Chapter Thirty Three
Jackson Blake's POV
It's been a week. I've been in agony. I can barely leave my room, too scared to leave the comfort of my bedsheets. Every morning I wake up from a nightmare, dreaming of him leaving me and then when I open my eyes to an empty bed, it fuels a panic attack and I scream and cry because he's not there. Then my mind comes too and I realise why he's not there. I left him.
In a whole week I haven't left my bed. I haven't eaten. I've been starving myself because that pain might ease the pain in my heart. The dangers of starving to death not computing in me. Like there's an inability to process it as a possibility. Like I welcome the idea rather than resent it. My muscle mass is depreciating. My body no longer has fat to burn as energy, so I'm getting smaller, more fragile as I lose my muscle.
"Jackson," the soft voice calls from the corner of the room. Janet. She has to come every week. Here to talk to me and help me. "Jackson if you don't talk to me I'll have to call him, he'll have to come and get you," she was referring to Slater. My body shot up, my head becoming dizzy from the lack of nutrients that I refused to give myself. I didn't deserve to eat.
"No," my voice was croaky and strained, I hadn't spoken in a week. Not even a murmur. "Please don't," I whisper and she sends me a pointed look.
"You need to talk to me. You have to come out of this state otherwise I have a duty of care. I can't leave you like this," she tells me and I nod, running my fingers through my greasy hair and I realise how badly I smell. "Tell me what's wrong," she softly asks.
"You have to understand, I needed to leave him. We made so much progress, but I'm so selfish. I'm a selfish and horrible person. He rips his hair out every day with his job and now he's having to do more for me. Having another stress and another burden and I can't live like that," I whimper, my voice still croaky as tears spilt down my cheeks.
"Ok. Explain to me why it's selfish," she asks, her pen scribbling in her notepad.
"He has so much responsibility. He has to care for millions of people, protect them and lead them. I've seen the stress he's under. I've seen the debates he has to have, the decisions he has to make and it's just a life filled with pressure all the time. Then we go to therapy and I'm asking him to change himself to be the man I need. Asking him to stay with me, so he sits and watched me sleep for hours, refusing to let me wake up alone. He won't wake me up because he doesn't want to disrupt my sleep, no matter how many times I tell him to. He refuses. He thinks if he wakes me, that once he's left for work and I go back to sleep, I'll only wake up panicking a few hours later. So he stays with me and then he works later in the day. He doesn't stop until 3 in the morning and then he sleep, only to wake again at 5. Watching and waiting again until I wake up at gone 9. Every day he does it on repeat. He's ruining his sleep, ruining his schedule all because I have a fear of him leaving me. How is that fair? How is that not selfish," I cry out, a deep sadness in my tone as I explain to her.
"So you think if you leave, if you stay away from him, you can learn to stop those panic attacks?" She asks and I nod to her. "It's reckless," she hisses at me and I nod.
"I know Janet, I know. I'm not saying if I didn't stay that i won't fix the panic attacks another way but I don't know when that is. I can't let him go on like that. I have to learn to manage this without him. I have to because I can't watch him break himself the way he is. All the time he's dropping everything he's doing to come to me. He's biting his lip like I'm too fragile to take the truth, like he can't express himself in fear I'll cry or get upset. It's like an unintentional emotional blackmail that I'm holding him to and I can't do it. I can't rely on him to build me up. I can't because if I do, he'll be the rock I'm standing on and in those moments that he can't be that rock or he breaks from the pressure, he'll pull it from under me and I'll fall. If he isn't the rock then I can't fall and I can be strong on my own. I can't let him be my rock because he'll always live in fear of taking my feet from under me," I whisper to her and she lets out a sigh.
"I understand. You're not in an easy position are you? If you stay, you'll continue to reap the benefits of his efforts and his changes, whilst you struggle to change anything about your own behaviour. He's changed to solve your problems but you've done nothing. So here you are because you don't want to do nothing. You don't want to sit around and let him go to hell and back whilst you put your feet up. By leaving, you have to fix all the issues that he's been changing himself for and that way, you can try speed up your recovery. You can process and understand yourself so when you go back, you no longer fear the burden you bring," she concludes and I nod to her, agreeing with her assessment.
"I understand, but you cannot continue if you're going to live like this. You have to eat, you have to go out and do something. Go to the gym, go on runs, distract your mind with your studies otherwise this will kill you. You are letting yourself die trying to fix yourself. Do you realise how ridiculous that is?" She asks and I nod to her. She's right. "I will be visiting you tomorrow, if nothing has changed, I will be forcing your mate to come and get you," she threatens and it's like a cold splash of water that I needed. Lying in bed wasn't going to fix this. I had to start now or I'd be wasting the opportunity.
