Ryder POV

"We are going to ask each other questions if I refuse to answer, I have to drink; if you refuse to answer, you eat a jelly bean," Her least favorite candy.

"Why can't I drink?" she asks.

I reply straightforward "Because you're an alcoholic,"

"But I hate jelly beans."

"I know; that's why I'm counting on you answering every one of my questions," I smile mischievously.

"What kind of questions are we asking?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Doesn't matter," I made this stupid game up; the only way to get in her head is to ask her questions, questions in the form of a game.

"Wait, so I can ask you anything?" She's going to enjoy this so much, learning any and everything about me. Luckily I have a high tolerance for alcohol; I could drink all these bottles and still be sober.

"Yes, Jayda, you can ask me anything,"

"I think I am going to like this game," she smirks.

I smile at her smile and then sit the mini tequila bottles on the coffee table, along with a box of jelly beans. We both sit on the floor, Kriss crossed, "You can start,"

She opens her mouth to ask something, but nothing comes out. She would freeze now. She has the opportunity to ask me anything, and she draws a blank "What's your favorite color?"

Really? I guess she wanted to start out simple. "Blue," I answer. "When did you first start cutting?" Just because she wanted to ask a simple question doesn't mean I have to.

"Okay, I guess you don't want to start slow,"

I already know the little details about her; I'm not going to waste my time asking things I already know, "I already know your favorite color; it's black, now can you answer my question,"

"I was thirteen," she looks down, ashamed, and then back to me, "Why did you start dating Ashley?"

"Uhm, I never dated her; she was just someone I occasionally had sex with."

"Oh,"

I ask my next question, "Why did you start cutting?"

She sighs. "Well, I started cutting because I was alone, and I thought my parents hated me. But recently, I found out that they didn't abandon me because they hated one another. My dad had an affair,"

"They finally told you?" Feels like I have been keeping that secret forever.

"What? You knew?!"

"I sort of walked in on them at the beginning of senior year," I will never get that image of them out of my head.

She pushes me back, "You knew this whole time, and you didn't say anything?!" she yells.

"It wasn't any of my business, and I swore to them I wouldn't say anything," They kept my secret from her, so I thought it was the least I could do.

"I can't believe you lied to me,"

"I didn't lie to you," I defend myself. "I just didn't tell you, there's a difference, and I didn't know the affair started five years ago, I didn't even know your mom knew," Marcus told me not to say anything to Jayda and to her mom. I thought that was because she didn't know.

She folds her arms, "So that's why he doesn't like you?"

One half of the reason, "Is that your question?"

She shakes her head and then asks, "That room, in your house, with the paintings and photos, did you draw and take those?"

I thought she would have forgotten about that; she just had to stumble into that room; I grab one of the tequila bottles and take a swing; by drinking this, I know she probably has the answer, but I want to keep her wondering. It's my turn. "Are you okay?"

Jayda POV

He keeps asking me am I okay with this sad overtone. "That's your question; I answered that for you like an hour ago," I tell him yes every time because I am. I am okay.

"I'm asking how are you mentally? Do you want to kill yourself?"

"No, I don't want to kill myself. I'm doing better, honestly. I feel healed," I say with slight enthusiasm. I'm going to college. I have a plan.

"Did you heal, or did you force yourself to forget your reality?"

He always sees right past my bullshit.

"It's okay to not be okay,"

"It's my turn to ask a question!" That's the only way I can get out of this. "How come you were so scared of Caleb telling me you loved me?"

"I don't take rejection easily, hence why I said the shit I said after you told me you didn't love me,"

"How did you know I was going to reject you? I could have been secretly in love with you," Like he was with me.

"Did you love Caleb?" he asks, dodging my question because he didn't want to answer.

"Yes,"

I had a feeling he was going to bring him up. He shakes his head at my answer, "What, you don't think I loved him? I did!" I think.

"I think you were in love with the idea of being in love. Loving someone and being in love with them are two very different things,"

I bit my bottom lip as the words he said causes my stomach to turn. "Okay, my turn," I say. I don't want to talk about anything involving love or Caleb. I scrabble through my head, trying to find a question; I smile when I think of one, "How many people have you been with?"

"None,"

"Sexually," I clarify. He stares at me blankly, probably counting in his head all his sexual partners, if he even remembers all the girls he has been with. He picks up one of the tequila bottles and takes a sip. I roll my eyes, of course he would take a drink.

"Did you sleep with him?"

"No," I answer; he relaxes a little more; I should have said yes just to see his reaction. But I need to move on; I need to ask the question I've been asking myself for months "Why did you get shot for me? And don't say it's because you love me,"

He lightly laughs, "There's no other answer. I got shot for you. I protected you because I love you. What was I supposed to do? Just let you get shot. Let you die?"

"Yes!" I raise my voice a little, "Yes, you were, I was supposed to die, it was supposed to be me dying, not you,"

"This conversation is irrelevant because I am not dead, nor am I dying!"

