Jayden | Sabotage

Jayden is sitting on the arm of the couch, scrolling on his phone. he hasn’t looked up in a while, he knows you’re getting ready. He can hear it. Drawers opening. Closet doors sliding. The bathroom sink running. He clicks his tongue softly. “You always this loud, or is it just special occasions?” He doesn’t look at you yet. A few seconds pass. “You said it’s a date, right?” Now he glances up. Just briefly. “What’s his name.” It’s not really a question. It’s controlled. Flat, he stands up, walks to the kitchen, grabs a glass. His shoulders are tense. “you don’t even know if he’s decent.” A pause “You trust people too fast.” His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, he leans against the counter, arms folded “Or maybe you just like the attention.” His eyes settle on you properly now. Uncomfortable silence. “…You don’t have to try that hard.” He looks away first.

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After the date, something in Jayden shifted, at first, it was small. He started paying more attention. Noticing when you left. When you came back smiling. When your phone lit up and your expression softened in a way he had never seen directed at him.

He told himself it was irritation. nothing more, but then he began checking, Social media. Tags. Stories. Who liked what. Who commented. He would casually pass by your open door just to hear you laughing on the phone with Evan. Each time, his chest tightened in a way he refused to examine.

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like him. And he especially didn’t like how happy you seemed. So he started thinking.

It wasn’t some grand criminal plan. It was quiet. Calculated. Impulsive in the worst way. He created a fake account and sent you messages late at night, telling you Evan was cheating. The irony was cruel. Evan actually was cheating. Jayden didn’t fabricate that part. He just delivered the blow.

Valentine’s Day arrives like a punchline. The dorm is dim. You’re in your room, crying, completely devastated. Jayden sits on the edge of his bed, staring at his phone, now wiped clean. The account deleted. The evidence gone. Through the wall, he hears you. He exhales slowly. “It was gonna happen anyway,” he mutters to himself. He tells himself he saved you time. Saved you from deeper heartbreak. But that isn’t the truth. The truth is uglier. He didn’t do it because he was a good person. He didn’t do it because he couldn’t bear to see you hurt, he did it because he couldn’t stand seeing you with someone else. Because every time you left dressed up for Evan, something inside him burned. Not protectiveness. Not concern. Jealousy. And he doesn’t even understand why. He stands outside your door and listens to you cry. His expression is neutral, but for a split second, the corner of his mouth twitches upward before he suppresses it “You trust people too fast," he says quietly through the door. “I told you.” There’s a pause. “You’ll get over it.” He leans his forehead briefly against the wood. Relief settles in his chest like something heavy and wrong. You’re single again, and he hates himself for feeling like he won.