9. Blakely
NINE
Blakely
It isn’t healthy to read comments online, especially ones under articles that are filled with speculation. But for the first time in what feels like forever, I do. I justify the decision by convincing myself that I’m checking to see how it comes across. After all, I haven’t heard anything from my dad, so I assume he either hasn’t seen the photo, or it’s not actually as bad as it feels.
But I should know better than to look.
Who is that? He looks like a Greek god.
Not to be dramatic, but if this man doesn’t wife me up and father my children, I will die.
How’s a frigid bitch get a guy like that?
OMGGGG He’s fine af.
Her pussy must be gold. Have y’all seen her w/out photoshop? H-I-D-E-O-U-S. In it for the $$.
Her belly looks bigger. Is she pregnant?
It’s the last one that makes me pause, the barbs slicing through my thick skin and festering in my psyche. Setting my phone down, I head into the formal living room—the one that’s just been transformed into a set for the photo shoot—trying to ignore the way it suddenly feels like a thousand bugs are crawling under my skin.
Immediately, my eyes take in the scene. Sierra is standing to the side, hands on her hips, her messy, blond hair thrown up in a bun. A beige knitted sweater slouches off one shoulder and drapes on top of black leggings. She looks cozy, and envy hits my chest, jealous of how she’s able to throw on comfortable clothes and not worry about being seen in something off-brand.
The sun hasn’t set yet, but it’s close, pinks and purples grazing against the horizon, spreading their glow through the wall of windows and casting everything in a stunning hue of twilight.
It’s a calming aura, and if I were anyone else, maybe I’d enjoy the moment and be thankful that my life is as blessed as it is. But instead of relaxing, my fists clench tight, fingernails pressing into my palms, threatening to cut through my skin with the pressure.
There’s a scent in the air. Baked dough and tomato sauce. Gooey cheese and peppers. My nostrils flare, letting the stench flow down to my empty stomach, hoping it will be enough to curb the craving.
My foot starts tapping against the tigerwood floor as three guys in black huddle in a circle, not a care in the world, the large slices oozing grease from their hands.
Sierra walks toward me. “Blakely, be ready for glam in fifteen.” I close my eyes and continue breathing deep, a tendril of anxiety wrapping around my insides.
One. Two. Three.
“You okay?” she asks.
“Fine,” I snap. “I’m just…I’m hungry.”
Her eyes widen and she gestures toward the pizza.
Scoffing, I cross my arms, irritation swimming through my chest and pulling it tight. “That’s pizza , Sierra. I need food I can eat and not want to die from later on.”
Sierra huffs out a laugh, rolling her eyes. “God, you’re so dramatic. Have a piece of pizza. You’re gonna spend all night in the gym anyway, and we both know it. We don’t have time for one of your prepped meals or one of your tantrums.”
My jaw clenches tight. Tantrums . Like I can control it. Shame courses through me, my mind waging war against my stomach.
She’s right. I can have half a slice. Or just a few bites. One time won’t kill me.
Walking to the table, the smell of baked crust and oregano slam against my senses and my mouth waters, urging my hand to snatch up a piece before my brain can talk me out of it.
I take a bite.
Oh, my fucking god.
My eyes close, the flavors exploding on my taste buds in a way that baked tilapia and lettuce with no dressing just can’t replicate. I lose myself in the moment—in the absolute freedom of enjoying every precious bite, and by the time I come back to myself, the entire piece is demolished.
“Damn, girl. I’ve never seen someone eat pie that way.”
My head whips over to one of the men in the corner, stomach churning in disgust at both my lack of restraint and my stupidity. Anybody could have recorded me shoveling pizza in my mouth like a fat ass.
I give a tight smile to the man, not trusting myself to keep from snapping back and not wanting to give him anything to sell to the tabloids if I do.
Slipping my phone from my pocket, I pull up my calorie-tracking app.
One slice of cheese pizza is…
I choke on my inhale. Three hundred and four calories. A burning heat slams through my body, my forehead becoming damp from the sudden shift.
Lennox’s voice draws my attention away, and I turn toward the hallway where he walks in with Jackson beside him. They’re chatting, a smile on both of their faces, and for just a moment, I forget about my failures, too busy wondering how the hell Jackson got through Lennox’s cold exterior in a matter of moments.
Jackson’s gaze scans the room, locking on me and widening slightly.
Why is he looking at me like that?
My eyes bounce between him and the empty plate of my mistake, and I can actually feel my heart ramming against my chest. My mind races, making me woozy with the need to burn off the calories before they’re able to stick to my cells and turn into fat.
There’s no time. The shoot will last hours and by then it will be too late.
Stupid, Blakely. Pathetic.
Months of hard work and discipline thrown down the drain because of one weak moment. And even if I get to the gym, the damage will be done. Visions of my measuring tape reading higher numbers flash through my mind, thoughts twisting into a spiral.
My lungs wring tight. I close my eyes and try to focus.
Deep breath in. One. Two. Three.
It’s only four hundred calories. The three from the pizza and an extra hundred to make up for my lack of control. I can be on and off the spin bike in thirty minutes if I push it hard enough.
Deep breath out. One. Two. Three.
My legs bounce erratically as I scan the room, briefly locking eyes with Jackson before continuing on to find who I need.
“Sierra.” I try to make my voice nonchalant, but it comes out pinched. “How long do I have?”
Sierra drops the pillow she’s rearranging as she turns to look at me. “Not enough time for you to do whatever you’re thinking. Just wait until later.”
My heart stutters, and a sharp pain spreads across my chest.
Panic tightens around every piece of me and squeezes until I’m sure I’ll burst at the seams.
Nausea curdles my stomach, the urge to heave so strong, I press the back of my hand against my mouth.
