how to get away with relationships ; jack falahee

i r l ; 25

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oH shit i have 1k reads on the overview wow what? god i hate myself but this is the final chapter (it's finally done!)

i have a new book in the making and i can't wait to finally start publishing it but idk if it'll do well.

let's just say it's uncharted territory for me.

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the black lace dress clung tight around my arms and my waist, i look in the mirror and grimace at the chubbier cheeks and fuller physique that was now my body. i'd gained a little weight from the lack of exercise and incessant need to constantly eat to satiate the emptiness that now settles in the pit of my stomach. the hole in my heart desperately yearned to be mended but nothing seemed to work.

it used to be alcohol. god the nights i'd spend drowning in manhattans and dirty martinis. until i finally realised that the alcohol did nothing but leave me to spiral into a whirlpool of my own destructive thoughts at night, then wake up the next morning feeling nauseated and like shit. god forbid i start getting high off of any other sort of narcotics, that was a scandal i would rather avoid. so i settled for the next best thing, sugary and greasy foods.

i don't think i've eaten so many hamburgers, pizzas and overall unhealthy food in my life. my arteries have begging for some broccoli but my mouth would never comply.

i'd finished shooting the newest how to get away with murder season a week before i was supposed to, the show runner writing my character off slightly early so that i could have time to grieve. but the lack of a schedule and the lack of well, anything, just made it all feel so much worse. i'd lay in bed, sprawled over the wrinkled and dirty duvet, not doing anything for the entire day, except for sobbing because this is all my fault.

maybe finally saying goodbye will give me some closure and control over my life again.

then again, it feels like nothing will let me have control over my life again.

my gaze shifts up towards my round face. i stare at my chubbier face in the mirror, squishing and prodding my softer, fuller features. i had my mother's eyes, my father's nose, its curve and slope identical to his. i couldn't even look at myself in the mirror without thinking about them, the waterworks starting again because wow i look so much like them. but i'm still alive, i'm still breathing.

another tear falls into the ocean the i'd cried myself over the past few days.

i'm pathetic. i'm weak. i'm crying even though it's my fucking fault that they're not alive anymore.

everything i did didn't work.

nothing that i did saved them.

i'm a failure.

unsatisfied, i threw a blanket over the mirror to cover the reflective glass, knowing that the way i looked was far from the thing that should be on the forefront of my mind.

a knock sounds on my locked door. "hey are you ready to go?"

i didn't know how to answer but shout an ambiguous, "one minute," to jack so he'd know i still needed a bit of time.

my lips purse at the thought of how unbelievably lucky i was in the sense that i had someone like jack to be there for me. he's my anchor, the sole tether that's grounding me to this earth and to my existence. without him, i don't think i would've commit suicide or anything per se. but i'd be a shell of a human. numb and without rational emotion or thought, completely engulfed and consumed by my guilt, rage and sadness.