Slow It Down

Part 13 •REWRITTEN•

He lets out a low chuckle, one shoulder lifting in a careless shrug. "I mean... could do both."

The giggle I've been holding in finally spills out, and I lean back, covering my mouth to smother it unsuccessfully. When I lower my hand, Jackson is watching me, not judging or guarded, but with a softness that makes my chest tighten and face warm unexpectedly.

I break the moment before it can deepen, turning a page. "We should map out the logo next."

He nods, letting it go, and the quiet that settles between us is comfortable now—the kind of silence that doesn't need filling.

We work for a while, occasionally trading ideas or notebooks, bodies shifting closer whenever we need to peer at the same page. The evening sunset slants warm hues of orange across the scratched wooden table, the smell of espresso weaving around us like a familiar blanket.

Then my phone buzzes.

Once.

The vibration against my leg, in my legging's pocket, feels too sharp, too pointed before I even reach for it. I hesitate before glancing at the screen.

Unknown Number: Didn't know you were the type to hang around guys like him.

The message turns my blood cold. I feel time freeze for a moment, as if the whole world has stopped moving. The relaxing, warm environment suddenly sends a chill through my body as I realize someone sees me. With Jackson.

"Everything good?" Jackson asks casually without looking up, focused on our notes.

I lock my phone so fast it might as well have burned me. "Yeah. Just spam." The words fly out before I think, and they don't fully sound convincing as my voice trembles the slightest bit.

He looks up at me for a moment—really looks—but doesn't press.

We finish outlining the last few parts of the first portion of our project, focused around creating the business, my stomach still tied into restrictive knots. Jackson stretches, hoodie lifting just enough to show a sliver of the grey T-shirt beneath, and I glance away before he notices.

"Same time Monday?" he asks, slipping his notebook into his rather empty backpack.

I take a small moment to think about my schedule, realizing the only thing to keep me busy—hanging out with Natalie—isn't possible because she has a class Monday evening.

"Yeah. Monday works."

He stands, grabbing his bag before throwing it over his right shoulder. I follow, quickly gathering my things and following him towards the door to exit the café. Fortunately, it has stopped sprinkling, and instead there is a slight, early Autumn breeze in the air.

Opening the door, the soft jingle of the bell rings in the air as Jackson lets me shuffle out of the building and into the night first. Shifting the strap of his bag, he briefly glances around before speaking up.

"You gotta way of getting home?"

The question catches me off guard, tinging my cheeks as I struggle to get a word out.

"Y-yeah, I was just going to walk home. It's only a few minutes from here." I stammer, picturing myself face-palming in my mind. Why am I acting so stupid around him?

He gives a small, unexpectedly gentle smile. "Alright, be safe. See you around."

He turns and walks in the opposite direction without another word spoken, disappearing into the fading evening light. He must live nearby and walk here too.

I wait until he is several strides away before pulling my phone out of my pocket again.

I'm caught off guard to see a notification for a new message waits for me. For a heartbeat, I think it's Natalie. But it isn't.

Unknown Number: Some girls just don't get when they're not wanted. Don't worry. He talks to way prettier girls the same way.

My stomach drops so fast I feel like I'm falling. At the same time, a chill races across my skin so suddenly I freeze in place, and it's not from the breeze. The tone is different now. Not the sharp burst of fear from the first message—this one sinks, cold and humiliating, spreading through me like ink.

Not wanted. Prettier girls. Same way.

My heart thuds painfully against my ribs. The words fold neatly over every insecurity I've spent years trying to bury, pressing down until I can barely breathe. I force myself to lock the screen, then shove the phone back into my pocket, the screen pressed face-down against my hip like that might quiet the echo still ringing in my head.

Someone isn't just noticing me. They are watching me—closely. The trembling in my hands doesn't stop.

For a moment, I consider telling someone. Kayce, Natalie, Jackson, but the idea snaps shut as quickly as it opens.

No. Absolutely not.

I close my eyes, steady my breathing, and begin walking down the sidewalk with neutrality—as though nothing is wrong, as though someone's eyes aren't crawling over the back of my neck.

This—this—is exactly what ruined everything last time. I was a problem, a target, a complication. Someone Jackson, Kayce and Natalie had to defend and work around. And eventually... Jackson stopped. I never knew if it was embarrassment or exhaustion or just the realization that I wasn't worth the trouble.

But I won't drag him into that again. I won't risk becoming the reason he pulls away a second time.

Not when we've only just started... whatever this is. Not when today felt relatively easy around him for the first time in years. Not when I finally felt like maybe I wasn't someone he regretted knowing.

I swallow hard and force my shoulders back and walk across the street, wearing an expression I hope looks convincingly calm. It's fine, messages are just messages. Words on a screen. I'm trying to convince myself that I can handle this, as I've handled much worse.

Tomorrow, I will act normal and pretend nothing happened. As if the world hasn't quietly shifted under my feet. As if I'm not suddenly terrified of what else might be waiting in the shadows. And maybe, if I ignore it long enough, it will stop. It has to.