"It is because now all I fucking dream about is you dying! You want to know what I was dreaming about at the motel? I was dreaming of you. You were dead, and it was because of me," It's the same dream every night, him getting shot and bleeding out in my arms, yesterday's dream was more intense, more vivid; I thought it was real.

Sometimes the dream switches; it's either of him dying or me cutting my wrist and him finding me dead; in that dream, I see him just before everything goes black.

I stand up from the floor and walk over to the window, resting my head on the cool glass. A warm body comes up behind me. "It was my decision to hop in front of you, mine. I didn't have any time to think; all I knew was I had to protect you,"

I turn around, "But why, though?"

"Because I love you, how many times do I have to say it? Is it so hard for you to believe that someone could love you so much, they want to do nothing more than protect you,"

He steps closer, and I look up at him, sniffling and he says cupping my face "What's worth dying for if not love?"

I'm always fucking crying; it's irritating as shit. I rest my head on his torso and breathe. He always says the right thing at the right time.

He adds, "At that moment, in that second, all that mattered was you; all that matters to me is you,"

My head looks up into his green eyes, watching his pupils dilate in mine; I bring my hand to his head and stand on my tiptoes, planting a lite kiss on his lips. As always, kissing him makes me feel like I can breathe again like I am whole again.

He breaks the kiss and turns his head away from me, slightly looking ashamed to be kissing me. I touch the side of his face bringing him to look back at me.

I say softly, "It's real," admitting that I am not just kissing him to make him feel better and that I am kissing him because, whatever this is between us, is too strong to fight. The connection we have is not one-sided; I feel it too. His lips crash back into mine, and he pins me against the cold glass. I don't know which is making me shiver, the cold glass or the feeling of his grip around my waist.

We both slowly kneel down to the ground, not allowing our mouths to separate; he holds my waist as I slowly lie on my back, my legs spread, and he lays between them. His waist touching mines, I can feel the chill of his jeans' buttons on my stomach. His warm hands touch the skin under my shirt, and I let out a moan in his mouth.

What's happening now isn't like what happened at the motel; this moment between us isn't firey and aggressive, with an emotional overtone.

It's pure passion and desire.

He pulls away and then kisses my neck; I take a deep breath in, I can tell this moment means so much to him as if he has wanted, desired to do this for the longest; for me, it's new. My emotions are everywhere, nothing seems to make any sense, but this does. He does.

Pinned against the floor, I can feel him getting hard against me; this causes me to lift my hips, wanting to feel him more. Ryder starts kissing me again; his tongue slips in and out of my mouth. He places his hand tightly on my hips and picks me up from the floor; I gasp and laugh into his ear as I wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around him. He walks us into the bedroom and then. He sits on the bed. I'm on top of him now.

He leans back as I straddle his waist. His hands grip both of my thighs so tightly that I know there will be a bruise there in the morning.

His lips mold into mine as I kiss him more while playing with his hair. It's been a minute since he has had a haircut; it's longer than normal, I like it long. It's not really long, but it's the perfect length for him, just enough for me to run my hands through.

Now that I am on top of him, I can feel him more; his hardness pressed up against me, making me wetter by the second. His hands move up and down my body. I slowly grind my hips against him and start to kiss his neck, just as he did me.

"Fuck," he moans while wrapping his arms around my waist, tightening his grip on me, pulling my body closer to his.

Guess I am doing it right; I have never done this before, but for some reason, I know what to do; it's like I have unlocked something within me. He sits up; now it's as if I am sitting on his lap. I want to feel more of him. He stops kissing me and looks into my eyes; we both try to catch our breaths.

I look down and tug at his shirt; in one swoop, he pulls it over him, revealing his bare chest. He watches me as I scan his muscular body and the tattoos on them, "What does this mean?" I point to the one on his chest; it's a Chinese symbol, they are all Chinese symbols, but I don't know the meanings.

"Eternity," he whispers.

I point to the one on his shoulder and then run my fingers over it. "This one?" our foreheads rest against each other.

"Afterlife," he breaths.

I slide my hand to the middle of his forearm; it is the only tattoo visible on him that you can see even with his shirt on. "And this one?" the last one.

He hesitates but then says "Broken Soul,"

My heart aches for him. My hand touches his face, "You aren't broken," I tell him. His finger runs over my bottom lip before our mouths meet again. His finger moves to the buttons of my shirt; starting from the bottom, he unbuttons one, then another, and another before I grab his hands, stopping him.

The kiss breaks, and he immediately says, "I'm sorry,"

"No, no. It isn't you," I reassure him; he's doing everything right. I'm comfortable. "It's... I..." I gather my words, trying to figure out how to tell him this. "Before I started cutting my wrist, I used to cut my body; they've healed, but the scars are still there," It's like the scars on my body just want to take their itty bitty time fading away.

"Oh," is all he says before adding, "I don't care, Jayda,"

"Well, I do; I don't want you to see me like that," It's embarrassing as fuck, having razor marks all over yourself, I can't even look at myself in the mirror; how could he look at me. "I don't have a body like other girls,"

"I don't care about other girls!" he scolds. "I only care about you; I only want you!"

