tw: discussion of suicide and self-harm

18.

AFTER JACE HAD STOPPED CRYING and the school bell had sounded, officially marking us late to our first period class, we'd made an unspoken agreement to skip.

I leaned against the brick wall, my shoes digging into the muddy grass and leaving stains all over the white of the sneakers. Jace sat beside me, our arms pressing against each other as he tossed sticks and pebbles across the ground.

Our shoulders lifted and fell with laboured breaths. If I listened carefully, I was sure I'd be able to hear our hearts, thumping in sync.

"Six months ago," Jace said after a long silence. "I tried to kill myself."

I paused. "That wasn't a very smart idea."

Jace laughed, shaking his head. "No. Not great for your health."

"Death does that to a person."

"They should really put up warning about that kind of stuff," he joked, nudging my shoulder.

I rolled my eyes, a grin playing on my lips. It felt nice to talk about this stuff with Jace. Without walking on eggshells. Just joking around like regular people – like a year ago, when people still treated me normally.

"Caution," I said, waving my hand dramatically in the air. "Attempted suicide may cause death. Not great for health."

"Something like that," he teased.

"Should add that warning to cars," I said, raising a brow. "Warning, sitting in a car may cause significant trauma and injury. Avoid at all costs."

Jace snorted. "Okay, now that's a little unrealistic."

I huffed jokingly, nudging him back harder. "Right, my warning is unrealistic."

He shrugged, shooting me a tilted grin. "Don't shoot the messenger, Jasmine."

I chuckled and our laughter faded into silence. Jace picked up a pebble, rolling it between his thumb and index finger before tossing it across the soil with a quick flick of his wrist. I listened to the quiet clatter of the rock as it skidded to a stop.

He took another, rolled it on his palm, then threw it as far as it could go. His eyes still trained on the distance, he said, "You know... I guess that's what I wanted."

I blinked, turning to him at the sudden sound of his voice. He'd picked up another pebble, turning it over slowly between his fingers as he spoke.

"To die," he continued eventually. "I wanted to die. Or, I mean – I just – I wanted everything to stop. You know? I wanted it all to just – just pause. Until I stepped off that ledge, and – and I realised – shit."

There was a pause. He dropped the pebble to the floor and let out a quipped laugh, shaking his head, leaning it back against the brick wall. His hair stuck to the bricks and he slouched down.

"That was what I thought," he said. "Shit. Because I wanted to live. I didn't want to die. I wanted to live. But it was too late. I was falling."

His fingers tightened into a fist, though his expression remained blank. I leaned into his touch, our elbows pressing together.

"But you survived," I said.

Jace nodded, smiling. "I survived. Thank God. And it's been tough. You know? So tough, you have no idea." He paused, flexing his ankle out in front of him. "But I'm glad I survived. Really."

I smiled, taking his hand into mine. Our fingers wound together so naturally, like they were never meant to be apart. His eyes drifted to our interwoven hands before lifting to meet mine, and his lips twitched in a watery smile.

"I'm glad too," I said softly. I squeezed his hand in mine. "Really. I'm glad you survived."

"Thanks, Jasmine. You have no idea how much that means to me," he said. He shook his head, releasing a bitter laugh. "Sometimes I feel like a waste of space, you know? Like, all that money spent on therapy and physio sessions, my parents would probably be rich. And – and I feel like such a burden sometimes. My mom... God, she worries so much. She never gets off my case, even if I'm feeling better than I have in months."

He sighed, his other hand moving to play with my hand, still clutched tightly in his. He traced my fingers, circling the nails and the knuckles.

"I don't know," he said. "Maybe I'm just being ungrateful."

"No," I cut in. "No, I get it."

He met my eyes, his brow furrowing. "Yeah?"

"It's like you put all your energy into getting better. And you spend half the time already hating yourself and feeling guilty, wishing you could be normal like everyone else. And then your parents just have to make it worse by making you feel like a disappointment." I raised a brow at him. "Something like that?"

"That was..." he hummed. "Oddly specific."

I laughed, nudging his shoulder. "What can I say? A year's experience does that to you."

"I mean you're not wrong," he said. "My parents just want me to hurry up and be happy. They don't care how much progress I've made – that I'm off my crutches and feeling better each day. No. They want me to be like I was years ago. Before I tried to off myself."

He let out a vicious scowl. "Couldn't even do that right."

Immediately, I released his hand, spinning to kneel beside him and take his face into my hands. "Don't you say that, Jace Wilson – Walker – whatever. You take that back right now."

