He followed her that afternoon.

In his normal, inconspicuous manner that Michael was so accustomed to doing, he drifted through the crowd like a ghost, lingering behind her like a shadow. She didn't notice him. No one ever did. Poor, forgettable, insignificant Michael.

His view was overtaken by a tall man in a bulky coat as she turned to enter a building with him, and he regained his senses. He had recognized that place, this neighborhood. He knew the type of men that Jasmine would be involved with if she came to this place. It was an inescapable certainty. He had to stop her. His tongue swallowed back the urge to call out to her, to prevent her from such a mistake. But at the same time, Michael looked down at his feet. They weren't moving. His knees were shaking to the point he wanted to collapse.

He clenched his hand into a tight fist, hard enough until it shook with his hatred. At that moment, he hated those men. What could they want with a teenage girl? He hated Jasmine. How could she be so naive? But most of all, he hated himself, and that's what caused the tears to erupt. He slammed both his fists against the brick wall as he quietly pleaded for her,

"Jasmine. Jasmine, no," he continued to sob until he couldn't cry anymore. He sat down and wiped his wet face with the sleeve of his jacket, and with it came a cooling relief. As much as he had wanted to, his mind couldn't erase the image he had of Jasmine. So he began to bargain. He decided that this was a good thing to have discovered Jasmine's whereabouts. There was no way that lowlife trash had seduced his angel, and stolen her right from under his nose. So, they must have threatened her. The burning sensation returned and his skin began to boil again.

Jasmine hadn't rejected him because she wanted to, it was because she was forced to by those lowlifes, who were now keeping her against her will. He knew then that he needed to save her, the princess trapped behind lock and key. It was only fitting that he had a villain to vanquish first. If he did that, then he was certain that he and Jasmine could be together.

***

Jasmine stood behind the man who had greeted her at the front, as he fumbled with the lock for a bit before sliding his key and pushing the door open. She followed him up the dark steps to the third floor, and then into his apartment.

He flicked on the lights. "This is your place?"

"Well, me and my bros, but yeah. What? Are you surprised?" he griped, with his tatted hand cupped over his mouth to conceal the proud grin on his lips."I know it's not the boujee-ness you're used to but damn."

The apartment was very modern. It had recently been renovated. The common areas were paneled with glossy wooden floors, and the kitchen had granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances. She ran her fingers over the smooth, black leather couch.

"Don't your parents mind if you have company this late?" she cooed.

"That's a good one," he grunted. "I don't have any parents to tell me not to have company. This is my spot."

"Really? How could you afford this?"

"Jasmine, don't ask me any questions you don't really wanna know the answer to."

She quickly shut her mouth.

"Anyway, bathroom's down the hall. You can take my bed tonight. I'll take the couch." He plopped down on the couch and picked up the TV remote. Once the TV was on, his eyes didn't glance her way anymore.

"Really? You mean you're not gonna try anything?"

"No, Jasmine," he groaned.

And that was the chasm between them. Jasmine found herself, struggling desperately to swim across the divide separating a precocious, pretty malcontent spoiled by an upbringing most kids without would dream of, and a boy who was branded early as a future career criminal by his classmates and teachers.

And even still, at every chance Jasmine got to do so, like an infant she would lunge out to cling to him— as she was, a lost, lonely person seeking companionship in the darkness of dishonest, pointless living.

Her tongue burned the inside of her mouth. Her lips wanted to spill everything they had for him. She combed her mind for the words to give to him. But in her most opportune moment, she realized she had nothing she could offer him if she couldn't offer herself to him. What did he want from her? She was lost without the answer.

"Well, okay," she finally said, turning from him. Yet still, she lingered for a bit longer.

"Um, RJ?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, you and your brothers. Thanks for everything, I mean."

He stretched himself out over the couch as he yawned, letting his head sink into the cushion. With another sly grin, he coyly dismissed her with a wave of his hand over his shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

She let her eyes roam as she meandered down the hall before finally wandering into RJ's room. She walked in and shut the door behind her, looking over her shoulder as if she expected RJ to be standing there. In the bathroom, she ran the hot water in the shower and waited until the mirrors got steamy. Then, she tossed off all her clothes and hopped in and linger for awhile, lathering herself all over with the shower gel. She closed her eyes and smiled. It was the most heavenly shower she could remember taking in a long time.