Roadtrip Oneshots

Jacklyn, Bulimia

This was requested, but I can't for the life of me remember by whom, so I'm so sorry for that! But I hope you enjoy this...

Again, I'm not going to pretend that I know anything about this kind of stuff, and everything I put below is what I've researched or found out from other people.

From the title, you can probably deduce that it's going to include sensitive topics, so if it's going to trigger you, I'd advise you not to read but... read at your own risk.

I love you all. xx
❤️
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Brooklyn

I stifled the groan that wanted to escape my lips, the pain waking me up quicker than it normally would.

I slipped from Jack's grasp, freezing when he turned over, but instead he just snored loudly.

I climbed out of bed, nearly doubling over at the hunger pains that shot through me.

That's what I got for not eating for... I don't remember the last time I ate. But the urge to do it came back full force, and I couldn't stop myself. It was like my body was on autopilot.

I walked down the stairs and into the kitchen without even turning a single light on.

I needed to lose weight. I knew that much. But I didn't go on runs like Rye did; I wasn't not as fast as him, and he was better at running than me. I needed to lose weight because of the image of the band; I needed to be slim, just like everyone else.

I opened the fridge, quite frantically, the light from inside spilling into the darkness, bathing some of the kitchen in its light.

And then I ate and ate and ate and ate... I don't remember how long I stood there for, eating literally anything I could get my hands on. Litter fell to the floor. Empty packets and wrappers flew everywhere in my desperation for the hunger pains to go away.

My stomach was so empty. I needed to fill it... I needed to fill it now...

I tuned back in to see that I'd opened a pack of raw bacon, the plastic covering torn apart. I froze.

How many slices were in there to begin with?
Did I just eat some raw bacon?

I breathed harshly.

I dropped it to the floor and rushed to the sink, fingers already lodged down my throat.

I retched, gripped the sides of the sink tightly, threw up. It was completely dark, and I hoped that it was the sink I was throwing up in.

The tears rolled down my face as I threw up again and again, my stomach contracting.

But I needed to get the food out of me... I needed to get it out... I would only put more weight on, and I couldn't let that happen.

But I was ashamed of what I was doing, wasting all that food, feeling the need to do what I was doing.

The kitchen light flicked on, and I jumped in shock, the bitter taste filling my mouth.

I turned around, seeing Jack stood there, frozen midstep.

His eyes were on the mess I had left by the fridge. And then he looked over to me, question stuck on his lips.

He looked like he had just gotten out of bed (which he had done), except that he was looking for something, or seemed to be.

I gagged again before I could stop myself, turned back around so Jack didn't see me. So that he didn't see me throw up. So that he didn't see my jam my fingers into my throat.

I retched and hunched over. I coughed and spluttered.

But before I could go again a hand gripped my wrist tightly, so tightly, and pulled me back. I fought it, but I guess I didn't realise how weak I actually was.

It managed to pull me back so easily, and the ashamed feeling rushed through me, worse than before.

The hand was firm but comforting; there was no malice in the gesture.

"Brook... stop... stop it!" Jack shouted, hysterical and tearful.

I collapsed to the floor and sobbed into my hands. Jack fell to his knees beside me. Took me in his arms.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." I whispered brokenly.

Jack probably hated me right now. He probably thought I was disgusting. Weak. A waste of space.

"It's alright. I'll help you." He said quietly, and I felt his whole body shake. His voice was oddly strained.

Was he crying too?

I sneaked a peek, and cried even harder. He was sobbing, only he was doing a better job of keeping it quiet. I held him tight.

***

Jack had taken me to the doctor literally an hour later, bleary eyed and crying in the waiting room.

But that had been two months ago.

It was still a struggle, but not as much as it used to be.

We made realistic meal plans, something which I had never done before. For this plan, Jack and I planned what I intended to eat throughout the day, do that I would have small amounts of food often, instead of waiting until I was literally starving.

I also had to keep a diary, well... it was more a record than a diary. In which I wrote down what I ate on what day, what exercise I had done, if any, and other random things.

Rye invited me out on runs with him, one to keep an eye on me when Jack or the others weren't there, but also because it was therapeutic, and distracted me somewhat.

Jack had also talked to the boys, making sure that they all knew what to do if he wasn't going to be there for a while.

And during those two months, I did relapse a few times. I did feel the urge.

But I had learned to tell someone if I had the urge, or I had learned to distract myself with something else.

But I felt healthier than I had done before, more healthier than I had ever felt.

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"So baby hold on to my heart."

Love WolfGirl.❤️