"I was joking, Jas," he said, his hands lifting to rest on my mine. He blinked, his eyes widening as they searched my own. "I was kidding. I don't mean it."

"I can't lose another friend," I said, my lips trembling. "You can't just show up out of nowhere, give me a fake name, and become my friend, just to say that. So, you take that back right now."

"Jasmine," he breathed. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against mine and I shut my eyes, feeling that tell-tale burning behind my eyelids. "I didn't mean it. I take it back. You know how I feel. I'm glad I survived, really. I wanted to – want to be here."

I swallowed thickly, nodding, my fingers loosening around his jaw. "Don't stay something stupid like that again. You're – you're strong. And amazing. And – so – don't say that again."

"I won't," he said. "I won't."

"Because after – after Amber –" my voice cut off with a strangled sound and I leaned further into his touch. "I can't. Not again. If you – if you..."

"I know," Jace muttered.

I pulled away, opening my eyes to see his own watering honey looking up at me as I kneeled over him. I nodded, wiping frantically at my eyes, sleeves scratching skin, and sucking in a deep breath.

Amber.

I had to shove her out of my mind before I embarrassed myself again. It seemed to be all I did in front of Jace these days – embarrass myself. This wasn't about me. This was about him.

And yet, it was because of Amber that I could understand him. That I could understand how he'd been driven to the edge. How it felt to be there. How it felt to be in recovery.

And thinking about losing Jace... my stomach turned, and I felt sick. I wouldn't be able to handle it.

"It's Walker."

I blinked. "Huh?"

Jace turned, shooting me a half-shrug. "Wilson's my mom's maiden name. I was born Walker, but I decided to go by Wilson here. Makes things easier. Either one's technically right. I didn't mean to lie to you."

"Oh," I said. I shook my head, like shaking sand from my eyes. "Oh. No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you like that."

He shrugged. "It must have been hard, losing your friend so suddenly. But you don't have to worry, Jas. You won't lose me. Promise."

Suddenly was one way to describe it. If anything, it hadn't been sudden at all. Sure, the crash? That was sudden. But her death? A death on impact would have been much more merciful – to the both of us.

"Jasmine?" Jace said. I shook my head, realising I'd turned silent.

"Sorry?" I breathed, meeting his eye.

He frowned. His brows lifted and after a second, he said, "Jasmine... What happened? With Amber?"

"It's just..." I swallowed a tight breath. I had to tell him at some point. "Amber. I... I watched her die."

There was a tense pause and I avoided meeting his stare, scared of his reaction. When he said nothing, I continued.

"We were in the accident together." My voice cracked. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to continue. "She died in the car, a foot away from me."

Jace's hand took mine, tangling our fingers together. And with that simple squeeze of skin against skin, I felt a little better. The weight in my stomach felt a little lighter. And I continued.

"She asked me if she was dying and I –" I shook my head, my voice wavering, almost dying in my throat. "I told her she'd be okay. I lied to her. And then she died. So, I'm sorry that I snapped, but I can't lose you too, Jace. I can't go through it all again."

"You won't have to," Jace murmured. He let go of my hand, instead wrapping an arm around me and drawing me into his chest. "I promise."

"It's so stupid. It's all so stupid. I'm useless now. I can't even get in a car again. My arms – my wrists – they're so fucking ugly now and – if I lost you, I just –"

"Stop that," he interrupted. "Stop. They're not ugly. You're not useless, Jasmine Ali. You are incredible. Beautiful. Kind –"

"Beautiful?" I cut him off with a scoff. I tore myself out of his grip, tugging my sleeve up to reveal the jagged scars staining my skin.

White lightning against a dark sky, marring it. Destroying the beauty of the pristine sky behind it. I held my wrist out for him to see, squeezing my watery eyes shut and turning my shameful face away from his sharp eyes. Because like lightning, it was hard to look at. It strained your eyes and forced you to look away after just a glance.

"I can't go anywhere with these anymore," I said, my voice breaking in a sob. "No matter how long ago it was, no matter how long ago I quit, the scars will ruin me forever."

Soft fingertips brushed the scarred skin and I blinked, turning to see Jace's fingers tracing my scars one by one.

"Beautiful," he repeated. His touch was soft. Gentle. Like a whisper, barely there. "And kind. Generous. Smart. Funny. Determined." He paused on my final scar. "Strong."

My heart swelled. Though, a part of me fought it. That part of me that wouldn't shut up, that had only grown louder since the accident. Screaming, he's lying! You're ugly. You're worthless. He just pities you. Stop being so depressing, Jasmine. This is why you lost all of your friends.

