Chapter: I Am Not Her
(Jay's POV)
I don't know what possessed me to follow her.
Maybe it was the way she smiled.
Maybe it was the way she said "Maki" like she owned the letters.
Maybe it was the way she looked at me — like I was some side character in her little glittery fantasy.
Or maybe it was because I wanted to make something bleed.
Honey Bee Ryder stood in front of the mirror in the restroom, adjusting her lipstick like she was preparing for a photoshoot instead of a war.
The restroom was silent except for the soft drip of the faucet and the faint music from outside.
She saw me in the mirror.
Her lips curved.
"Well," she said lightly. "You followed me."
I leaned against the door and crossed my arms. "Trust me, you're not special enough to be followed. I just needed to wash off the smell of cheap perfume."
She laughed softly. Fake. Practiced.
"You flirt too much," she said, dabbing her lip. "I think you got it from your mom, right?"
Everything inside me went quiet.
Not loud.
Not explosive.
Quiet.
That kind of quiet that comes before something irreversible.
I stepped closer.
"What did you say?"
She smiled at my reflection. "Oh, don't act innocent. Everyone knows girls like you learn early. Must be in the blood."
The blood.
I didn't even remember lifting my hand.
But I remember the sound.
A crack.
Her head snapped to the side.
Her nose started bleeding instantly.
Red.
Bright red.
She gasped. "WHAT THE FUCK YOU BITCH—"
"Careful," I said coldly. "You're going to stain the marble. And unlike you, marble has value."
She stumbled back, holding her nose. "You psycho!"
"I don't flirt," I said, my voice low. "I intimidate. There's a difference. Learn it."
"You hit me!"
"You insulted my mother."
She laughed through the blood. "Oh please, what kind of mother even raises someone like you?"
My jaw tightened.
I stepped so close she had to lean back against the counter.
"I am not like her," I said quietly. "And if you ever mention her again, I won't stop at your nose."
Her breathing quickened.
"You're crazy."
"No," I tilted my head slightly. "I'm controlled. You just pushed the wrong button."
She tried to regain her composure, wiping her nose with tissue. "Keifer will hate you for this."
I smiled slowly.
"Keifer?"
I leaned in closer.
"Keifer doesn't hate me. He survives me."
Her face twisted.
"You think he's yours?"
I shrugged. "He's not an object. Unlike you, I don't collect people like accessories."
She scoffed. "You're insecure."
"I'm territorial," I corrected. "And there's a difference."
She straightened up despite the blood.
"You act tough, but you're scared."
"Of you?" I laughed. "Honey, the only thing scary about you is your foundation shade."
Her eyes flared.
"You're pathetic."
"And you're forgettable," I replied instantly. "Which one hurts more?"
She opened her mouth again.
I stepped back.
"I'm done. Fix your face before you go out. Wouldn't want Yuri's parents thinking someone attacked a circus act."
And I walked out.
—
The hallway felt colder than before.
But my chest was burning.
I am not like her.
I am not like my mom.
I am not weak.
I repeated it like a mantra as I walked back.
And of course — because the universe enjoys drama — Keifer was standing near the entrance, arms crossed, waiting.
His eyes scanned my face.
"What happened?"
I walked past him.
"Why do you care?"
He followed me. "Jay."
"Go back to your Honey Bee," I said. "She might need help collecting her wings."
"Jealous, Jay?"
I stopped walking.
Turned.
"Why the fuck would I be jealous?"
He smirked slightly.
"Because even though I'm your boyfriend, you didn't like seeing me flirt."
"Flirt?" I stepped closer. "You call that flirting? I've seen more chemistry between expired milk and the trash can."
He chuckled.
"Profanity, Jay."
"Oh, don't start that," I snapped. "Go get kisses from Honey. She seems desperate enough to donate."
He leaned in slightly. "See? Jealous."
I slapped his chest lightly.
"Don't flatter yourself, Mark Keifer Watson."
He raised a brow.
"Mark?"
"Yes. Full government name. Because clearly 'Maki' is available for public use now."
He laughed softly.
"You looked cute when you screamed."
"I wasn't screaming. I was correcting a mistake."
"You punched her."
I blinked slowly.
"Did I?"
His eyes sharpened slightly.
"She's bleeding."
"She should've chosen her words more carefully."
"Jay."
"What?" I snapped. "Do you want me to apologize? Should I send flowers? Maybe a fruit basket with a note that says 'sorry for breaking your ego'?"
He stepped closer.
"You don't have to act like this."
"Like what?"
"Like you care too much."
I let out a hollow laugh.
"Care?" I said. "You think this is about caring? No. This is about disrespect."
He tilted his head.
"She disrespected you?"
"She disrespected my mother."
His expression changed slightly.
"What did she say?"
"Doesn't matter."
"It does."
"No," I said sharply. "It doesn't. Because I handled it."
He stared at me for a long moment.
"You're shaking."
"I'm not."
"You are."
I looked down.
Damn it.
I was.
Not from fear.
From anger.
He reached out.
I stepped back.
"Don't."
"Jay."
"Don't touch me right now."
Silence hung between us.
Then he sighed.
"You know I was teasing you."
"Congratulations," I said coldly. "You succeeded."
"You know she doesn't mean anything."
"Then why give her attention?"
He smirked slightly. "Because watching you react is entertaining."
I stepped closer again.
"If you ever use me for entertainment again, I swear I'll make sure you're the one bleeding next."
His eyes darkened slightly.
"That a threat?"
"That's a promise."
We stared at each other.
Electric.
Tense.
Dangerous.
Then I turned to leave.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"Anywhere you're not."
He caught my wrist gently.
"Jay."
I didn't look at him.
"You're not like your mom."
My breath caught for half a second.
"I know," I whispered. "That's why I fight."
He loosened his grip.
"You don't have to fight alone."
I pulled my hand back.
"I'm not alone," I said. "I'm just surrounded by idiots."
He laughed under his breath.
"There she is."
"Shut up."
He stepped closer again.
"You care."
I glared at him.
"You flirt."
"You hit people."
"You enjoy provoking me."
"You enjoy reacting."
We were standing too close.
My heart was pounding.
"You're impossible," I muttered.
"And yet," he said quietly, "you're still here."
I looked at him for a long moment.
Then I leaned closer to his ear.
"If you ever let someone call you Maki again, I will personally rename you in a way you won't like."
He smiled faintly.
"Possessive."
"Selective," I corrected.
And then I walked away.
Because if I stayed one second longer, I might've forgiven him.
And he didn't deserve that yet.