I did nothing to curtail the way I felt. “You have no fucking idea!” I yelled, picking up one of the empty glasses from the bedside table and hurling it at the wall. It shattered into a thousand pieces, but Jasmine didn’t even blink. She stared at me, her lower lip stuck out like a toddler’s, quaking.
“So you just want me to go?” Her voice was sharp and pointed, like a dagger with poison on the tip. “You don’t even care, you just want me to leave? Just like that? And not say anything to my club?”
I shrugged. “I don’t care anymore,” I said melodramatically. “I don’t give a shit what you do. Just leave me and my club out of it,” I snarled. “If you wanna call the cops, fine. But don’t expect to grab our dealer and make a living for yourself. If you call the cops, that’s it. Everything’s done. We don’t need to see each other again. If you call the cops, I’m sure they’ll arrest Derrick anyway. Isn’t that what you and your precious Wild Witches want? To see some guy—any guy—no matter if he did it or not, go to prison?”
Jasmine blinked. “We want justice,” she said. “But not like that. I don’t care about a scapegoat. I want to find the real asshole who did it,” she said, raising her voice to almost match my own. “I want to know who’s trying to ruin my life!”
“Who cares?” I exploded loudly. I could feel my face was red with blood and anger. “Who gives a shit about your precious fucking Wild Witches! They’re all a bunch of corrupt fucks! That bitch, Roni, is trying to ruin my life and you couldn’t even stop her from doing that! She ran all over you! Some fucking president you are!”
Jasmine stared. She put her hand to her face and wiped her cheek. A single tear had dripped down from her eye. She shook her head and stared at me in disgust. “Joshua, I’m sorry I lied to you,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was trying to protect you, and I decided that your life was more important than our relationship.”
There was a knot in my throat, and no matter how hard I swallowed, it wouldn’t disappear. “That’s bullshit,” I scoffed quietly. “You don’t care. You wanted an easy way out, and you got one, sister.” Pain flashed through my mind, blinding me for a second. I remembered all the times where I’d cradled Leslie and rocked her to sleep, kissed her hair, tried to soothe and stroke away all of her worries. I remembered a time—the memory came on so sharp that it took my breath away—when Leslie’s family dog had died. She’d cried all night in my arms, and I’d just held her without speaking. That was how much I’d loved her. I just wanted to be there for her and comfort her in every way that I knew how.
"It wasn't like that," Jasmine insisted. She stepped closer to me and I stepped backward. "It wasn't like that, Joshua.”
I winced at the sound of her voice saying my name. In the past, it was what I’d lived for. And now it just filled me with pain, anger, and regret.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re right; it wasn’t like that. You wanna know what it was like, Jasmine? You really wanna fucking know?”
Jasmine bit her lip. “Joshua, please don’t say anything you’ll regret,” she said softly.
But I was past the point of caring. “I don’t give a shit!” I roared. “I loved you so fucking much that I spent years agonizing over you! And you didn’t even care! You weren’t thinking of me—you couldn’t even send me a goddamned note in the mail to let me know that you were alive!” I shook my head, feeling the anger lick and curl around me like flames. “I hate you,” I spat. “You wanna know what you could have done differently? You could have fucking broken up with me, Leslie!” I spat her name like a curse word. “You could have told me that you didn’t love me! At least that way I would have known the truth instead of wasting years wishing for you to come back!”
Jasmine looked at me in horror. “Joshua, that’s not true—” she started to say.
I held up a hand to cut her off. “I don’t care,” I said flatly. “I don’t give a shit what’s true and what’s not. Just leave me the fuck alone, Jasmine. Get the fuck out of my way, and don’t call me again.”
Jasmine’s face colored and she crossed her arms under her luscious, round tits. “Go to hell,” Jasmine spat. She leaned close and glared at me, fire blazing in her blue eyes. “Go to hell, Joshua. I don’t care if I never see you again!”
I pointed at the door. “Just go,” I said in a wooden tone. “Leave. I can’t look at you anymore. I can’t even be around you without feeling like you ripped my goddamn chest open. Leave!” I repeated when Jasmine didn’t move. I roared the last word; it came out of me like an enraged lion had suddenly possessed me. Jasmine’s eyes widened; for a moment, she looked almost scared. Then she reached down to pick up her phone and tucked it in her pocket before striding towards the door.
“Joshua, I—” Jasmine began to say when she reached the door. But I shook my head, closing my eyes. “Fine,” she snapped. “I’m gone.”
She slammed the door behind her, and I winced, listening to her light footsteps fade away. The lump in my throat got bigger, and I closed my eyes, wiping my sweaty brow with the back of my hand. A tangy, musky scent came over me, and I realized it was the scent of Leslie’s pussy, still clinging to my fingers where I’d shoved them inside of her.
I felt disgusted with myself. How was this possible? How had I not known the truth for so goddamn long? Was I stupid? Did everyone know but me? Humiliation bubbled up to the surface and swirled around with the hot rage in my body, making me feel like the world’s biggest jackass. Leslie had played a fuck of a trick on me, and it had taken me years to find out. I shook my head in disgust as I remembered how pathetic I’d been after she disappeared. I’d put missing flyers on lampposts for fuck’s sake!
“Goddammit,” I muttered, kicking the wall with the toe of my boot. Pain ricocheted through my body and I shuddered, falling back down on the bed and staring at the ceiling. The plaster was cracked and starting to mold in one corner; I made a mental note to get my guys to help me fix up the clubhouse this weekend.
I hated Leslie/Jasmine/whatever the fuck she was calling herself nowadays. Maybe if she felt guilty enough, she wouldn’t call the cops, but I wasn’t going to waste another fucking second of my time worrying about her. Nope. That was all done, and now I had an MC to run.
Balling my right hand into a fist, I punched the palm of my left hand until the pain was traveling up my arm. In a way, it felt good. It felt good not to be thinking about Leslie, even if that meant my mind was focused on the pain. Closing my eyes, I punched myself over and over again.
“I’m still alive,” I whispered towards the ceiling. “I’m still here.”