Page 52 of Summer Breakdown (Training Seasons #2)

Frankie has been lying in the same position for hours.

Days, perhaps. The sheet underneath her is wet from tears, and she has no idea why she’s even crying.

Ezra is here. She thinks. He’s quiet when she’s down.

The blinds are closed, and she wants to tell him she misses the stars, but she can’t ask him for anything when he’s already put his life on hold.

Her entire body aches for Jasmine. She knew what Frankie was doing.

She probably knew while Frankie walked over the pitch.

Was likely waiting with anticipation to see if she’d actually break her heart or if she’d spare her.

Frankie doesn’t deserve her, but her chest creaks with the want to ask Ezra how she is.

There’s a light knock at what sounds like the front door, but Frankie has no energy to even entertain who it might be.

She hears Ezra patter to the door quietly.

The light creaks in from the hallway. Frankie wishes she had the strength to tell Ezra she doesn’t like the darkness.

It helped her when she had her breakdown before, because if she couldn’t see, she couldn’t hallucinate all that well.

At least that’s what she told herself. Now, she wants the image of Jasmine to be here.

“Hey,” he says softly. It might be Cam.

“Hi.” Jasmine. Well, her brain did something she wanted, for once. Frankie’s eyes open. They mutter too quietly for Frankie to understand, but she wants to know what they’re talking about. Not to be nosy, but to hear if Jasmine sounds happy .

Frankie does something she doesn’t remember ever wanting to do. She creeps out of bed, her hips clicking as she moves. There’s a low light over by the worktop, probably a phone screen, but Frankie has adjusted to the darkness just fine.

Jasmine’s hair is straight, and Frankie almost doesn’t recognise her. Both her and Ezra turn to face her as Frankie hovers by the bookcase.

“Hi,” Ezra says. He clearly wasn’t anticipating her getting up any time soon.

“I—out of ten?” he asks. Jasmine doesn’t say anything.

Frankie shuffles in place, pulling the cuffs of her sweatshirt over her hands.

She knows she’ll feel better after a shower, but the idea of it makes her want to crawl into a hole.

“Maybe seven,” Frankie mutters. Ezra frowns.

“Did something happen?” he asks. “Getting up is like a three.”

Frankie flicks her gaze over to Jasmine.

“Oh,” Jasmine whispers. “Sorry. I was just dropping some things off.” Frankie’s things. She’s removed her from her house already. “Food and stuff.”

“Oh.”

“I’m leaving,” she replies, with a small smile, but it’s not real. Frankie frowns. If it’s all in her mind, can’t she make Jasmine smile at her? “I just—I got you something. Can I show you?”

Frankie nods, and Jasmine smiles at her for real. Finally. It feels like the only reason Frankie’s made it so far in this life is to have Jasmine smile at her.

Jasmine grabs something out of the bag and plugs it in near the living room.

It brings her closer, and Frankie wants to touch her, but she doesn’t know how the hallucinations work.

Perhaps if she risks it, Jasmine will disappear in a cloud of smoke.

Then Jasmine clicks a button, and the ceiling glows a deep, dark blue and lights up with stars.

Thousands of stars. The image moves slightly, like Frankie is in the middle of the galaxy.

Jasmine moves closer as she speaks. “You’ll always be more important than the stars, but I thought you might like them.” Frankie does like them. But not as much as she likes Jasmine.

“Jasmine?” she whispers.

“Yeah?”

“Who has the kids?” Frankie lies on the floor on her back to look up at the stars.

“Mal and Zach are at the house,” she replies quietly. Frankie wants her to stay. “They’re going home in the morning.”

Frankie hums. “Can…” She taps her fingers against the floor. If it’s all in her mind, it wouldn’t be cruel to keep her here. Frankie wonders if she’d say no, even in her made-up world.

“You can have whatever you want,” Jasmine replies.

Frankie takes a deep breath, the tears falling into her ears.

“Can you stay?”

“Yeah,” Jasmine says, letting out a breath. “Yeah, my girl.”

Frankie wants Jasmine to touch her. It doesn’t have to be a hug. She doesn’t deserve that. Perhaps a finger against her wrist will see her through the evening.

Jasmine walks over and lies down next to her. “Can I touch you, or would you rather not?”

“A little,” Frankie replies. She hates to be touched when she’s like this, but she’s not sure how bad it will be with Jasmine.

Frankie owes her something for coming all this way, at least. She closes her eyes as Jasmine’s hand lightly touches her wrist. Frankie’s chest aches for her to move closer, to grip her arm, to pull her against her, but she doesn’t.