"How can you say that?" I squeaked. "How can you look at them and call them beautiful? Everyone who sees them winces. Frowns. Turns away until I tug my sleeves down. I – I'm scarred forever, Jace. They're never going to leave me. No matter how much they fade, they'll always be there. A constant reminder of – of everything."

"And that's okay," he countered. He paused, his eyes drifting to my scars. Slowly, he released my wrist and pursed his lips, shaking his head. "Kintsugi."

I frowned. "What?"

"Kintsugi," he repeated, meeting my eyes. His voice had grown softer, gentler. "It's a Japanese art where broken pottery is mended with gold."

"Oh," I said stupidly.

He laughed at my blank expression, taking my wrist back into his hands. "Instead of throwing out the broken pottery, they mend it. Instead of hiding the broken edges, they highlight them."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Where are you going with this?"

"By embracing the history of the pottery – its flaws and imperfections – you come out with a stronger, more beautiful piece," he explained.

Oh. Now I could see where he was going.

He brushed his thumb across the raised lines on my skin. "These scars don't make you ugly, Jasmine. If anything, they show how beautiful you are. How strong you are to have stopped." He fell quiet and arched a brow at me. "You have stopped, right?"

I laughed then at the sudden change in tone. "Yes, Jace. Don't worry. I quit months ago when my mom found out."

"Good," he said. "Because even if they make you beautiful, I don't want you doing that to yourself."

He nodded towards my wrist and my eyes drifted to the scars there. Scars like jagged lightning.

Scars of gold.

Kintsugi.

I ran a finger along my wrist, allowing myself to really feel them for the first time in months. Allowing myself to take them in. And for once, to not feel disgusted by them. Not feel ashamed.

Why should I? Why should I feel ashamed of something I'd overcome? Something I'd taken months to quit. I'd resisted the temptation for months. I'd scratched my wrist raw trying to avoid harming myself. And I'd made it. I'd come out the other side successful.

Jace was right. I should be proud.

"Thank you, Jace," I said, my lips tugging into a smile. I met his eyes, suddenly realising how close we were, my wrist still resting in the centre of his palm. My smile grew. "Really. It was a good metaphor."

He laughed, his fingers tapping against my wrist playfully. "Thanks. I'll pass it along to my therapist."

I released a watery giggle, swiping a hand against my eyes.

"Look at me," I scoffed. "I was supposed to comforting you."

"Hey, it worked," he pointed out, shrugging. "I feel very comforted."

"That's great."

"Isn't it? Turns out, all that therapy? Wasn't needed. Just needed a pretty girl to cry in my arms this entire time. Who knew?"

I warmed at his words. Pretty.

Jace and I had become very comfortable with each other in a very short amount of time. I guessed that was what happened when two depressed teenagers bumped into each other in a small town where gossip thrived.

And yet, there were so many unspoken moments. We didn't speak of how comfortable I felt in his arms. We didn't mention how easy it was to intertwine our fingers together. We never talked about his compliments. Our mutual blushing.

There'd been too much in the way. Too many other things to discuss and discover about each other. It was never the right moment,

But really, would there ever be?

I swallowed thickly, my eyes drifting to his lips.

I mean, now would be as good as a time as ever, right?

My eyes flicked back up to his, only to find the bright honey had turned into a dark sap, sucking me in and keeping me there – so sweet it was almost bitter. Half-lidded gold stared back at me, falling from my eyes to my lips. His hand grew limp around my wrist for a moment, then, in a moment of determination, tightened and tugged me closer.

"Jace –" I barely managed before my voice died in my throat and his lips were hovering over mine. His breath became mine. I could feel his fingers tight around my wrist. His eyes had grown darker.

"Jasmine," he said. His throat bobbed. His hand loosened. He leaned back, his eyes moving to the sky above us. Then, the dreaded words, "We – we should get to class."

My heart sunk, yet I tried to hide the disappointment as he released me, pulling himself up to his feet.

What had I been expecting? We were riled up, high on emotions. This wasn't real. This was just another one of our unspoken moments. Another brush of skin to add to the directory.

He avoided my eyes, pulling his backpack onto his shoulders. I held my breath, wiping at my eyes one last time before grabbing my own bag and standing beside him.

"Let's go," I conceded quietly. And if he noticed anything was off, he didn't mention it.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE

the idea of kintsugi was the reason I wrote this story in the first place! let me know what you thought!

I actually really don't like this chapter so I'm definitely going to come back someday and change it lmao but I hope you liked it at least! thank you for reading as always! love yall 💖