Talk

"Something wrong?" Jasper asked, noticing the frozen look on my face.

"Is today the nineteenth?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," Jasper confirmed, glancing in the direction of my gaze. "Do you know Sam and Mike?"

It took me a moment to respond, torn between conflicting emotions. Part of me wanted to deny any connection, to avoid the inevitable conversation that would follow. But in the end, I nodded dumbly. "I know Sam."

As Sam Reynolds approached our table, I couldn't tear my eyes away from him, my gaze fixed on his every move. I watched as he hesitated, feeling my stare like a weight upon him. His reaction was almost comical, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

For a brief moment, our eyes locked, and I saw the flicker of recognition in his expression, the sudden realization dawning upon him. It was a gratifying sight, knowing that I had unnerved him, unsettled his carefully composed facade.

Jasper's voice cut through the silence, breaking me out of my reverie. "Sam, come here!"

But Sam shook his head, his discomfort evident, and remained a distance away.

Turning back to me, Jasper looked puzzled. "I thought you said you knew Sam?"

"I do," I confirmed, my tone clipped.

"Then I don't understand why he wouldn't join us," Jasper pressed, his curiosity piqued.

"Was it Sam's idea to come here?" I asked, unable to suppress a smirk at the thought.

"No, the other birthday boy, Michael," Jasper replied, oblivious to my amusement.

"Right," I sighed, shaking my head.

"You're one of Tony's frat brothers?" Jasper ventured, trying to make sense of the situation.

"No, we just don't get along," I replied, keeping my answer deliberately vague. He didn't have to know Tony was my brother.

"Why?" Jasper pressed, sensing there was more to the story.

I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling the weight of the past bearing down upon me. "Long story, but maybe you should just head back to the party."

Jasper looked puzzled, his brow furrowing in confusion. "I thought we could-"

"I really think it would be better if you just head back," I interrupted, my tone firm.

"Okay," Jasper acquiesced, rising from his seat. "But if you change your mind, you know where I am."

"Yeah," I nodded, watching as he walked away, a pang of regret gnawing at my insides. But as much as I yearned for his companionship, I knew that some demons were better left undisturbed.

"Look up," a familiar voice broke through my thoughts, pulling me from my reverie. I glanced up to see Sam standing beside me, his expression uncertain.

I forgot that demons follow you anyway.

"Can we talk?" he asked, his tone surprisingly subdued.

"Um, I'm kinda busy," I replied, unsure of what he wanted.

"A minute? Please," Sam persisted, his usual arrogance tempered by a hint of humility.

I hesitated, caught off guard by his uncharacteristic politeness. Eventually, I relented and motioned for him to sit, though I kept my guard up.

"If this is about me seeing you here, I'd never say anything to your family," Sam began, his tone earnest. "What you do on your own time is your business, I know that now."

I nodded, grateful for his assurance, though I couldn't help but wonder what had prompted this sudden change of heart.

"Then what can I say?" Sam continued, his gaze searching mine.

"I didn't realize Jasper was your friend," I admitted, still puzzled by the situation.

"Why does that matter?" Sam shrugged. "Jasper's a good guy as well. You two would probably get along very well."

I was taken aback by Sam's unexpected praise of Jasper. Had he really changed so much since our last encounter? Or was there more to this than met the eye?

"Was there something else?" I asked, sensing there was more to Sam's visit than he was letting on.

"Why didn't you tell me what happened?" Sam blurted out, his words tinged with frustration.

I paused, caught off guard by his directness. "Because you're the enemy," I replied bluntly, the words slipping out before I could censor myself.

Sam chuckled bitterly. "Right. I chose the wrong side, I forgot."

I winced, realizing how callous my words sounded. "That didn't come out right."

"I'm sure that is exactly what you meant," Sam sighed. "You're not one to mince words."

"You know I don't talk about my personal life. Is that why you have this attitude towards me tonight?" I asked, not feeling an ounce of guilt. "Because I didn't tell you, my brother's lapdog, about it?"

"No," Sam shook his head, his expression softening. "I didn't mean to have an attitude. It's been a long night already, and I was just surprised to see you, that's all. We were all told you were dead."

"Yeah," I nodded, bitterness creeping into my tone. It was just like my siblings to spread such rumors.

Sam grinned wryly. "And what did you think when you saw me?"

"Nothing much," I replied, though the truth was far more complicated than I cared to admit.

"You seem to be okay," Sam remarked, his tone tentative as he studied my expression.

"Did you think I wouldn't be?" I replied, a hint of surprise in my voice at his concern. Despite our tumultuous history, I hadn't expected him to worry about my well-being.

Sam shook his head. "No. I know you're not like that. I just wondered...well, I'm glad you're okay. And you know that I won't—"

"Sam, I know," I interrupted, cutting him off before he could finish. "Just keep your mouth shut about seeing me."

Sam nodded solemnly, a silent promise passing between us.

"Didn't mean to forget your birthday," I said, shifting the topic away from our uneasy truce. "I barely remember my own birthday."

"It's not a big deal," Sam replied, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

I nodded, acknowledging his words. "Go back to your friends."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, hesitating for a moment before speaking again. "Why don't you join us? I promise the guys are not that bad."

I couldn't help but smirk at his suggestion. "I'm sure they're not, but I'm not the—"

"Not the party type," Sam finished for me, a knowing grin spreading across his face. "Yeah. If you change your mind though."

I nodded in response, though I knew deep down that my answer wouldn't change. Despite Sam's efforts to bridge the gap between us, some divides were too deep to cross. I couldn't shake the feeling of mistrust that gnawed at my insides.

Though I longed for connection, the scars of betrayal ran deep, and I knew better than to let my guard down around those who had aligned themselves with my family.

I didn't have the energy to be so wary of him.

I walked across the back of the bar and down the hallway into the bathroom, taking a moment to collect my thoughts before reemerging a few moments later. As I made the turn from the hall back into the main bar, I felt a hand on my arm, and instinctively tensed, ready to forcibly remove it. But when I looked up, I saw that the hand belonged to Jasper, his bright smile lighting up his face. Several of the men from the group he was with stood beside him, watching expectantly.

"Come dance with us, please!" Jasper pleaded, tugging gently at my arm.

"I don't dance," I replied, trying to pull away, but Jasper continued to pull me towards the dance floor.

"One dance?" Jasper begged, his eyes pleading. "We'll dance around you so no one can see you."

Before I could protest further, Jasper had already pulled me to the edge of the dance floor with little resistance.

I panicked.

It's not just the dancing; it's the idea of being seen, of being judged. Every time I think about joining in, a voice in my head screams, "What if you mess up? What if they laugh?" It's as if the very thought of dancing puts me under a spotlight, exposing every insecurity I've ever had about myself.

I've tried to push myself before, to step out onto that dance floor, but my body doesn't seem to listen. It freezes, refuses to move, as if it's protecting me from the potential embarrassment that awaits. The irony is, I love music. I feel it, deep in my bones, but that love hasn't been enough to overcome this fear.

Sometimes, when I'm alone, I let myself move to a song, and in those moments, I feel free. But the idea of translating that private freedom into a public display seems beneath me. I envy those who can just let go, who don't overthink every movement, every step.

I know this fear is irrational. I know that, in the grand scheme of things, how well I dance or whether I look silly wouldn't matter. But knowing isn't enough to quell the anxiety, to silence the voice that holds me back.