"Ryder-" He continues, to unbutton each button each; I watch as he does; I hold in a breath, waiting until he finishes so he can see how ugly my body is and understand why I don't like it... why I want to hide it.

Once reaching the last and final button at the top, he pushes my shirt off and looks at my bare skin; his eyes narrow in on the cuts on my stomach; I'm about to fold my arms and cover myself up until he says, "There isn't anything wrong with you,"

My heart melts at his words; he brings his lips to mine and kisses me softly; our chest is against each other, breathing at the same pace.

I'm so happy; I wore my good bra, the black lacy one, the one I paid like 40 dollars for. I'm a 34D; the bigger the bra size, the more expensive it is. Again another reason why I don't like having big boobs. God, I wish I could go back to my training bra days.

His hand stays at the small of my back; for some reason, I feel as though he wants to go under my bra, but he doesn't know if he should or shouldn't. I don't know if I should let him.

Surprisingly I'm not too insecure about my boobs. They're nice. I think. They sag, but that's normal, right? Especially when you have bigger boobs. Imagine having huge boobs and having them sit up perfectly; it'll be like two missiles preparing to launch.

I conceal the laughter that wants to escape my mouth because of my perception of boobs.

Taking my hand, I go to the clasp of my bra and then unclasp it. Ryder stops kissing me and looks at me; I give him a small nod, showing him that it's alright. He takes his hands and pulls the straps down; my boobs come out of the bra; he takes the bra and drops it onto the floor. Looking back at me, he looks at them with hungry eyes.

Then he hugs my waist tighter, he kisses me, and then goes done, taking one of my breasts into his mouth; my head dips back at the arousal sensation, he uses his other hand and makes circles around my nipple.

My hormones are burning into flames within me; I have never felt anything like this before. My body is craving him, more of him, more of this. He puts his hand into my pants and rubs over me through the outside of my underwear.

"Ryder," I moan.

He presses harder through the cloth, teasing me. My nails dig into his back. His tongue moves to my neck. He kisses my neck and then whispers in my ear, "You're so wet for me,"

"Mhm," I whine.

With his one hand, he slides the middle of my underwear to the side, and then his finger slips in; I suck in a breath; the feeling is still foreign to me; I almost forgot how it felt. It hurts, but it feels so good.

His finger pumps in and out easily, "Only, I can touch you like this, okay?" he says in my ear.

Breathlessly I say, "Okay,"

I close my eyes tightly when I feel a pinch that sends a shock through me. I'm right at my point about to finish, but then he stops. He turns over, placing me on the bed. He stands up, hovering over me. His finger goes to the button of my pants; I let him take them off of me. I feel the need to immediately cover up my body; he's the first person to ever see me like this, practically naked and exposed.

Ryder hunches over and kisses me, taking my mind off the fact that I am in front of him with nothing but underwear on; it's working. Kissing him keeps me from thinking about my imperfect body. Kissing him makes me feel like everything in the world and with me is right even when it sure as hell isn't.

His fingers go back into my underwear as he lies on top of me. He rubs me in a circular motion. Pressure builds up in my stomach, and I bite down on my bottom lip, closing my eyes shut. I'm throbbing. I'm coming even faster than before.

"Look at me," he instructs.

I open my eyes to find him staring into my fucking soul. "Only me!" he says, commanding, looking for assurance.

"Only you," I have a feeling it will always be only him.

He smiles and puts two fingers in; I moan loudly and grip his muscles. My back arches of the bed; he moves in and out faster and faster. I finally reach my climax and shiver, everything blurs for a minute, and then I am back. My back relaxes on the bed, and I breathe heavily, watching my chest move up and down while trying to gather myself.

He lays over top of me in a situp position, looking at me. He pushes my hair back and says, "You're beautiful Jayda,"

My lips part at his words, and he kisses me again. He kisses my cheek and then a few times on my neck; he then goes down to my stomach, kissing it all over. It takes a minute before I notice what he is doing.

He's kissing my scars. All of them, healing them, trying to take away my insecurities by showing me that it's nothing wrong with my body and the marks on them.

My eyes begin to water, and I look up at the ceiling. He comes back up to me, and his eyes feel with confusion when he sees the tear leave my eye and roll down my cheek.

"What's wrong?" he asks, cupping the side of my face.

"You really love me?"

He sighs in defeat and says...

"Yes, I love you—more than anything and anyone. In a world full of people, it'll always be you. I will always only truly love you, "

"Are you going to leave?"

"No,"

I whisper "Everybody always leaves,"

~~~

(Whose cutting onions?🥺

Ughhhh this chapter was low key sad! Like my baby Jayda😫😢she just doesn't see how great she is... next chapter will be even sadder, sorry guys!

Again this has nothing to do with anything but Bridgerton getting a season 2!!!!!!!!!)