#jennifercheck

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝕱riday nights were made for this warm, eccentric sort of thing.

It wasn't always made for parties & bars, and certainly not productivity. NO, it belongs instead to the strange little purgatory where two girls end up cross-legged on a dorm bed talking about absolute nonsense with the conviction of scholars. There is a reason the world rarely entrusts twenty-year olds with positions of authority. Given sufficient free time, they will inevitably begin constructing VERY ELABORATE THEORIES regarding very irrelevant people they've met exactly once. See, that random guy from the mall wasn't particularly important & had occupied maybe ten collective minutes of their day. Yet, Nikki had continued this relentless autopsy of him, stretched out upon the examination table of female curiosity. Records lean against walls, sweaters thrown across chairs, ABBA drifts from the record player in warm & crackling waves. Now, nikki insists vinyl sounds much better, but she also insists she doesn't care about Mr. Unimportant Mall Guy ˓ ... ˒ AND YET, SHE'S SPENT THE BETTER HALF OF TWENTY OR SO MINUTES DOING JUST THAT. Nikki's upside down, dark hair spilling over the side of the mattress in tangled waves. gravity gathers it ever greedily toward the floor while a guitar rests across her chest, with fingers wandering across the strings. Across her, Jennifer. ( Nikki would like to call her Jenny ) who takes to painting her toes a shade of cherry red so vivid like old convertibles and theater curtains.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“ ... those aren't mutually exclusive. ” She accepts the stare, soaks it up like a sponge that reads so vividly 'YOU'RE RIDICULOUS'. You're right, she is. “ because you're ohhhh-so cool and hot and whatever. ”

PERHAPS ONE OF NIKKI'S MORE ENDEARING FLAWS. Compliments that carry the same weight as weather conditions, unguarded and sincere. Admittedly, this is not the most cosmopolitan of compliments ever uttered & most certainly undeserving to the enigma of ONE JENNIFER CHECK. there are poets who have dedicated entire lifetimes to articulating beauty & painters who have gone blind in chasing it. “ Right, fine, Virgin Mary. ” Head falls backwards over the side of the mattress once more. See, Nikki has a difficult time leaving mysteries at bay. She worries them, picks at them, turns them over in her hands until they reveal their innerworkings. THIS PARTICULAR MYSTERY ISN'T EVEN A GOOD ONE. By all counts and available evidence, there is positively nothing to worry or pick or turn over.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀╵╵ [ maybe she's just jealous. ]

inhale. exhale. his shoulders roll first, then his neck. his throat exposed as his head lulled back against wood. august hadn't planned much beyond finding her; his words unpracticed. what do you say to somebody you abandoned? years meant nothing to him, but she had been so young. guilt isn't what he'd pinpoint the feeling as, but maybe ... the telling crunch of leaves derailed his train of thought. he lifted his head, eyes focusing through the dark ﹠ onto familiar figure. ANCIENT BUT WORDLESS. he brought the cigarette back to his mouth, inhaling the last of its smoke while he watched her. if she left, he would let her go, but that wouldn't be the jennifer he remembered.

Dating Rafe Cameron wasn’t just a relationship—it was a storm you willingly walked into.

He wasn’t the kind of guy you brought home to win over your parents. He was the guy they warned you about. The one with blood on his knuckles and secrets in his eyes. But somehow, you couldn’t stay away.

Rafe was volatile. Everyone knew it. He had a reputation for being the Kooks’ loose cannon—the one who dragged Topper into fights and made even Ward Cameron nervous. But when it came to you, he was laser-focused. Obsessively so.

He called you Angel, but the way he said it felt more like a claim than a compliment. You weren’t just his girlfriend—you were his possession. And he made sure everyone knew it.

He’d show up unannounced, check your location, scroll through your texts if you left your phone unlocked. Not because he didn’t trust you—but because he didn’t trust the world around you. Especially JJ Maybank. Rafe hated the way JJ looked at you. That smile. That swagger. It made his blood boil.

You’d grown up with Sarah, practically part of the Cameron family. But it wasn’t until she started dating Topper that Rafe really noticed you. And once he did, it was game over. He didn’t flirt—he invaded. He got under your skin, into your head, and made you feel like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

He spoiled you recklessly. Designer bags, stolen jewelry, late-night drives in his dad’s Range Rover. But it wasn’t about luxury—it was about control. Every gift was a reminder: You’re mine.

If a guy so much as glanced at you, Rafe would be on him in seconds. No warnings. No diplomacy. Just fists and fury. And afterward, he’d pull you close, kiss you hard, and whisper, “Let them look. You’re not going anywhere.”

Behind closed doors, Rafe was intense. Dominant. But he also had moments where he’d let you flip the script—just to see how far you’d go before he took it back. It was a game, and you both knew who always won.

He left marks on your skin—not just hickies, but bruises from holding you too tight when his emotions got the best of him. And yet, he’d cradle your face like you were made of glass when he thought he’d gone too far.