~
Another three weeks have past. Exactly one month ago I left him. Since my first therapy session with Janet I've been getting gifts. Every day I get a hand written note and a present to go with it. Janet must have reported back to him and told him that I wasn't doing well. She must have explained that I'd left to work towards feeling validated and confident in myself. So every day I get a note, telling me how much he misses me and how beautiful I am. That he believes in me. That I'm the strongest person he knows.
My heart flutters every time the doorbell rings. The first day he sent me a jumper, his jumper. He'd worn it everyday for the past week so it was covered in his scent. He told me that my scent is all over his room, on some of the clothes I'd left behind and he uses them to calm him. He hoped that if I had something with his scent on, it would calm me the same way it does for him.
The letter had given me peace, that even after a week he still wanted me. That he's still waiting. My body got hot the second I caught his scent. It calmed me and my wolf had perked up. I'm not embarrassed to say I'd wanked on multiple occasions to the smell of his scent. His pheromones are all over it and it makes me question whether he'd purposely rubbed himself in certain areas whilst wearing it. It made me laugh to think that, even though we're hundreds of miles away from each other, he still wanted to arouse me.
He sent flowers, telling me they reminded him of me. He sent designer clothes he'd picked out for me, gift vouchers for the local spa, and comfort boxes of chocolates, lotions and trinkets that he thought I might like. One of them was a wooden carving of a wolf that was painted white with bright gold eyes. It's stance is fierce at it howled at the moon. He'd found in a gift shop and said that it was as if it was made for me. That the wolf was just as powerful as me. Just as handsome.
Every time he sent something I'd well with tears, my desire to just go back was so strong but I couldn't go back empty handed. I couldn't go back without even the smallest of progress.
"Jackson," Janet's voice pulled me back as we sat in her the office that Slater has rented out for our meetings. "How are you doing this week?" She urges.
"Better," I mutter. "I'm still waking up and panicking, but I've been recording myself and the amount of time it takes to realise I'm panicking is shortening each day. I'm slowly learning that, in the moment, there isn't a need to panic, that he hasn't left me. I feel positive that I'll continue to improve," I tell her and she offers me a soft smile.
"That's really positive Jackson, I'm really happy for you. Keep maintaining that, if they get worse tell me and we'll talk it through. What methods have you found are working?" She asks.
"First thing is staying where I am. The first week I'd get out of bed, panicking and crying running into each room trying to find him. So I focused on staying where I am, letting myself panic and cry until it passes. Then I focused on moving. Not walking around, but moving my body. I bring my hand up to my face and I rotate my wrist. It helps me shake off the hallucination I'm in and force my mind to focus on one thing so it'll wake up. Lastly, I try to prevent myself from hyperventilating. My breathing becomes so restricted that my lungs burn, so when I'm watching my hand, I open and close it, when it's closing I inhale, when it's opening I exhale. That way it becomes consistent and then the panic slows down until it's gone," I tell her.
"That's really brilliant Jackson. That's really encouraging to here. What else have you been doing?" She praises me and then pushes for more details.
"I've been trying to get my confidence up but I don't know how to," I tell her. "I've been going to the gym, I go on runs and I do paintings, but it's not helping," I explain to her, and even my words didn't sound confident because I couldn't explain how anything that I was doing would improve my self-esteem.
"Ok, what time do you do these activities?" She queries.
"At night," I mutter, knowing what's she's going to say next.
"There's your issue. You do these things when no one's around. There isn't any point in doing things when you don't have social interactions to reaffirm that you're good at something. Nothing to compare notes to, nothing to engage with or learn from. The majority of our confidence and self worth comes from how we feel we're perceived. If you want to know how you're perceived or manage and change how people see you, you have to have people in order to do that," she pointed out and I shifted uncomfortably at the suggestion.
"You have 5 objectives this week, you're going to go to the gym during the day between 8AM and 10AM then at 4PM and 7PM when it's at it's busiest. You'll ask to use equipment, you'll compliment peoples reps and you'll make conversation. I don't care how awkward it is, you have to try. Similarly, you're going to run during the day when the sun is shining, not when it's dark and dismal. You're going to join a class, I don't care if it's boxing or yoga, you're going to attend a weekly class to talk to people with similar interests to you. You're going to hire a personal trainer because when you're in the gym you release dopamine and serotonin and having a PT push you and hype you up will only increase your confidence. Finally, you're going to go to a painting class, it'll force you to speak to people of similar interests and it'll help you receive and process valid compliments and critiques," she tells me and there's no room for arguing as she writes down the objectives and passes a stern look my way.
I nod my head to her, mentally taking note of every task I have to complete in the coming weeks. "What about how I feel about myself. Compliments on my work is one thing, but how do I learn to believe the compliments Slater gives me?" My voice is all but a whisper, scared to say my thoughts in the open air between us, because the reality was, no matter how much Slater calls me beautiful, I don't see myself as beautiful.
