Chapter 43: "Cracks Beneath the Surface"
When the door finally creaked open, Jasmine didn't hesitate. She stood and wrapped her arms tightly around Zariah, like she was afraid if she let go even for a second, her friend would slip away.
Zariah melted into the hug, too exhausted to pretend anymore.
For a long time, neither of them spoke. They just stood there, breathing, holding onto the last fragile pieces of each other.
But then, as Jasmine pulled back slightly, her eyes caught something — a dark stain seeping through Zariah's sweatshirt sleeve.
A stain that shouldn't have been there.
Jasmine's heart slammed against her ribs.
She gently caught Zariah's arm, careful not to frighten her. "Z... what happened?" she whispered.
Zariah stiffened instantly, yanking her arm back, but it was too late — Jasmine had seen it.
The blood.
The poorly wrapped bandage underneath.
Jasmine's breath caught. Her voice dropped even lower. "You're bleeding. You're— Zariah, you're hurt."
Zariah couldn't meet her eyes. She stared at the ground, shame burning her from the inside out.
"I'm fine," she lied — the oldest, most broken lie in her book.
"No, you're not," Jasmine said, her voice shaking with anger — not at Zariah, but at everything that had pushed her here. "You're not fine. You're bleeding through your clothes!"
Zariah shrank under her gaze, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. "I didn't mean to go that deep," she mumbled. "It just... happened."
Jasmine took a shaky breath, struggling to hold herself together. She reached out again, slower this time, and lightly touched Zariah's uninjured hand.
"I'm not mad," Jasmine said fiercely. "I'm scared. For you. You don't have to do this alone."
Tears filled Zariah's eyes again. "I don't know how to stop," she whispered brokenly.
Jasmine tightened her grip. "Then don't stop alone."
Without another word, Jasmine led her to sit on the bed. She gently helped her roll up the sleeve, wincing at the sight of the angry, fresh wound beneath.
"I'm not a doctor," Jasmine said quietly, pulling out her phone, "but I can Google first aid. We'll clean it, okay? We'll fix it. Together."
Zariah nodded weakly, letting Jasmine take control — letting herself be cared for, even if she didn't believe she deserved it.
As Jasmine carefully wiped away the blood and wrapped a fresh bandage around her arm, Zariah felt something strange flicker deep inside her.
It wasn't hope, not really.
Not yet.
But it was the faintest glimmer of something almost as rare —
The feeling that maybe, just maybe, she was worth saving after all.