Hate To Miss You (2) | 𝙹𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝙷𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚎𝚜 ❈

Ten

I threw on one of Jack's t-shirts from his closet, not bothering to ask for permission to wear his clothes and honestly, not really caring. Annoyed was an understatement, I couldn't even do what I wanted as a single woman, I felt like all the men around me wanted me to get their permission for literally everything and it was exhausting.

It started with Reid back in high school, to Jack, then to Luke, and now, to Nico. I couldn't even go on a freaking date and enjoy myself.

I made a mental note to never date another boy again.

I was going home tomorrow, and the thought made me nervous. I'd have to live in the house Reid knew I was staying at, and I'd have no one to protect me, but the truth way, I couldn't stay with Jack forever, especially if it was going to come up as a topic while I was on a date.

I lay in Jack's bed, breathing in his scent and feeling a wave of sadness wash over me. I was emotional, I was feeling defeated, unsafe, insecure, and honestly—I missed him.

I rolled over, trying to face the side of the bed Jack didn't sleep on, so I wouldn't have to be reminded of him. But, this was his bedroom and no matter where I turned I was reminded of the boy. I sat up abruptly, tossing the covers off and groaning in frustration. My eyes stared at the door, contemplating.

Jack wasn't much better, he was lying on the sofa, fidgeting and kicking and trying to get comfortable but not being able to in the slightest. He had this image in his mind of Lyla's face when she'd walked in the apartment door, and it was tearing him up. After a further ten minutes of tossing about, he sat up quickly, pushing the covers to the side and staring at his closed bedroom door.

I stood up, marching to the door of Jack's bedroom with purpose, and my mind set, I was going to go out there, give him a piece of my mind, tell him I didn't love him, and to get out of my head. My hand wrapped around the door knob, but I thought better of it, and shook my head, walking right back to his bed, throwing the covers back over my head.

"I don't love him," I whispered.

Jack stood from the sofa, marching towards the bedroom door, his eyes determined and his heart racing. He did not love Lyla anymore, and he was going in there just to tell her that. That he didn't care if she dated Nico, that she didn't mean much to him after this week. He reached for the door, his heart stopping. He was lying to himself and he knew it.

"Idiot," he breathed, storming back to the couch and lying down, facing the cushions. "I don't love her."

I sat up again, much faster than the last time, my heart thundering in my chest and my eyebrows furrowed, I kicked off the covers, standing to head towards the door.

"No," I told myself, and instead I began pacing Jack's bedroom, thinking. "I don't love him. I don't."

Jack craned his neck to look at the door with his lips set in a frown. He thought about getting up, going to the door again, but he thought better of it and instead shoved the pillow over his face.

"I don't fucking love her."

I paced, my anger growing and my eyes flickering toward the door over and over.

"I don't love him, I dont love him!"

Jack squeezed his eyes shut tight.

"I don't love her. I don't love her—FUCK!"

"Fuck!" I groaned loudly, yanking the door open, ready to scream at him how I didn't love him. He was always standing there, on the other side of the doorway, his chest heaving and his hand perched to open the door himself. I gasped. "Jack."