𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲, 𝐛𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢

𝟷𝟼. 𝚓𝚘𝚑𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎 & 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚔𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚢

Hi. I'm sorry. This isn't an update. Unfortunately, all of Chapter 16 got deleted from my Wattpad account, and there is no way for me to recover it, so I have to republish it.

My heart is broken knowing that I have lost all of the votes and comments that were left. Not because I care about the statistics nor the success of my book, but because you guys are the entire reason I do this. I am devastated that all of the feedback and love you've given me is now gone, and even more so, knowing I will never get it back. I wish this never happened.

I'm so sorry for the inconvenience and thank you for your understanding and continual support that only seems to continue to grow. - Aims.

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Trigger warnings: talk of death and grief. talk and action of parental abuse.

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Fifteen minutes; that's how long it takes you to finally get near the unknown place held secret in the cracks of Jean's mysterious mind.

Fifteen minutes of you trying to work an answer out of Jean, only for him not to give anything to work with in return that would help relieve your itching curiosity.

Fifteen minutes of Jean revealing no facial expressions you could read, nor a slight hint tangled around any letter of his spoken words that you could pick out successfully.

Fifteen minutes of Cigarettes After Sex playing through the crisp speakers of his car and excessive sarcasm clinging tightly around the punch line of every joke made.

Fifteen minutes have passed at the speed of light because sometimes, very rarely, but sometimes, time becomes a non-existent little thing depending on who you spend it with.

There is one fact, and it's this:

Jean erases time.

Or at least, that's what it seems.

"In three miles, your destination will be on your left," the robotic navigation voice sings through the speakers of Jean's blacked-out Mercedes Benz, canceling out the chorus of John Wayne, letting you know you are inching closer to whatever unspoken place Jean insists on keeping disclosed.

You are resting your elbow on the soft armrest of the car door. The side of your head rests on your balled fist, pressing lightly into your right temple.

With impatience, and wonderment rubbing you raw, your head lifts from your knuckles and turns toward Jean, who is focused carefully on the road set out front. "So... are you gonna tell me where you're taking me yet?" You ask again for the third time, too stubborn to let the question go unanswered.

With Jean's bandaged right hand on top of the smooth steering wheel, his thumb taps on its black base a few times, revealing his growing impatience towards you. "This is like the fifth time you asked me this, Y/N." His focus stays parallel. Turning the right blinker on, he pulls into the furthest turning lane. "What's that mouth good for other than annoying me with the same crap over and over again?"

And then there's Jean, too stubborn to tell you a damn thing.

Your hand falls to the center of your lap, the thin yellow fabric of your dress catching its weight. Your eyes remain glued to his perfectly sculpted side profile as it silhouettes under the bright red stop light the vehicle is sitting at.

His scuffed jawline is as sharp as a fresh razor blade pulled straight from its package; touch it, and you would bleed to death, you're wholeheartedly convinced.