[THIS BOOK CONTAINS MATURE THEMES WHICH IS ACCEPTABLE FOR 18+ READERS ONLY]
"Yes?" His deep voice growls. It's so deep, so velvety. I can feel myself getting aroused. Aroused in ways I've never felt before.
"I was told to come and speak to you abou...
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Jackson Blake's POV
It's been a week. I've been in agony. I can barely leave my room, too scared to leave the comfort of my bedsheets. Every morning I wake up from a nightmare, dreaming of him leaving me and then when I open my eyes to an empty bed, it fuels a panic attack and I scream and cry because he's not there. Then my mind comes too and I realise why he's not there. I left him.
In a whole week I haven't left my bed. I haven't eaten. I've been starving myself because that pain might ease the pain in my heart. The dangers of starving to death not computing in me. Like there's an inability to process it as a possibility. Like I welcome the idea rather than resent it. My muscle mass is depreciating. My body no longer has fat to burn as energy, so I'm getting smaller, more fragile as I lose my muscle.
"Jackson," the soft voice calls from the corner of the room. Janet. She has to come every week. Here to talk to me and help me. "Jackson if you don't talk to me I'll have to call him, he'll have to come and get you," she was referring to Slater. My body shot up, my head becoming dizzy from the lack of nutrients that I refused to give myself. I didn't deserve to eat.
"No," my voice was croaky and strained, I hadn't spoken in a week. Not even a murmur. "Please don't," I whisper and she sends me a pointed look.
"You need to talk to me. You have to come out of this state otherwise I have a duty of care. I can't leave you like this," she tells me and I nod, running my fingers through my greasy hair and I realise how badly I smell. "Tell me what's wrong," she softly asks.
"You have to understand, I needed to leave him. We made so much progress, but I'm so selfish. I'm a selfish and horrible person. He rips his hair out every day with his job and now he's having to do more for me. Having another stress and another burden and I can't live like that," I whimper, my voice still croaky as tears spilt down my cheeks.
"Ok. Explain to me why it's selfish," she asks, her pen scribbling in her notepad.
"He has so much responsibility. He has to care for millions of people, protect them and lead them. I've seen the stress he's under. I've seen the debates he has to have, the decisions he has to make and it's just a life filled with pressure all the time. Then we go to therapy and I'm asking him to change himself to be the man I need. Asking him to stay with me, so he sits and watched me sleep for hours, refusing to let me wake up alone. He won't wake me up because he doesn't want to disrupt my sleep, no matter how many times I tell him to. He refuses. He thinks if he wakes me, that once he's left for work and I go back to sleep, I'll only wake up panicking a few hours later. So he stays with me and then he works later in the day. He doesn't stop until 3 in the morning and then he sleep, only to wake again at 5. Watching and waiting again until I wake up at gone 9. Every day he does it on repeat. He's ruining his sleep, ruining his schedule all because I have a fear of him leaving me. How is that fair? How is that not selfish," I cry out, a deep sadness in my tone as I explain to her.
