Jasper stared at the door in front of him, feeling like he was about to walk into his own execution. It was his fault. It was all his fault. He was never going to be good enough. And it wasn't because she was a 'princess'. It was simply because she was her. She deserved so much better than him. He knew it. Hell, everyone in this fucking palace knew it. He'd fucked up a lot in his life, he'd fucked up a lot with her. But he wouldn't hurt her more. Jasper Fost was destined to play the villain, to spiral down the rabbit hole. He wasn't bringing the only thing he loved in this whole damn world down with him.
Breathing in deeply, Jasper placed his hand on the doorknob, twisted, and stepped in. She was sitting on her bed, fiddling with something.
"Hey" he greeted, voice tight. She looked up at him.
"Hi" she said softly back. She leapt off of the bed and came over to him. "I missed you" she spoke sweetly. Her eyes full of adoration. She wrapped her arms around him and placed a kiss on his cheek. He wouldn't crumble. He knew he wouldn't. He'd mastered the poker face by the time he was five. He was hustling at seven. Lying before he was probably even born. He wouldn't crack. Not even with her arms around him or her lips to his cheek. He just stayed staring straight ahead. Not flinching. And maybe that was the worst of all of it. Keeping it in. He was always so damn good at keeping it in. Even as she rambled about the great present she got him. Excited and cute. Happy. Even when all he wanted was to smile at her, tell her he loved her, tell her that letter she wrote him meant the world, how no one ever had ever gotten him a gift before . . .
"I didn't get you anything" he lied. An odd thought crossed his mind as he said that: what a waste of Sarah Alice's drawings.
"That's okay" she said without missing a beat. "Having you close is enough." She seemed so earnest in her declaration, but a hateful part of him just wanted to laugh or cry, because how how could she care that much about him of all people? She smiled at him. And he wanted to hold that smile forever in his back pocket. "This is for you" she began, holding out the gift. His eyes flicked to her, to the package, to the ground. Restless and cold, he couldn't really look at her.
"I don't feel comfortable accepting that."
"What?" she laughed with disbelief.
"I said I didn't get you anything" he repeated more forcefully, wanting that to say everything. But his princess couldn't care less about the materials. No one got that. People saw her and the way she dressed and they thought of her materialistic, but Jasper knew that the only things that ever really truly mattered to Eleanor was her family, was him. She was so fucking pure. So fucking good.
"It's okay, it's Christmas" she continued to laugh nervously, taken aback by his words and his stance. Jasper knew he needed to be more direct, more cruel to make his point.
"I'm just feeling . . . suffocated. Over the gifts and the letters and the you saying that you missed me." Jasper had promised he wouldn't lie to her anymore. And .thing that came from his lips was a lie. The fact that she'd get him a gift touched him more than she could ever know. The letters? Were the only thing he's ever written in this life that actually mattered. And her telling him she missed him? How the hell in this world did he get so lucky for the princess to miss him?
"But I did- but I did miss you" she stammered while smiling in that special way reserved only for him. It was fucking adorable and his heart sort of melted, but his face remained passive and his words cold. Because he was Jasper Frost. He didn't have feelings.
"Well I didn't ask you" he said bluntly. He watched her face to change to confusion, a little hurt. Sort of like a puppy dog. What kind of monster kicks a puppy dog?
"What's going on? Did-did something happen?" she began confused, apprehensive. He watched her nerves return full swing, a slight fearful look in her eyes even as she masked it with a half-hearted chuckle. "It was the letter I wrote wasn't it?"
"I wanna stop that too" Jasper said quickly. Jasper was starting to think he had to be a little masochistic to be saying these things, but he was experiencing no pleasure from his own pain. He watched as his words really began to register with her.
"Why?" she whispered. It came out so sad and innocent and Jasper wanted nothing more than to say it all, spill his guts. Tell her everything that was wrong and that absolutely none of it had to do with her, or the letters they secretly wrote to one another (which were his favorite part of the day). But he loved her. He loved her. Oh god, he loved her. And he refused to take her down with him. So he said what had to be said. He gave her a final push.
"Because I can't be the guy who is waiting around for letters or writing words that I don't mean." Jasper swallowed back bile.
"Don't say that" she half admonished, half pleaded. She didn't believe the words coming out of his mouth and why would she? He's shown time and time again how much he cared for her.
"I don't." It was forceful and abrupt. He wasn't sure he could stand here much longer, watching as her face crumbles. "The sex is one thing" he continued, "but I'm no good at relationships and I can't be in one. Not with you." This time he couldn't even look her in the eyes as he said it. He just looked straight ahead, refusing to feel. He knew she'd believe him now. It was a believable lie. No one had ever pegged Jasper Frost as the relationship guy. Not to mention, tt hit her where it hurt, where she was most insecure. 'Unworthy of being loved'
"But everything was so good-"
"Everything was so good for you" he pushed back. The longer he stood here, the more he thought his craftily made poker face might crack apart.
"And it wasn't for you?" she begged softly. Of course it was, Eleanor. It was everything. But he didn't say that. He hardly let himself think it.
"I'm just trying to be honest"
The irony in that statement wasn't lost on Jasper and the snort of derision he gave her felt more directed at himself than her. He met her eyes for a moment. And she was beautiful. The most beautiful girl in the world. And he'd crushed her. Again.
"I'm sorry" his voice cracked for just an instant, just a small slip in his cold façade.
"It was that letter wasn't it?" she asked, her voice strained. That letter. The one where she revealed to him she loved him. Well at this precise moment it was in his back jean pocket and he promised himself he would tote around those perfect words for the rest of his miserable existence. He would never forget that for a brief moment in time he had been loved by Eleanor Henstridge.
"It was everything" he said quickly and emphatically. Hating himself with each damn syllable. He stood stiff as stock as she looked down and let his words sink in, accepted what he said.
"Okay" she said finally. He didn't waste a moment in turning to leave. He couldn't be in that room with her any longer. "I've given you so many chances" she called after him, tearily. He turned back abruptly.
"Yeah, well you shouldn't have." He paused for a moment, and then said the single truth that night. "I'm not worth it." He lingered for a moment, before he forced himself to open the door and leave her.
