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@jasmineansari
↳INSTAGRAM: @asspeenlol uploaded a photo:
Summer so far.
@.jasmum: Dylan is pouting. Pip is also pouting. Actually, so is Cooper but for opposite reasons. Everybody is pouting. The jealousy is off the charts. @.jasmum: I for one would love to squish you also but I'm happy to just climb into the middle of all of this!
↳INSTAGRAM: @asspeenlol uploaded a photo:
Best time of the year is here!!!!! Let’s go!!!!!
@jasmum: Z would like to know if you're still taking on campers?
↳INSTAGRAM: @concerningcody posted to their story:
@jasmum: Are YOU the heatwave in question? Because wow!
Despite what people thought, Pip really did know when to shut the fuck up. He knew to hold his tongue when he woke up in the morning and saw Tess at the breakfast table, wearing some garish orange cardigan and bright pink shorts combination ("They're complimentary colours, dumbo!"). He knew it was a good idea to stay quiet when Xander was tipsy enough to start carding his fingers through Pip's hair in that way that made him positively ache. And he knew it was in his best interest to shut the fuck up when Jasmine Ansari started calling him by his full name.
He dug his teeth into his full bottom lip, letting her anger spill out into the room. In hindsight, he supposed he kind of deserved the verbal beatdown. He'd only been trying to make her laugh, but he guessed there was no funny way to spin being bothered at work. The bartenders and dancers normalised this shit to get by, allocating stupid fucking nicknames for the worst offenders and miming gagging when the patron's backs were turned. It was all fun and jokes til the police came, staring a little too long at the dancers with sour, judgy looks on their faces. Like, alright, he slid his hand where he shouldn't have, but look at where you work!
The corners of his lips tugged downward. He'd seen all the signs, he should've known she wasn't in the mood to joke.
He kept a respectful distance as she curled into herself, looking like a glittery, pint-sized roly poly bug. He fought back a sigh, glancing towards the door and wondering if now was a good time to bow out. Maybe he should get one of the other dancers. But no, all the other dancers she was close to weren't here. Pip was the last resort, but he was all she had.
Pip made sure his tread was heavy as he made his way over to her. He didn't want to freak her the fuck out, after all. Quietly, he settled into the seat next to her, his head canting back to hit the line of lockers behind him. He blinked as he stared up at the ceiling, the flickering bulb above his head dotting his vision with white as he thought of the right thing to say.
"Come on, Jasmine. Who would torture me every day if you quit?" he tried, trying to keep his voice light. "Look, I'm sure you've got some vacation days you can use up. I could speak to Miles? Or, fuck. I don't know. We could swap shifts all next week. Anita'll show you the ropes on bar, and I can... y'know."
He winced at the idea of having to get up there again. But shit, Jasmine needed those bar shifts way more than he did. Tilting his head to the side, he frowned at her rolled-up form.
"Don't quit on me, Jazzy." he pleaded, prodding her arm gently. Without thinking, he proposed, "You wanna get out of here?"
Jasmine’s immediate instinct was to roll her eyes and scoff at Pip’s words. It was just like him to make her rubbish day about him. She didn’t care about whatever stupid game he was playing right now, not did she particularly see much appeal to sticking around if all it meant was that she’d get under his skin once in a while. She could do that just as easily from the comfort of Xander’s apartment. She bit back the desire, however, as he surprised her by mulling over various solutions to her complaints. She frowned, not entirely sure what to say. Jasmine was positive she needed more than just one measly vacation to help her through her current rut, but she couldn’t deny that it was sweet of Pip to at least suggest it.
“What? No. Shut up.” Her tone was harsher than she intended, but she suddenly felt the need to oppose him, to shut down whatever idiotic suggestion he might fire her way next.
Her feet slid to the floor as she straightened her back, meeting his gaze with a fierceness in her eye that had been momentarily lost to her foul mood. As much as she loathed to be up there dancing most nights, she wouldn’t wish it on Pip either. She had no doubt there was a reason he’d quit and had Miles move him to the bar instead, and no amount of pettiness would allow her to send him back to a life he’d managed to successfully escape.
With Pip seated next to her, she had very little space to actually turn and face him. The benches were tiny – not nearly big enough to suit the amount of staff they currently had, though she knew Miles was working on it – so when she twisted to face him she felt her knee knock clumsily against his, her shoulder brushing his before her hand settled clumsily on her own, naked thigh, her outstretched fingers just brushing the fabric of his jeans.
“You’re an idiot. You’re not going back out there just because I’ve had a shit night,” she told him, this time using her Mom Voice. Pip might not be very fond of her, but she knew he and Zara had gotten on like a house on fire. Maybe if she spoke to him with the same cadence with which she told her daughter off, he might take her seriously. At the very least, he might find it a little funny.
