Blindfolded [Complete]

Depressed

Ouch!

I felt a slight sting pierce through my skin that was instantly followed by a drop of bright crimson trickling down the cheek.

Fuck!

Throwing the razor I was clutching in my hand into the sink I sighed in frustration as the third cut of the morning marred my jaw.

I guess shaving my week old beard was still not going to happen. Letting the overgrown stubble hide the scarring wounds I simply walked away from the mirror. Not particularly excited to keep staring at my bloodshot eyes and sunken cheeks any longer. Giving a brief sideways glance at the freshly pressed suit hanging waiting for me to don it before I decided to ignore it once more. Perfectly content is spending another day in pajamas that have been my companion for nine days already I practically crawled into my bed once more, throwing the quilt right over my head, encasing my weak old stench within the covers to wallow in my misery once more. I guess Kite will have to deal with a missing CEO one more day. Not that it had stopped him from trying to call me over a hundred times a day.

What would I even say if I were to pick up?

That I haven't left my bed, have barely eaten, can't manage to sleep, hell have forgotten to basically live since my supposed break up with Arthit. Was it even a break up? Of course it wasn't. It was just a bloody contract. It didn't mean anything. He didn't mean anything. He was nothing more than a hooker I was fucking. A hooker that apparently could easily switch me out for another asshole without blinking an eye.

Then why the fuck was I stuck in my own head unable to move on like he had ripped out a part of my heart that left me empty and bereft.

I mean, I get it. I'm not that big an idiot. I like him. Ofcourse I did. Why else would I have ripped off that stupid blindfold in the first place. Why would I forgive him for lying to me repeatedly. Why would I offer to get into a bloody contract with him when I had never, ever repeated an escort before. Why the fuck would I go chasing and following him like a deranged madman all over the city when he had already tried to break it off once. But my frustratingly annoying 'like' still didn't warrant me giving up on normal human functions.

And as if my behavior wasn't certifiably manic already I had to go ahead and brand myself as a full blown masochist. Why else would I take one step out of that house that day and immediately call Terry to make sure he never left Arthit's tail from that day forth. And I guess that is where the root of my problem lies. Cause I will give you just one guess as to where was the very first place that idiot marched his  cum laden ass off to.

And that is when my downward spiral began with literally no end in sight. Cause that seemed to be just the beginning.

While I spent every waking moment of my life, and turns out I can stay awake far, far too long, obsessing over the memory of his taste, the feel of his touch, hell even his musky strawberry scent, he seemed to be busy going about his life just perfect. Every update I got about him, every sneaky picture I saw of him he was doing...fine. No, more than fine. He seemed completely unaffected.

He went to his classes, he took up some part time job, he also walked the entire neighborhood dogs with a smile taped on his face like nothing at all had changed in his life. As if he hadn't spent even a millisecond thinking about me at all.

But honestly, none of it mattered. I wouldn't have cared about any of it if it wasn't the one thing that stabbed me deep in chest every single night. The two pictures that flashed on my phone a little past 11 everyday was all that was needed to have my fate of depression completely sealed. The mere fact that Arthit was visiting Zayn every single day had jealousy oozing out of my every pore. Desperate to snatch him away from that man and yet too stubborn to make a move.