Out of Character (True Colors 2)

“You stood up for me. For yourself. You were amazing. But I get that it was probably intense for you.” Jasper sounded amazed but all jazzed up, like we’d just conquered some ride together. And as always, now I was the one about to puke.

“That’s one way to put it.”

Jasper gentled his tone some and slowed his hands, like he was calming a nervous puppy. “You did good.”

“Should have done it a long time ago, but still…” I held out my shaking hands.

“I’m not trying to say it wasn’t hard for you.” Giving me a kind smile, Jasper squeezed my biceps. “But I was impressed.”

“I’m now impressively homeless.” After removing my crown, I scrubbed at my hair.

“Hey.” He stilled my hand while I still had hair left. “Do you want to call your mom?”

I lurched away from him, gut roiling again. “God, no. I’ll figure something out, but I am not needing another rescue.”

“Fair enough, but I meant more that maybe you need the support.”

“I’ll be fine.” I pushed myself to standing even if my knees were still decidedly wobbly.

“You don’t look—”

“I just need a minute.” I dragged in a rattling breath before striding toward the restroom. “I’m going to get changed.”

“Good idea. I’ll do the same.”

Toting all his usual bags, he followed close behind me, almost as if he expected me to make a run for it. Which I definitely was not about to do in this toga. And Jasper might be my only friend. I was feeling like crap but I wasn’t stupid enough to flee. So no fleeing, but my self-loathing had reached new depths, and I wasn’t surprised when I ended up puking while changing. I hated how much I now needed Jasper. And I hated that it had taken me this long to stand up. Oh, and that I’d been this unprepared for the inevitable reaction.

“Where to?” Jasper asked as I emerged from the stall, doing a pretty good job of pretending like he hadn’t heard me getting sick even as he passed me a pack of mints. “You want to collect your stuff while they’re still at work, right?”

I quickly rinsed my mouth and popped a mint that did nothing to quiet my still-anxious gut. “What I’d like is to not think for a while.”

It came out too loud, too sharp, and Jasper took a step back, feet hitting his bags. “Okay.”

“Sorry. That came out harsh. You’re trying to help. I get it. I hate being such a mess—”

“This isn’t your fault or your mess. It’s theirs.” He rubbed my arm before picking up his bags and following me out of the restroom. “And like you said, maybe this was way overdue.”

“Yeah.” I paused for a drink at the fountain by the elevator. His tone had been pragmatic, not accusatory, but he was right. I’d waited way too long to stand up to Luther and James. He’d be justified in being pissed about that. Yet if he was, he was doing a good job of hiding it as he waited with patient expression. “Let me help. Please?”

“I guess I could use a ride back to the apartment. Everything I own should pretty much fit in my car.”

“And then?”

“You can be in charge of pizza.” I forced out a laugh as we got on the elevator.

“I’m serious. You can stay with me tonight while you figure out what to do.”

“Thanks. I don’t like imposing—”

“You’re not an imposition.” Jasper was quick to interrupt me with one of his mom’s favorite sayings. But the soft way he gazed at me wasn’t familial at all and was way more caring than I deserved. “You’re my guy.”

It was a nice thought, but I still felt like the world’s biggest burden as we stepped into the chilly evening. For weeks I’d felt one move away from my life collapsing like a faulty block structure, a build with a fatal flaw—me. Now it was happening and I had no one else to blame. Even with Jasper by my side, I wasn’t sure I’d ever been so alone.

Chapter Thirty-One

Jasper

Milo was in a funk. And I couldn’t blame him. He’d come out to his friends, who weren’t really ever true friends, but they’d been a part of his life for almost a decade, and he’d lost his place to live all in one grand gesture. Which had been unbearably sweet. And scary. The moment when he’d reached for my hand was something I’d remember forever. My inner fourteen-year-old had waited years for him to stand in front of me like that, to stand up, not only for me but also himself. I’d wanted to cheer him on, even if my adult self understood that the real-world consequences sucked. So I got why he was brooding. I simply wished I had a way to make it better.