She sighed, shaking her head before playfully squirming under his touch. She didn’t actually mind, the press of his fingers to her bicep feeling strangely welcome by contrast of the way she’d been touched earlier on. It was a relief to remember that her skin was her own, that her body belonged to her and that she got to decide what felt nice and what didn’t. She was the only person who reserved the right to choose whose touches were welcome and whose weren’t, and Pip’s felt strangely refreshing. She gave her arm a shake, wriggling on the bench as she finally dared to crack a smile – it was minute, barely there, but her lips twitched into something friendly.
“That depends. Are you taking me home so I can wallow somewhere that you don’t have to see me, or are you secretly planning to murder me?” She narrowed her eyes, leaving no option for a third, friendlier option. They were close enough now that she could count every last eyelash on his stupidly chiseled face, just as she knew he could likely see the smudges along her cheeks where her frustrated tears had left mottled mascara tracks in her foundation.
↳INSTAGRAM: @acewoodrow posted a photo to their story:
@jasmum: Hello, handsome!
↳INSTAGRAM: @levimchell posted a photo to their story:
@jasmum: So handsome! Z and I are watching a livestream and she claps every time she sees your lovely, pixelated face!
↳INSTAGRAM: @asspeenlol posted a photo to their story:
@jasmum: I think I might be pregnant for a second time!
↳INSTAGRAM: @lincolnabernathy posted a photo to their story:
@jasmum: Poor love. My apartment is permanently cold, if you ever want an excuse to come over and bundle up in cosy sweaters and pretend it's October.
↳INSTAGRAM: @asspeenlol posted to their close friends story.
@jasmum: Back to school?
↳INSTAGRAM: @levimchell posted to their close friends story.
@jasmum: Call me when you’re free! I need an update on whatever this is.
↳INSTAGRAM: @concerningcody uploaded a photo:
Do we think Dylan is mad that Keane loves me more?
@jasmum: You are the loveliest! Keane loves all of us more than he loves Dylan, but most of all you!
↳INSTAGRAM: @asspeenlol posted a photo to her story:
When @ivy.rogers asks you to be an obedient little model boy for a photo shoot, you say yes. We look hot, @chessythrifts 😘
@.jasmum: Beautiful little golden boy! Blond has never looked so glam!
↳INSTAGRAM: @kennedyjane uploaded a photo:
Posted with full permission from Mama! 🧡 It’s always such a lovely feeling to check back in with the babies you helped bring into the world. And look at this cutie pie! #ilovemyjob #midwife
@.jasmum: Does Dylan know how lucky he is to live with such a beauty with such pinchable cheeks? Can you come live with me instead so I can stare at you all day?
Pip had seen his fair share of tears in his time here. Sometimes it was something as simple as period pains, easily fixed with a mug of tea and some Ibuprofen. Other times it was harder. Family shit, financial troubles, or the job just getting you down. There was no cure for that. You either pushed through the pain, or you knew when your time was up. All of this to say, Pip wasn't exactly surprised to see Jasmine crying. But he was concerned.
He didn't drop his smile though. Jasmine would only be miffed if he softened his tone, dropped to a crouch so he could look her directly in her tear-stricken face, and adopted a there, there mentality. It just wasn't their friendship, and he wouldn't condescend to her by pretending they were on those terms.
Besides, her bad day hadn't exactly affected her usual display of vehement anger towards him. He was actually surprised at the strength of her violence. Unappealing as genital wards was an oldie but a goodie, but nevertheless, she'd had it ready to go at the mere sight of his face. And good for her!
He shoved his hands (nails flecked with chipped black nail polish courtesy of Win, thank you very much) into the pockets of his leather jacket, offering her a wry smile. He knew he cut quite an impressive figure, he also knew Jasmine was not moved by it in the slightest.
"Genital warts. Good one." he nodded at her, sarcasm dripping from his words. He made no effort to move any closer, leaning against the doorframe.
"Malcom's here?" he asked, pitching his voice up. He gestured with his pocket-covered hand back towards the door, eyes glittering mischievously. "Shit, I better get back out there. He's my best tipper."
He slumped back against the doorframe, taking stock of her in her bright costume. With tears running down her face, strands of long hair sticking to the glittery residue, she didn't look like her brash, scary self, always ready to go toe to toe with Pip. She just looked... well, sad.
"Shitty customers?" he asked, hoping he sounded sympathetic.
When Pip first walked in, Jasmine had been annoyed. There was no denying the spike of irritation she’d felt just on seeing his face. However, a smaller, far more traitorous voice in the back of her mind had been relieved to see him. Aspen had gone home and Dylan wasn’t on shift, so if anyone was going to come and bother her after a terrible shift, he was the lesser of many evils. Naively, she’d even thought he might be coming to check on her. She and Pip weren’t friends, per se, but they shared a mutual friendship group, and after Halloween they’d found something of a steady rhythm. Or so she’d thought.
