𝐈𝐍𝐊 - JAMIE CAMPBELL BOWER

17

*TW: unhealthy relationships (food/people) and catcalling*

Whew, this honestly shouldn't have taken me this long. Excuse any typos...

6 MONTHS AGO

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

    Xander sighs, shaking his head so that a once perfectly gelled back strand shakes out of place. It's almost as relieving to see some part of him disarrayed as it is terrifying. He was so perfect, so elevated and controlled all the time it was unnerving to see him even the slightest bit disheveled.

    You take a deep breath, fists clenched as you murmur, "If we can't get along then maybe we don't need to be together."

"No," he answers. "You're with me through and through."

    The tension is like a thousand knives piercing through your skin. How could he say that? Who did he think he was? Was he in the wrong, or were you really that hard of a person to get along with?

But you don't tell him that you don't love him.

You don't tell him that this was what your parents wanted.

You don't tell him that you've changed so much for him, almost forgotten who you are.

You don't tell him because you can't speak. The you that you once knew was six feet under and dirt is pouring into her mouth with every breath.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

"Hey," another voice says, but this one is real. This one is soft and comforting and right next to you. "Are you all right? What's wrong?"

How long had you zoned out? Jamie had been previously rummaging through the pantry for snacks, but now, he was placed beside you on the couch.

"Oh...I..."

Another day had passed, which meant you were another step closer to Xander's inevitable return. A return that would fill you with the utmost anxiety. A sour taste fills your mouth at your selfishness. It was no secret that Xander wasn't the most perfect boyfriend, but he was still yours, and you owed him the truth and the whole truth. Didn't you?

Only the truth was, you had no idea what to do.

"...yeah, yeah, I'm fine," you murmur. "I was just thinking of the dream I had last night."

Jamie glances down at the photo you're staring at, an old picture of you and Xander. It was years ago, back when the two of you were young. Back when you believed you got along. Your mother had picked out the dress you were wearing that night. It was your first date and you hated it. Both the date and the dress. You can still feel the itchy material and how the color sparkled obnoxiously in the light. The night had ended in tears and smeared lipstick. He'd kissed you that night. You wished he hadn't. 

You drop the photo to the side in hopes of clearing your thoughts, but Jamie's looking at you as if he's read every single one of them.

"Y/N..." he starts.

You shift on the couch uncomfortably, ignoring his gaze once more. "I'm fine, sorry," you say. "Really."

His gaze softens with sorrow, eyes tracing your skin as if they could see something you couldn't. As if he knew something you didn't know. You wish he would tell you, but you don't know how to ask.