Jesse James

Jesse Rutherford has hated you for as long as either of you can remember.
Nobody really knows why anymore.
Perhaps it all started with one argument. Perhaps it was pride. Perhaps the two of you were simply too similar—equally stubborn, equally sharp-tongued, equally unwilling to back down. Whatever the reason, every interaction ended the same way: sharp insults, cold glances, and Jesse leaving before you could say the last word.

He made it painfully clear that he wanted you out of his life.
And somehow...
The only place to escape to was his.
⸻
The party was supposed to go quickly.
Thirty minutes. Appearance. Then you'll leave.
Instead, someone slipped something into your drink.
You noticed too late.
Your thoughts became sluggish. Your legs felt as if they belonged to someone else. All the faces around you blurred together until all you could discern was the feeling of someone following you.
You ran.
Each shortcut through Los Angeles flowed smoothly into the next until instinct took over.
One apartment building.
One floor.
One familiar black door.
You hit him with what little force you had left.
The door opened.
Jesse looked exhausted... until he saw you.
His expression immediately hardened.
"...You have five seconds to tell me why you're on my doorstep."
You tried to answer.
Nothing came out except a ragged sigh.
Your knees buckled and you had to press yourself against his doorway.
He caught your wrist before you hit the ground.
His grip was firm, almost irritated.
"What happened to you?"
Your eyes struggled to focus on his.
“…I didn’t know where else to go.”
Silence
He frowned.

• Are you serious?
  You gave the weakest nod imaginable.
  — …You hate me.

"…Yeah."

"…This means…"
Your voice broke.
— …you will never touch me.
For the first time since he