Instead, it was starting to feel like he’d just ambled in to make her feel worse, pouring salt into an open wound.
“Yes, Phillip, Malcolm is here,” Jasmine bit back, using his full, Christian name just out of spite. She shook her head and scoffed at him, wondering if there would ever come a day where she and her body weren’t treated as a commodity. Certainly not in this line of work, she supposed. “I thought the presence of shitty customers was made abundantly clear from the whole workplace harassment angle I was bringing to the table, but I didn’t realise he was one of your best buddies.”
She scowled, folding her arms together as she curled them around her stomach, suddenly feeling the need to withdraw. It was a protective stance, as though she thought she could undo all the years of lecherous stares and outright violence that had been inflicted on her by simply squeezing herself tight, making herself untouchable. She could ward them off by curating her own protective shield. Obviously, she wasn’t scared of Pip, but his presence wasn’t overly welcome right now. Not while her mood was sour and his words so dismissive.
She drew her knees up to her chest next, letting the soles of her feet press into the seat beneath her. Her posture was entirely contradictory to the way she held her stomach, the hem of her dress riding up in a way that she couldn’t bring herself to give a shit about anymore. Pip had seen it all before. Everyone had fucking seen it all before.
Her head dropped feebly, her forehead propped against her knees as she let darkness engulf her vision. She couldn’t look Pip in the eye while stuck in this sorry state. It was only ammunition for him, the man who seemed to get riled up at any sign of her having an off day. She was tired and there was no fight left in her.
“I don’t think I can do this anymore. I don’t think I’ll come into work tomorrow,” she sighed, the words tumbling from her lips without permission. What she’d do to pay the bills and keep herself and Zara afloat, she had no idea, but her heart felt too heavy now for her to think on that.
Pip knew who he was from a very young age. He'd started ballet from age fourteen, because that was the age his Mum and Dad had given in to his pleading. He would've started much earlier if he could've, as it had put him a little behind his fellow dancers. So, in one way or another, Pip had always danced. It wasn't until much later in life that he'd started doing it for money.
The work was the same. You had to be disciplined, you had to have good - really fucking good - core strength. Half of the girls who stumbled in with bridal parties, trailing their veils and dollar bills on the floor, thought they could do what Pip did. It was one thing to get up on stage and shake ass for a group of leering, disgusting patrons. It was quite another thing to be able to get up there and put on a show. It was why Miles didn't hire just anyone, and it was why Miles had hired him.
Pip remembered every moment of being up on that stage. He knew some of the other dancers liked to do a shot for courage before they got up, but Pip had never been anything other than stone cold sober. He wanted to remember the way his calves ached, the friction burns on the palms of his hands as he worked the pole. He remembered what it felt like to be on top of the world. But he also knew how it felt to work when your heart wasn't in it, when the crowd were lairy and calling for the girls to come back out, or after a fight with a girl you were seeing. The smile on your face was a little bit wider, falser, your eyes sad and tired, not quite connecting with the crowd.
He'd experienced it, seen the tell tale signs in his friends and colleagues - all of this to say, that was how he could tell Jasmine was having a bad night.
She was all professionalism on the stage, shining like a mirrorball in one of her signature, sparkly outfits. But on the few occasions she'd come to the bar for a glass of water, or passed by on her way to the dressing room, she'd been in no mood for a laugh. Pip had tried it on regardless, Art would call it pulling her pigtails. Jasmine was having none of it. Her tone had been so biting and her glare so fierce, Pip hadn't even bothered to fight back.
He watched her dainty figure stomp towards the dressing room, the heel of her shoe disappearing in the plush carpet underfoot. He glanced sideways at the other bartender on shift, widening his eyes and lifting up his brows.
"The fuck is her problem?" he said, a laugh spilling from his lips. He tossed the bar mop to one side, and fought the urge to feel stung by Jasmine's brush off. If she wanted to sulk with him, well, she could be his fucking guest. It wasn't his responsibility to go after her. It wasn't like they were friends.
Except, in the way, they kind of were.
A guilty feeling tugged at him as he imagined the looks on his friend's faces, (Not that any of them knew they worked together), all it took was imagining Xander's big, puppy dog eyes, knowing he didn't chase after Jasmine when she was upset, that had him following after her.
"Fuck it, I'm clocking out early." he said, already sliding out from underneath the bar and following in Jasmine's wake.
In theory, he wasn't allowed in the dressing room. In actuality, he didn't give much of a fuck. He'd covered himself in glitter where Jasmine sat well before she'd ever sat there, so he rapped his knuckles on the door, pushing it ajar and wandering in with his hands clasped over his eyes.
