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13
JADEN
Rayne wraps her arms around herself like she's bracing for impact, and I can't help but feel that impact right along with her. "I ran back home and got there just as the police arrived, so in time to see them literally drag my mother out of the house, kicking and screaming, wig askew, like some deranged creature, which I guess she was. Fuck, I wish I had a joint."
Her story cuts through me, layer by layer—a horror show I can't look away from. She's flatlining emotionally, and damn if that doesn't ring a bell. Warning signs light up in my brain, but some other part of me can't help diving deeper into this minefield. An irresistible pull to expose more of my brave little dragon's inner world.
As our emotional borderlines stretch thin, her pain comes at me like a tidal wave. For a second, I'm drowning, not sure where her feelings end and mine kick in. Amidst the chaos, there's this spark in her, this undying grit. A fierce, unwavering determination that’s reminiscent of Brienne of Tarth. It's like finding a nugget of gold in the mud.
My gut says to pull the plug on this connection; it's a powder keg waiting to blow. She's too young, not seasoned by life's ugly turns, and that alone should have me running for the hills. But there's something about her, a complex allure that pins me to the spot. Most people, I can read like an open book, but Rayne's a puzzle—a damn complicated one that I'm not ready to put down.
This link between us surges, like a sudden hit of adrenaline. It's like stepping into unknown territory, firing up parts of me I didn't even know existed. I'm at war with myself, caution butting heads with this raw urge to let things unfold. It's as if her struggle puts a magnifying glass on my own, spotlighting the internal tug-of-war we're both grappling with.
We linger in this fraught stillness, two souls dancing on the knife's edge of revelation and catastrophe. And all the while, I can't shake the notion that in this tumultuous space, I find something that feels—astonishingly, perilously—right.
Be careful, Jaden. This connection is a double-edged sword; it could shatter my defenses. But then Rayne cracks the code to my inner sanctum, and I can't help but be drawn in. She's a damn puzzle that I can't resist picking apart. She's fire and vulnerability all rolled into one, and it feels right, like a thrill I haven't felt in years. That dangerous comfort of being close, emotionally close—it's like some forbidden vice. Savannah's ghost tries to intrude, but I slam that door shut.
As we pull up to Harmony Hills, a mix of apprehension and curiosity knots inside me. Rayne leans in, eyeing the sprawling place. "It's massive.” Her words are lost in the background as I wrestle with this inner turmoil.
We reach the reception desk, Anne looking up with a smile that can melt glaciers. Rayne's eyes flicker between me and Anne, radar on high alert. I feel the pull to mess with her just a little, to keep this complex dance between us going.
"Afternoon, Anne.” I crank up the charm. "You're looking as radiant as ever." I toss her a wink and soak up her reaction.
Anne grins, putting her assets on full display. "Oh, Jaden, it's been too long."
Rayne's feelings seep through our connection—impatience meets something darker, something I can't put a finger on. I decide to fan the flame. "You can say that again." I let that sit for a moment, locking eyes with Anne as Rayne's gaze burns into me. "We're here for Summer Turner. Dr. Patton’s expecting us."
Anne's eyes are curious, but it's Rayne's spike of possessiveness that gives me a thrill. "Funny, we were just talking about you.” Anne’s grin widens.
"Only the good stuff, I trust.” I wink at Anne but am very aware of the tension building between me and Rayne.
As we head toward Dr. Patton's office, I lean close to Rayne. "Feeling a little green-eyed, are we?" My voice is a low rumble, designed to stir the emotional pot even more. I can't deny the twisted satisfaction I feel from making the air between us just a bit thicker, more electric.
She shoots me a glare, her cheeks flush red. "Don't get cocky. You're a real piece of work, you know that?" Even with the sting in her words, I can sense a hint of vulnerability.
I chuckle. Got to admit, messing with her emotions feels like a victory. The bond we share, this intimate connection, adds an intensity to our interaction that I can't deny. There's something magnetic about Rayne, a force that draws me in despite my better judgment. It’s time I face the truth . . . I’m captivated, entangled in a web of emotions that threaten to ensnare us both. Friendship, that’s all this is.
Walking into Dr. Patton's office, I'm struck by how relaxed it feels. Big windows let in tons of light, and the whole room just has a chill vibe. This isn't like the stuffy psych offices I've seen at the hospital. This one's got books and artwork, and even a spot for meditation. It smells like lavender, calming the nerves.
Dr. Patton herself matches the vibe. Jeans, old T-shirt, running shoes—she looks like someone you'd want to talk to. And her eyes, man, they look like they can see right through you, already catching the storm that's brewing between me and Rayne.
Rayne's shout cuts through the calm. "Summer!" It's like a mix of relief and worry that echoes right into me. I look over at the young woman sitting in the chair. She looks clean but spaced out. She's got a different build than Rayne, shorter and not as fit. Though the Caucasian family features carry a distinctiveness that sets her apart, her eyes and hair—those say she's family. She doesn't have the same fire as Rayne, though. Dressed in a sweatshirt and pants, she looks like she's just going through the motions.
Rayne engulfs Summer in an embrace, her face a canvas of conflicting emotions—relief wrestling with worry. She sits next to her sister, clutching her hand as if she could infuse life through the very act of touch. I feel it—the storm inside Rayne. Anger, sorrow, a tempest of frustration, all of it a mirror to Summer's unspoken pain. Then something snaps—a burst of energy that prickles my skin and seizes my senses. It's as if a light bulb goes on in Rayne's mind, and I can almost hear the gears clicking into place.
B.J.'s touch settles on my shoulder—a tether in the whirlpool of emotion swirling around me. "You must be Jaden." She speaks softly, each syllable imbued with genuine concern.
I manage a stiff nod, my gaze anchored to the emotional spectacle unfolding before me. "It's tough to see her like this.” I coat my words with enough truth to mask the disquiet roiling beneath my surface. I sense B.J. picking up on it—her eyes showing a flicker of understanding. Yet, there's an extra layer, an inexplicable charge that sparks from my link with Rayne, binding us in a way that leaves me at once fascinated and unnerved.
Rayne, consumed by her own struggle, rises from her seat. "You're the doctor, right? I'm Rayne, Summer's older sister." The metamorphosis in her is startling—she’s gone from vulnerable to indomitable in the span of a heartbeat.
"Hello, Rayne. Thank you for coming," B.J. greets, shaking her hand with a grip that's at once firm and comforting. "I'm Dr. B.J. Patton, I'll be working with your sister."
As we settle into our seats, a modicum of calm begins to settle over me. B.J. offers refreshments—tea for Rayne, coffee for me. The intercom buzzes as she orders, and then she joins us, exuding a calming vibe.
Rayne leans in, eyes locked on B.J., her body language screaming urgency. "Look, B.J., my sister and I have this psychic connection. She's not here; she's checked out." It's the sort of candor I've come to expect from Rayne, her forthright approach peeling away another layer of my skepticism, replacing it with growing respect.
Each word from her mouth not only conveys information but also twines itself around my own conflicted feelings. As much as I want to fend off what I'm beginning to feel for her, the electricity between us weaves its own narrative—a story neither of us seems able to halt. It's an unfolding script tinged with both beauty and trepidation. As I sit there, steeped in the intricacies of our linked emotions, it occurs to me: fighting this connection might be a futile battle, and love—the very thing I've convinced myself is a dangerous illusion—might just be the most real thing I've ever faced.
