Page 111 of Beneath the Hood

I call a cab.

Grabbing my purse and wiping the few tears that have escaped with the back of my hand, I push past him, twisting once I hit the front door.

My eyes are lasers, hoping I can slice him through the middle from my hurt. “Don’tfollow me, Jackson. I mean it.”

He’s standing behind me, arms outstretched, his jaw clenched. But he breathes in deep and nods.

I storm outside, a cataclysmic boom of thunder reverberating in the air, echoing the way I feel inside—like everything is imploding.

The dark skies open and sheets of rain fall, sharp against my skin.

Fitting.

My stomach heaves as I stand in the downpour, praying the water will wash away everything that happened today. That I can go back to before all of this, beforeanyof this, and just be Blakely.

The girl with no mother, and a father who still made it home for dinners.

My nose burns, raindrops and tears marring my face.

“What are you doing?” Jackson sounds panicked as he rushes from his front door, his voice strained and desperate.

“I already told you,” I force out through my inhales. “I’m leaving.”

“Come on, Blakely. Let me drive you.”

I spin, rainwater dripping off my lashes and into my eyes. “No. I need you to give me space, okay?” My voice chokes on a sob, my hands coming down to cover my stomach.

This whole time—this whole timeJackson has been judging me.

I thought he loved me. Thought he accepted me for who I was, but he doesn’t. He’s just like everyone else, not accepting my choices and thinking he knows best.

Bile hits the back of my throat.

Headlights appear around a corner and my heart leaps, my stomach clenching and releasing along with my fists as I make my way toward the cab.

I feel the heat of Jackson at my back, can practically taste his need to grab me tight and not let me go. But I ignore it, throwing open the back door and jumping inside.Fumbling through my words, I spout off my address, watching as Jackson grows smaller in the back window—his wet hair sticking to his face, shirt soaked to the bone, and his hand covering his heart.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll regret my rash decision, but right now all I can focus on is holding it together while everything around me crumbles to dust.

* * *

By the timeI get home, the panic has crawled through my chest and wrapped around my lungs, clicking into place like a chain with padlocks. Jackson’s words have been on repeat, my brain latching onto them, stirring the melting pot of rage that’s brewing in my gut.

I feelsick.

“When was the last time you ate something without counting every calorie?”

Fire licks up my spine, my breaths so stuttered it hurts to inhale. My head is spinning so fast I’m worried I may pass out, and like a helpless bystander, I’m relegated to a dark corner as panic overtakes my body.

He thinks I don’t eat anything?Well fuck him.

I made the cabbie stop at the corner store and I filled up an entire cart with whatever my hands could grab. I slam the food down on the counter and rummage through the bags, my hands shaking as I tear through the plastic to prove a point.

I don’t need help.

Tears blur my vision as I grab the first thing on the counter, not even registering what it is, my fingernails ripping into the cellophane and tossing the wrapper to the side as I shovel it into my face.

The sweetness explodes on my tongue, but I don’t enjoy it like I should. Instead, nausea turns my stomach, my inner voice screaming at me to stop, but my brain already lost to the first bite of sugar I’ve had in years.

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