"Sorry if you're naked, sorry if you're naked!" he chanted, opening one eye and peering through his fingers, only to find a sulky looking Jasmine - fully dressed, he might add.
"Oh, I'm even sorrier you're dressed." he quipped, offering her his brightest smile.
Exhaustion nestled itself deep in Jasmine’s bones as her whole life seemed to flash before her eyes.
She often wondered how she’d veered so wrong in life to end up where she was, but tonight that voice seemed to be ringing ever louder than before. She liked to consider herself a good mom and a good friend. She didn’t always have a lot to offer her daughter, but she made the most with what she had and Zara lived a happy and secure life. Her daughter was surrounded by people who loved her unconditionally, Jasmine included, and she had plenty of friends at school. It had always been her goal in life to ensure a safe and joyful future for her little girl, one free from the prying eyes of her cruel father, a sense of security in a community that she could call her own.
Ultimately, she believed she’d done right by Zara when she’d whisked her little girl up into her arms and run as far and wide as she can, making a break for it as they ventured off into their new life.
But then came the stark reminder that she was 27 years old, a single mum and working two jobs that still didn’t quite help make ends meet. She shared her bills with Levi and still only just managed to cover her half, and only one of her jobs was of public knowledge to her nearest and dearest. In fact, the only reason for her gentler, more socially acceptable job at A Novel Idea was because Levi had introduced her to his cousin, helping to put in a good word for her and land her the role as a part-time barista, and part-time bookseller. Any other hour of the day that she wasn’t spent touting Billy McHale’s own personal selection for Book of the Month or carting her little girl around the city on Mommy-Daughter days out, she was practically glued to a stripper pole, making a measly living for herself by all but selling her body to a selection of filthy men who probably saw her more than they saw their own wives.
“Lay another fucking finger on me and I will break those fingers,” Jasmine snapped, whirling around on the spot as she felt the telltale signs of a dirty, sweaty palm sliding its way up her thigh, fingers pinching together as soon as they found the curve of her ass.
Jasmine had been making her way off the stage, heading towards the bar for a quick glass of water, when the fourth man of the night had taken it upon himself to try and stake a claim on her scantily clad body. She’d already spent the night before and the earlier hours of the morning pacing around her empty apartment with her daughter in her arms, soothing her through the stomach bug she’d contracted while she sobbed about how much she missed Levi. She’d then had to swap shifts with one of the other girls as she’d run herself ragged trying to find someone, anyone, that might be free to look after Z for the day. It had left her completely shattered by the time her shift rolled in, and it was just her luck that she’d ended up on the worst shift of her life. She’d spotted Aspen clocking out only an hour ago, a little white baggy poking out of his pocket, a surefire sign that he’d been having a slightly similar night to her own. She’d just wanted the whole thing to be over and done with, and she was now deciding that this particular overstep was her final straw. She’d stormed straight past Pip – ultimately sick and tired of his exhaustive quips and pure obsession with making light of her situation – and straight out the back. If Miles wanted to reprimand her for storming off, he could, but she had a more than viable argument at the ready if he had any customer complaints. Not that she expected her boss to side with anyone over her.
Shoulders drooped and head pounding, Jasmine dropped into one of the many empty seats in their dressing room. Luckily there was nobody else in there, and she was afforded a few moments reprieve to finally decompress. She could hear the low, distant thud of the music from the club, only now it was muffled through various closed doors. She stayed where she was, head in her hands as she quietly reminded herself who she was doing all of this for when she heard the door slide open for a second time.
Groaning, she rubbed feebly at her eyes, endlessly irritated with herself for having done such a bad job at staving off the tears she’d been biting back all night. Her glittered makeup was waterproof, but that wouldn’t stop the tears from glistening along her cheek all the same. The moment she heard fucking Pip’s voice, she thought she might cry even harder.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re as unappealing as genital warts?” Jasmine whined as she begun rubbing her temples. “Oh, wait. Me. I have.”
Honestly, she didn’t have the energy to fight with Pip. Not now, not after the day she’d had. Maybe if he saw that she’d been crying, he might scarper. She doubted he was particularly good with actual emotions that extended past flirty banter and making googly eyes at Xander from across Win’s kitchen.
“If you came in here to sexually harass me, the old fart in the if lost, please return to local brothel t-shirt already has that one covered,” she snipped, though she knew she was being unfair.
↳INSTAGRAM: @acewoodrow uploaded a photo:
Rich people rooftops are so funny. Like hahahaha. What is this. Why is there a greenhouse here?
@.jasmum: Deeply kissable boy!
↳INSTAGRAM: @asspeenlol uploaded a photo:
No longer depressed in case you were wondering. 🥾🌲🪵⛰️⛺️
@.jasmum: Z is smiling at my phone right now like she's just seen a celebrity. So are Pip and Dylan, for what it's worth! That's our baby!
