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E verything grated on my last fucking nerve. I was irritable, overwhelmed, and desperate to drink. I didn’t, but I fucking wanted to. Picking fights with Jackson got me nowhere. Short of his frustration when I got hurt, he was quiet and just waited me out. Jackson deserved a fucking award for his patience with me, but I hated that shit.

I didn’t deserve it. Why couldn’t he see that?

I was drowning—barely holding my own. That fucking picture messed with my head. The lack of memories messed with my fucking head, and the things I could remember were worse.

All of it had me fucked up and suffocating.

By the time I dragged myself into his house at the end of the day, I was numb from head to toe. My body was sluggish and labored, making everything more difficult. Every inch of my skin hurt. Even my clothes felt like fucking razors tearing into me. I was fucking dying. I could feel the crash and spiral coming with no hope of staving it off. All I wanted to do was crawl into a hole until it passed .

But no. Here I was entertaining the idea of doing dinner with Jackson because I felt guilty for all the shit I put him through. I said I wanted a normal relationship with him, but I couldn’t even be normal for one fucking day.

I did leave Jackson to do the fucking cooking—God help us both. Who knew how it’d turn out, but he wasn’t letting me near the stove, and I didn’t want to either. Instead, I stood in the living room as I listened to him drone on and on about something.

Truthfully, my brain couldn’t process a damn thing he said. The words were a garbled mess in my ears. Everything felt fuzzy and hazy while I did my damnedest to fight a losing battle to pay attention to him. I just kept zoning out on the floor, watching the wood dance around like it had a life of its own.

But when something touched my arm, I lost the fight as the darkness dragged me under.