My lips touch his again and it's a lot more rough. I know we both need this, we both crave the others touch. It's intoxicating. He pushes the straps of my dress down to my hips and he reaches out and palms my breasts in both his hands.
A small moan...
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The air inside the rehab centre smells like disinfectant and stale coffee. It's not exactly welcoming, but I don't care. The place is brighter today—maybe because the sun is streaming through the windows, or maybe because I know I'm about to see Jacob.
I walk down the hallway, clutching the paper bag I brought with me. Inside is a football shirt I thought he might like and a pack of his favourite gum. Small things, but they feel important. Like tiny reminders of the life he's slowly rebuilding.
When I get to the door of the visiting room, I pause for a second, taking a deep breath. It's been weeks since I first started coming here, and every visit has been a mix of emotions—hope, worry, pride, fear. But today, as I step inside and see him sitting at a table near the window, something feels different.
He looks... better.
His face isn't as gaunt as it was when he first got here. There's colour in his cheeks now, and the dark circles under his eyes are fading. His hair is cut neatly, and his skin, once pale and dull, has a healthier glow. When he looks up and sees me, his lips curve into a small, genuine smile.
"Hey," he says, standing up and shoving his hands in his pockets.
"Hey yourself," I reply, my heart doing this little flutter it hasn't done in a long time.
I walk over to him, setting the bag on the table. He raises an eyebrow, glancing at it.
"What's this?"
"Just some stuff I thought you might like," I say with a shrug, trying to sound casual.
He peeks inside and pulls out the shirt first. His smile widens when he sees the badge and the colour. "You remembered I like this team."
"Of course I did," I say, sitting down across from him. "How could I forget? You went on and on about it when their documentary came out."
He laughs, a soft, warm sound that feels like sunlight on my skin. It's been so long since I heard him laugh like that—like the weight of the world isn't crushing him.
We settle into conversation easily, and I can't help but notice how much lighter he seems. There's still a seriousness in his eyes, a shadow that lingers, but he's not the same Jacob who shut me out and drowned himself in pills.
He tells me about the group therapy sessions and how he's starting to open up more. How he's learning to face the pain instead of running from it. I can see how hard he's working, and it fills me with so much pride that I feel like I might burst.
"You're doing amazing, Jacob," I say softly, leaning forward.
He looks down at the table, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on the wood. "I don't know about amazing," he murmurs. "But I'm trying. For once, I'm really trying."
I reach across the table, placing my hand over his. "And it shows. I'm so proud of you."
He looks up at me then, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. "You have no idea how much that means to me, Aria."
