Chapter 17: Thomas Jefferson

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An
Tw bulimia and eating disorders. Stop when you see the stars if you skip this section.

Thomas POV

***

I felt the clenching of my stomach before I tasted the bile, barely removing my fingers from my throat in time before my last meal clawed its way out of my mouth. The tears stinging my eyes spattered down my cheeks as I choked on the air, leaning back from the toilet bowl and settling back into my heels. I shakily reached for the toilet roll, barely able to grasp it, before raising it to my mouth unsteadily and shamefully wiping the bile from my lips.

A sudden wave of distortion overcame my being; I stared at my wrists clinging to the bone. Too fat. I glanced at my stick-like legs. Too fat. Fat. Fat.

That's all I am.

I felt the nausea rising again my elbows glancing sharply off the toilet seat as I lunged my way towards it. The sharp crack ricocheted up my arm and I could barely suck in a warning breath before the contents of my stomach was filling the toilet again. I retched repeatedly, until there was nothing left to bring up and my stomach muscles were screaming in protest.

I sat back again, wiping my mouth and inhaling sharply. I uncertainly pushed myself to my feet, staggering to the sink. Gratefully chugging down water straight from the tap, I felt the tears washing away with the water.

The creak of the bathroom door was deafening as I stepped out into the frigid corridor. The cold sunk into my bones as I walked towards the kitchen, footsteps cutting like knives into my pounding head as I stumbled across the wooden boards.

It really was very cold.

I grabbed a glass from the kitchen cupboard and saw it nearly slip from my number fingers.

It must have been barely above freezing.

I surveyed the kitchen with heavy eyes, trying to remember the last meal I had kept down. I couldn't.

The creeping numbness led by the cold travelled up my arms until the only movement was my rapid breathing and my feet sluggishly travelling towards the thermostat on the counter next to me. 25°c. Confusion danced in my brain and I took a small step back, feeling the weakness of my ankle buckle and barely registering the crack of my tailbone against the floor. My head was swimming, darkness tinging my limited vision. A terrifying wave of detachment washed over me, before my mind went blank and I slipped away into unconsciousness.

***

Alex's POV

"JOHN! John, stop it, you bitch!" I protested, shoving the mountain of blankets off me. John towered above me, standing like a corny Knight of old on the back of the couch. He had his hands on his hips and his legs either side of my head. I giggled at his machismo weirdness, jumping up to turn and face him.

He had rushed off almost instantly to grab all the blankets he could find and I had settled comfortably into the couch with a disbelieving smile on my tear crusted face.

John jumped down onto the couch in a smooth motion and sat in front of me with a small genuine smile on his face.

"Okay I know we're having fun now and everything, but I wanna just say something. Shit, Alex. I want to make you happy. It felt like before you, I was just going through what I needed to to feel something. But you...you're this anomaly. Life is so shit. It's so shit. But you're this beacon in the mess of my world and i'm so grateful. Fuck, Alex, I just want to make you happy. I want to see you smile. I never ever want you to cry. I want to be the best for you. I need to be, I need us." His eyes were scrunched up, hands curled tightly into fists.

His fingers felt cold against mine as I wrapped my hand around his. I bought his hand tenderly up to my lips, placing gentle kisses on each finger with meticulous care. My heart fluttered in my chest as he let out a gentle sigh and his face relaxed, a small smile playing on his lips.

"John? I never thought we'd end up like this, to be honest. We were never meant to be together but I've got you now and... and I want you to know that I forgive you for everything. Really, I do. I think I know why you acted like you did and I don't mind so much anymore. I'm sorry you had to fight with Thomas." I murmured, tracing his fingers with my own feather-light touch. I felt his breath ghost across me as he leaned towards our interlocked fingers with a small smile. He kissed my hand with the softest touch, the feeling of his lips ingrained into my mind.

He moved up my arm, kissing every inch of exposed skin until he reached the edge of my t-shirt sleeve. His velvety lips traced every scar and blemish on my arms with relish, an almost worshipping air to his touch. He kissed my neck with delectation, tracing a line up to my lips. When he kissed me again, I felt the butterflies in my stomach travel to my throat. Every inch of me sparked with electric yearning for the boy before me.

His hair glided through my fingers like ribbon as I reached up to tangle my hand through his brown locks. I needed him closer, a euphoria spreading throughout me as his lips moved against my own. He was mine, and as I held him closer, his chest pulled flush into me, I knew I didn't want it any other way.

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