Jade has never said "I love you."
With Beck, she didn't have to. She always cut him off with a kiss, all jagged lips and teeth that cut lies. He took that to mean "I love you too."
She didn't correct him.
Even when they break up, a chaos of broken glass and plastic promises, Jade can't bring herself to unlock her bolted bone cage, spill her heart like blood-pink ink. "I'm cheating on you," she says instead, and he drops her hand like he's been burnt.
Is it cheating if I don't know how to breathe without her, if red hair is the catalyst, for sweaty palms and aching lungs? Is it cheating if her smile feels like coming home, if I've found my galaxies, in the broken chit of bone?
"It's her, isn't it?" he spits; and somehow the absence of three letters hurts more than this breakup ever could.
(That night, Cat whispers "I love you" into every inch of pale skin, doesn't get mad, when Jade's throat burns too cold to say it back).
"So are you two, like... dating now?"
Typical Vega. Some people just don't know when to mind their own business. "What's it to you?" Jade bites, arm winding around Cat's waist.
"N-nothing," Tori splutters. "You just look happy, that's all."
"We are," Cat sings, and she can't help the smile tugging at her lips. I could write a soliloquy about the curve of her hips, the strip of skin where her shorts and shirt fail to meet, Jade thinks. The thought doesn't scare her half as much as it should.
(When Beck kisses Tori in the hallway two days later, she can't bring herself to mind at all).
"Come to prom with me," Jade says. They're lying on Cat's bed, counting the plastic stars on her pink ceiling.
She's not sure why she wants to go. "Proms are stupid," she'd replied, every time Beck asked her to attend. Maybe there's something about the way they're intertwined, a watercolour of red-black.
Cat giggles, and the sound curls around Jade's chest; makes a home amongst the wreckage. If it were anyone else, she'd have narrowed her eyes until they stopped laughing.
But Cat isn't "anyone else." She's her best friend, her first-last crush.
"Can we get matching corsages?"
"Sure."
I never cared much for flowers, until she looked at me like I was a daffodil in bloom. I never cared much for flowers, until she said "I wanna grow old with you."
(They dance until the rest of the world fades to black, and Jade can't remember any other name but "Cat").
"I'm happy for you," Beck says, three months after they broke up.
Jade pauses at the door of his R.V, recalling every stupid fight, every time they tore and picked and wore each other down. If only she'd realised sooner, that they're better off as friends.
"Me too."
(She hugs him goodbye, and his sweater smells like Tori's perfume).
Cat insists on taking her to the beach, the words "It'll be fun Jadey," preventing her from putting up too much of a fight.
"Ugh, fine," she relents, driving in the direction of the coast. How did Jade get so whipped? Maybe it's because Cat is just too damned cute when she pouts.
"Yay! I'll make a playlist with summer music, and buy some-"
Jade kisses her with coffee breath, slides cold fingers, into warm hands. Cat kisses back, lipgloss on lipstick, the bite of tongue and teeth.
"I love you," Jade murmurs, surprised when the words don't leave blisters in her mouth, stain her thighs with purple bruises. She'd always thought "I love you" was a death sentence, but right now it feels a lot more like her key to freedom.
Jade's in love with everything she's supposed to hate; paint stains and pastel shades. She's in love with dimples on cheeks, voice so small it makes a whisper seem like a hurricane.
Eighteen years on this screwed up Earth, and you've never met anyone quite like her.
(Most of all, though, she's just in love with Cat).