She just runs her thumb back and forth over her wrist.

Frankie turns her head to look at her. Jasmine is looking right at her with a small smile. She is all Frankie wants to look at for the rest of her life. She looks at her for real. Her gaze slowly moves over Jasmine’s face. She looks the same. Her eyes are a little puffy perhaps. She’s perfect.

Frankie knows why she cries this time. Jasmine moves closer, manoeuvring until Frankie’s head is against her chest, and she rubs circles against her back. Frankie never thought she’d have someone that would sit in the dark with her.

“Are you hungry?” Jasmine asks, as she gets them a blanket. Frankie shakes her head, and when Jasmine turns to look at her, Frankie sees the puffiness of her eyes for real. She’s been crying. A while ago. She’s not crying now. She was crying earlier.

Frankie feels her face drop, and a sob racks her body.

“Oh,” Jasmine whispers, pulling her into a hug. “You’re okay. It’s okay.” She kisses her on the temple, and Frankie wraps her arms around her. Jasmine lies back against the floor, her legs intertwined with her own.

“Let’s sleep,” she says. She’s being kind because she’s always kind, but there’s something off too, like she has to work a little harder at it.

“I can’t,” Frankie whispers. She’s not being particularly quiet, though she tries to be. Ezra will be trying to sleep on the couch.

“What’s your favourite book?” Jasmine asks, her hands running down her side.

“I don’t—I was reading the book from yours and Ez’s club.”

“‘Kay,” Jasmine replies, and she moves for a second, but Frankie doesn’t panic. She’ll be right back. “Settle in.”

“Was it a classic?”

“It’s not my fault you’re uncultured.”

Frankie laughs lightly. God, she misses her, and she’s right here.

It’s not the same. She’s not here because she wants to be; she’s here because she knows Frankie needs her.

That’s not the same. Still, she lets Frankie lie her head against her chest, and she doesn’t call her childish.

She runs her fingers across her shoulder and over her head. She makes her feel safe.

Jasmine quietly tells her the story, and Frankie falls asleep to the sound of her own crying and the soft lullaby of Jasmine’s voice.

Jasmine isn’t sure what day it is. She feels like Bella probably did in New Moon .

Maybe a man is spinning around her with a camera as she replays the worst moment of her life in her head.

Maybe, when she can get off the sofa, she’ll see that seasons have changed, all while she still can’t sleep through the night.

It’s been nine days. Frankie’s not getting any better.

As if Lani isn’t hoping she comes to her for her first day of physiotherapy next week.

Like Marcel hasn’t slyly asked Jasmine where she is so he can ask for her advice on asking Tabitha out.

Jasmine knows it doesn’t work like that, but she is desperately trying to cling to something.

The evidence that the time has passed is clear, if she thinks about it. The other day, she took Lani to the park. They played on the swings, and Lani smiled, taking so many photos, and Jasmine has looked at them and still can’t remember a single part of it.

Ezra said Frankie’s first major depressive episode lasted four days, and now he’s treading water, like she is. Jasmine should have been asking Frankie what she needed her to do if this happened, but she’d been selfish, and she’d thought they’d have more time.

Ezra and Jasmine trade off being at Frankie’s house. Sometimes, they’re together, and they sleep sitting upright on Frankie’s couch. Sometimes, she’s alone, and she hopes Frankie wakes up and remembers who she is.

Often, Frankie will let her stroke her back, and she will let her wash her with a flannel.

When she was catastrophically sick, she let Jasmine get in the shower with her.

Jasmine held her as she cried, and the water ran clear, and then Frankie told her she never wanted to see her again.

Jasmine slept on the couch anyway, but she cried silently.

As hard as it is for her, she knows it’s worse for Frankie.

She hopes she doesn’t remember a single bit of it.

Jasmine would never mention it; she’d take whatever she said to her grave with her.

“She went to sleep easier this time,” Ezra says, as he throws himself on the couch.

He looks as tired as Jasmine feels. She misses Frankie.

She misses her kids. Mali and Zach send her photos whenever they have them, and Ezra spends the nights she can’t be there at her house.

Lani and Marcel won’t miss her yet, but she can’t do this forever.

There’s also the fact Frankie broke up with her. Jasmine would help her anyway, but there is the thought at the back of her mind that she’ll go through this and she won’t get her back at the end.

“That’s good,” Jasmine says quietly.

“She’s going to come out of it,” Ezra says, his voice low.

Jasmine nods, but the tears fall either way.