Dare || m.c.

➵ 4.3 - jade

It wasn't exactly a secret that Jade didn't cry. There were only two people left in the world who'd seen her at her lowest. Even after Michael had tried to convince her that crying could be healthy, she still didn't have a positive relationship with tears. She still tried her damned hardest to keep them away, to maintain the pretense that she was strong. But the night of her birthday, she didn't care. After putting away her presents and eating dinner, after doing her homework and helping Sandra with the kitchen, after spending time with her new family and locking herself in her room for the night, Jade cried.

Clutching her parents' wedding bands in her hand so hard they made a dent in her palm, she cried for her fallen father who lost his life in attempts of saving someone else's. She cried for the fourteen years old girl who didn't get a chance to say goodbye to her father. She cried for her mother who tried so hard to give her a good life, but failed to keep her grip on reality from slipping. She cried for the girl who didn't get a chance to say goodbye to her mother. She cried for Ashton. The boy who walked into her life disguised as an angel extending the hand of friendship and stayed as a brother. The boy who lost everything at the tender age of ten and managed to remain the most sensitive person in the world. She cried for Harry. The boy who lost everything before he knew he had it. She cried for Michael. The boy who sashayed into her life as a menace, bringing nothing but annoyance. The boy who was so broken at one point that Jade didn't failed to see how damaged he was.

She cried for herself. The girl who lost her father. The girl who lost every single person she'd once considered her friend. The girl who lost her mother to something as stupid as alcohol. The girl who wasn't worth keeping, wasn't worth loving. The girl who was given away by her parents. She cried for her unfortunate fate, the one filled with loss and disappointment. She cried for the person she had become, the one with an exterior so harsh no one bothered to get to know her.

She cried for everyone, the entire world. This place people called home. The one filled with nothing but death and violence, hatred and deceit. This place where murderers walked free with their heads held high. This place where rapists weren't held responsible for their crime; the place where rape wasn't even considered a crime in some parts. This place where children were afraid to go to school because they didn't know if they would come back home. This place where every corner was contaminated with terrorism and every street marred with sexism. This place where a person's skin color determined whether or not they would get basic human rights. This place where people could be shot on the spot because of the religion or sexuality they identified as.

She cried until the tears ran out and her eyes were dry. She cried until it was physically painful to blink or even breathe. She cried until she was literally gasping for breath, the hiccups making it even more difficult. She cried until she actually passed out, her fingers still curled around the two rings hanging from the chain around her neck, a constant reminder of what she'd lost.

*•*•*

"Guess what?" Ashton asked.

It was Saturday night, two days after Jade's birthday. Ashton and Jade were in the living room, both of them sitting on the couch with a bag of Doritos between them. Harry had already gone to bed, so the two were left watching Spongebob. Ashton was the only one really watching, though. Jade had her sketchbook open in her lap, her hands moving adeptly across the once blank page.

"What?" Jade said without looking up from her sketch. It was stupid and naïve of her, she knew that, but she was spending her Saturday night drawing a pair of hands clasped together. Her and Michael's hands. Jade had average sized hands for a girl, but her fingers were long and slender. Michael, on the other hand, had relatively small hands for a guy with chubbier fingers. Jade liked his fingers, though.