"Go speed dating," my eyes shoot to her, a shocked expression on my face at her suggestion. "I'll tell Slater, I'll explain to him. You don't have to go on a date with any of these people, you only have to listen to them, interact, engage and let them compliment you. Say thank you and when it's all over, you can leave. Go to the club with your friends, let people flirt and compliment you, you'll start to see just how many people see you the way Slater sees you," she tells me and I'm hesitant.
I can't do that without Slater's approval. Can I even do that with his approval? It would feel like betrayal. It would feel like I'm cheating, like I'm a low life piece of scum. Would dating make me feel better? Or would it only make me feel worse that the person giving them to me isn't the person I love?
~
It's been three months. 13 weeks. 89 days. The panic attacks have almost stopped. I still bolt awake but it takes seconds before I'm calm again. I went to painting classes, I've done portrait after portrait of Slater and I. I'd received multiples comments on my ability, people wishing to be as good as me. The self portraits made me see myself. Made me focus on my own beauty. Helped me acknowledge that I'm worthy. I'm good enough.
I'd got a note from Slater, tell me to go dating. Telling me that I deserved to hear people tell me all the things he sees in me. That I deserve to know I'm good enough and if that meant hearing it from strangers, he could live with that. If it meant I came back believing every compliment he gives me, I could go on dates with the whole of LA if I had to. It was another sacrifice. A sacrifice that a hotheaded and possessive Alpha King would have torn himself apart over. Yet he still let me. Every day he sent me another letter telling me to go. Every day he convinced me that I had his blessing. When he threatened me to go, that was the tip of the iceberg and with every bit of strength, I obeyed him and went.
Speed dating is incredibly awkward. Every man and woman there fawned over me. I was given countless numbers. I was told I'm the most beautiful person they'd ever seen, that I'm sexy, that my body is to die for, that my eyes, cheeks and jaw are all sculpted by gods. It overwhelmed me.
Perfect. Flawless. That's how they saw me and yet all I saw in myself were imperfections and flaws. A few minutes of conversations with each of them made me realise that this is how I'm perceived. This is what people think of me. That Slater's words are true. That he doesn't lie to keep my happy, that he means it. That's what he sees in me.
I was forced to speak to people at the gym, to ask for weights, for benches and machines. Every interaction was positive. They would ask me to wait until they finished their last rep or they'd move over so I could start my own. I's progressed leaps and bounds. I remember the first day I'd walked in, I'd avoided everyone's stares, sat in the corner and making myself invisible. I was a nervous wreck. When I put myself out there, took risks and pushed myself, I was only rewards. I only achieved more each day.
I made observations and comments on peoples form and sometimes corrected others on there's. It always led to conversations about routine and top tips. Then as time went on, I got to know everyone that came in at the same time I did. It was warm and welcoming and it encouraged me to keep going. It made me confident.
That and the fact that I had a PT shouting down my neck each week. Pushing me harder and telling me I can do it, that I only needed 30 more seconds to beat my record. Every time he'd congratulate me, tell me I'd done a good job and consistently assure me of how good I am.
Running in daylight helped me get used to peoples stares. I always feel their eyes on me. So when I started running, I learnt to drown them out. Pretend they weren't there and focus only on my burning lungs and my aching legs. Then I changed my angle, when I went for runs, anyone who caught my eye I'd send them a smile, to which they always returned one back. That made me more comfortable, and now, when I walk into shops or into the city, I don't feel the eyes on me and when I see them, I simply offer a welcoming smile. That was progress I never foresaw.
Then there were the classes I joined. I went to yoga and MMA, I spoke to people, I interacted and joined in. I didn't feel stuck in my shell anymore. I'd never done yoga and to begin with I was terrible, but I didn't quit, I asked for help and made sure to get advice to improve. Everyone was always supportive and kind and it made my heart swell. I got compliments on my form, I was praised when I improved and I was always encouraged to keep going. I felt enthused and the small distractions made me happy, even though I didn't have my mate to share them with.
I'd spent each day learning with warlocks, mastering control and learning my history and ability. I realised how privilege I am. Unlike most of the world, I don't live in ignorance. That's not a curse, that's a blessing. I trained my wolf, I learnt my strength, my agility, my power and skill. I became better and I felt better. I became one with myself. Accepting of my powers, of my wolf. I learnt to love who I am.
I spent the hours in between researching. Understanding my trauma, reading about people who were in the same situation. I took on board their coping strategies and fully processed what had happened. I understand that I'm not to blame. I learnt who I was and now I know who I want to be.
In three months I've established myself. I've chosen what I want, what I need. Now I know how I can manage myself. How I can the best version of myself. How I can love my mate. How I can love him the way he loves me.
I miss him. I miss him so much that it's painful. I can't bare another day away from him. I can't spend another day without his touch. Without my lips on his. Without my body pressed into him. That's why I'm going back home. That's why I'm going to the love of my life.