Page 63 of Beneath the Hood

Stupid, Blakely.

I must be a masochist because there’s no other logical explanation for why I grab my phone from the counter and search my name. I know it’s a stupid mistake, but like everything else in my life, once I start the spiral, there’s no coming back.

Clicking on the first headline I see, I scroll straight to the comments, a burning anticipation swelling in my middle.

Always knew she was a slut.

That bitch ain’t pregnant. She’s just F-A-T.

Photoshop does her ALL the favors.

Faintly, I hear a muffled voice from somewhere in the house, but I’m too lost in the depth of my self-loathing for it to register.

“Blake?”

F-A-T.

My phone clatters to the heated marble floor and I sink down beside it, the measuring tape still wrapped around my hand. My brain slams against the edges of my memory, trying to remember every single calorie that’s passed my lips. Every hour of cardio and weights that I’ve endured, trying to figure out where I started letting things slip.

There must be something I forgot to write down, something that isn’t marked in my daily intake list. Something that would cause me to look so...puffy.

My eyes lock on to the glass door of the shower.

“Blake?”

I hear the voice again, but my gaze is stuck, picking out every single imperfection through the distorted reflection.

“Blakely, I...” The voice trails off, footsteps barreling toward me until suddenly, a spicy scent rushes through my nostrils, making my head snap to the side.

Jackson.

My chest compresses until an explosion of grief swells through my throat, stinging my eyelids and burning a path down my face.

“Oh, baby, what’s wrong?” His big palms cradle my jaw and I sink into his embrace, my hands clawing at his shirt, suddenly desperate for his comfort.

Like now that he’s here, I can finally let go.

My stomach clenches tight as he drags me into his lap, my head resting on his chest while his arms wrap around me. My body trembles with the sobs that wrack through me, staining his white shirt.

His hold is a vice grip around my waist, plastering me to him as he rocks us back and forth.

And that’s where we stay. For minutes.

For hours.

My limbs grow lighter and eventually the tears turn to sniffles and then to an occasional hiccup of breath—the last sign that my body isn’t under my control.

The purge of emotion is what I needed, the claw that’s been cutting into my lungs finally relieving its grasp. The panic has disappeared in the calm of Jackson’s arms, but there’s still an echo of sadness that reverberates off my insides.

Jackson’s hand brushes down my hair. “Is this about the headline?”

My fingers tangle in the chain around his neck as he cradles me and I start to shake my head, but stop before I do. Saying no is a lie. And I don’t want to lie to him. “I just... I worksohard and it’s never enough, you know?”

He hums, the vibration of his voice like a blanket coasting across my skin.

I look at him, craning my neck to swipe a kiss across his jaw, gratitude filling me from the inside out. “Thank you. I don’t know why you’re back, but...thank you.”

He stays silent, the soothing touch of his hand in my hair urging me to curl deeper into his embrace.

---