My breaths come shorter, my eyes darting from the table pushed against the wall to the garish studio lights that are looming over the makeshift set before settling back on Jackson. Someone drags an end table to the side, and the sound of it scratching against the hardwood grates against my ears and rakes down my insides.
Jackson cringes from the noise but his eyes stay locked on me. My vision narrows.
I’m spiraling and I know it, but it’s an out-of-body experience and I can do nothing but watch. A helpless bystander. A spectator to my own destruction. If I were in my right mind, maybe I would feel shame for being so vulnerable in this moment—in front of the one person who will see what’s happening and won’t be content with pretending it never did.
I try to take deep breaths. Try to steady my nerves, but once the panic has started, there’s no reasoning with the madness.
Deep breath in. One. Two. Three. Deep breath out.
It doesn’t help. My hands reach up and pull at my roots. “Stop!” My voice is loud, echoing off the high ceilings and reverberating across the empty space.
The men moving the furniture freeze in place. My glam team, busy putting out their tools, spin to face me. Jackson continues watching. And Sierra, ever the businesswoman, ignores me completely. “Keep going, guys. She’s just having a moment.”
My nostrils flare. I wouldn’t even be having this moment if it weren’t for her . If she would have just let me make my food, we could have avoided this entire situation. But instead, I gave in. Let her dictate what goes in my body and desecrated myself with garbage.
The thought reaches up and strangles me.
Deep breath in. One. Two. Three.
“No, I’m not having a moment. I need…” My pounding heart makes my words stutter. “I—I need everyone to stop what they’re doing and get the hell out. I can’t do it. I can’t do it right now.”
Sierra sighs, walking over to me. My gaze jerks across the room to Jackson, standing effortlessly calm and collected, hands in his pockets, his eyes still never leaving me.
“Blakely,” Sierra says. “We can’t stop. This is on your schedule, has been for weeks. If we push it back, then you’ll be behind. Again . ” Her words are slow. Soothing. Like she’s trying to bait and lure an animal into its cage.
My head shakes, unable to focus on anything other than the fact that it’s now been over ten minutes since I finished stuffing straight-up trash down my throat and every second wasted is another ounce of fat. One that, no doubt, every single person on the internet will notice.
“I don’t care,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “Get them out. Now. And I need a pill. A…a Xanax. It’s in my medicine cabinet.”
“Look.” Sierra clicks her tongue. “I know you’re a control freak, okay? I get it. You’re mad that I took over and had you eat what the common folk do.” She gestures toward the empty boxes. “But you don’t need a pill to calm down. Jesus, the last thing we need is for you to get addicted to benzos. Imagine the headlines if that ever got out.”
My insides flare, chest burning with her words. “They’re not… I’m not a control freak. I just…” Closing my eyes to try and shake the dizziness, I continue to inhale.
One. Two. Three.
“Blakely, look. Take deep breaths and just…go sit in the makeup chair.” She waves her hand. “Let them make you pretty. You’ll be fine.”
My chest pulls tighter.
Suddenly, the air shifts, heat dancing through the chill that’s pricking on my skin.
Sierra’s eyes flick behind me. “Hi, Jackson.”
He ignores her, walking around and standing in front of me. Embarrassment drowns my system, blood rushing to my cheeks and making them hot. I don’t want him to see me like this. Never wanted him to know about this part of me.
Bile teases the back of my throat, chunks of the pizza I just ate threatening to come back up and remind me of what I just gave up months of restraint for. The acid burns my esophagus, and I swear to God, I can feel the extra weight already dragging me down with every minute I stand here.
Jackson’s palms reach up and cup my face, angling my head to meet his eyes, the mossy green searing through me. I suck in a breath at the way my mind zones in on his gaze, and I’m suddenly desperate for more of his calm.
“Don’t leave,” I gasp.
His thumbs brush my jaw, and I focus on the feel of his calloused fingers as they scratch against my face. “I’m not leaving. Are you okay?”
There’s a burn behind my eyes, and Jackson goes blurry as I stare back at him, something warm blossoming in my chest and rising to my throat. I shake my head no, my hair brushing against his forearms with the movement.
His jaw tics. “What do you need?”
My heart cracks open at the question, the pressure against my lungs easing, just a bit.
“I need…I need them to leave.” My tongue jets out to wet my dry, chapped lips. “And you to stay. Please.” My heart palpitates, stuttering against my ribs. My hands jump to cover his.
“Everybody out.” His voice is strong. Commanding. I sink deeper into his hold.
His eyes never leave mine, his fingers tightening against my skin, and I focus on the brown specks that dot the forest green of his gaze.
One. Two. Three. Deep breath out.
Sierra scoffs. “This is ridiculous. They need to finish setting up.”
I don’t respond. I can’t do anything other than focus on Jackson’s eyes. If I break away, I’ll lose the rest of my sanity.
“No.” His voice is sharp.
“What do you mean , no?” Sierra bites out.
“Have them leave, now . Or I’ll make them leave.”
“Listen,” Sierra continues. “She does this sometimes, has these…moments, and we always get through it. We don’t need you coming in here and concerning yourself with the way things work.”
His eyes finally leave me and my stomach heaves, twisting until it breaks into a thousand pieces and prods against my edges. My nails dig into the back of his hands. His fingers tighten against my jaw.
“The only thing I’m concerned with is Blakely,” Jackson snaps. “And you. Getting. The. Fuck. Out.”
His eyes come back to mine and the knot in my gut loosens.
Deep breath in. One. Two. Three.
He’s my anchor. The only thing keeping me from being lost in tumultuous seas. And even though it makes me weak, I let him keep me steady until I’m able to stand on my own.