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[ J A X ' S P O V ]

She's gone by the time I wake up.

    I turn to my side so I can slide my arm around her waist but my hand comes in contact with nothing. My eyes flutter open and my heart immediately crumbles when I realize she's not there anymore. The only thing left of her is the impression of her body on her pillow and her side of the bed.

    No.

    No no no no no. She can't do this to me.

    "Blaire?" I call out her name. When silence greets me back, I say it again. "Blaire?"

    I throw the sheets aside and hop off the bed, and then check her room. The first place I go is the bathroom. My stomach drops when I see that it's empty.

    Fuck.

    I rush out of her room and check mine.

    Empty.

    Then, sprint downstairs to inspect the living room, kitchen and guest rooms.

    Nothing.

    Panic starts to swell inside of me. I storm back up and search her room again, desperately clinging unto the last ember of hope that she didn't just leave me without saying goodbye and she didn't walk over to the police station to turn herself in.

    But as every second passes by when I don't see her, the hope starts to die off. I fall unto my knees and let out the most agonizing sound I've ever made in my entire life, pain seizing and invading me everywhere. I clench my fists and slam the floor repeatedly, one after another, desperately trying to get rid overwhelming ache and torment of having the love of my life walk away from me.

    Tears swim in my eyes and fall unto my cheeks, then unto the floor. My eyes are swelling and clouding with tears that I can't see anymore. I'm in so much pain, so much goddamned suffering that I can't breathe anymore, my throat is closing up and I'm inhaling, exhaling, inhaling, exhaling as much as I can but my lungs can't give and take anymore and I feel like I'm slowly, slowly losing air, slowly fucking dying.

    God, it hurts, it hurts so much...

    I knew that she had to leave today. I knew at some point when I closed my eyes last night, there was a slim chance she'll slip away from me, but fuck me, I didn't know she would actually do it.

     I was foolish to think there was a chance she'll stay—that she'll nudge me awake and greet me with that beautiful smile of hers and we'll make love again and she'll make me sandwiches and she'll put on that bodyguard uniform and bring me to work and we'll walk off to the fucking sunset together like we're supposed to.

    Fuck. This is so fucked up. This is not how it was supposed to turn out. How did love end up with her leaving me with nothing but a broken heart and a broken soul? How did love end up with me bawling my eyes out like a fucking baby on the foot of her bed, trying to cling unto the last shred of my sanity?

    How how how?

    I slam both of my fists down again, and blood starts to pool around my skin but I don't care, I don't care, I don't care anymore. I murder the floor with my fists because I'm so numb from the pain that it doesn't matter anymore and because the pain is the only thing keeping me together, the only thing keeping me from falling apart at the seams.

    I'm choking on my own sobs and when the last ounce of energy leaves me, I hit the floor one last time before slumping down unto it. I've never looked and feel more pathetic than I do now and if I were the old me right now, I'd stand by the sidelines and laugh at the new me for being this weak just because a stupid girl left him.

    But I'm not the old me anymore. And she's not a stupid girl.

    She's the most extraordinary girl that has ever walked into my life.

    She's incredibly strong, loyal, fierce, intelligent beyond words and is one of the bravest people I've ever known.

    I didn't just fell in love with her body. I fell in love with her mind, her smile, her heart and her soul.

    She became a part of me and I never realized that until she walked away from me. Because when she did, she took every single piece and fragment of me with her. She stripped me of everything and now I'm left on the cold, hard floor, naked and vulnerable as the day I was born, drowning in my own tears and blood.

    Get your shit together, Jackson. You're stronger than this. She wouldn't want you to be miserable over her absence.

    I wipe the tears away with the back of my arm. I let out a sigh but it just comes out as a sob. I force myself up unto the bed and comb my fingers through my hair, trying to come down. Deep breaths, Jackson. Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out. In Out. You can do this. You can. Breathe in. Breathe out.

    Something out of place catches my attention from the corner of my eye. I turn to the bedside and my eyes land on the piece of paper on it. My heart goes into panic mode and my hands scramble to catch hold of it. When it's in my hands, I unfold the paper and begin to read.

Dear Jackson,

    You're probably really upset that I left. Scratched that. You're probably really upset and angry that I left. You've probably scoured the entire mansion looking for me and you've come back empty-handed.

    I'm sorry you didn't get to see me one last time before I turned myself in. Making love to you last night was the best and worst decision of my life. Because although it was my last chance to show you how much I love and care for you, the pain of not seeing you again after last night was too unbearable. I want to relive it again and at the same time, I don't.

    I wish I had another explanation as to why I walked away without saying goodbye. Apart from the fact that I'm terrible at it, there is no other reason that I feel is valid enough other than this: there is simply no need for goodbye. Why? Because this is not a goodbye. This is not the end for us. I swear it isn't.

    Jackson 'Deadbeat' Deneris, I'm so fucking in love with you. And I will do everything in my power to come back to you.

    I don't care if it's going to take years or even decades. I'm getting out of jail and I'm coming straight for you, baby. I don't care if you've moved on from me. I don't care if you've found another girl and got married and had kids and lived what you think is your happily ever after.

    I don't care.

    Because your happily ever after is with me.

    So yeah. I'm coming for you, whether you like it or not. That sure as hell isn't a promise. Because as you said before, promises break.

    That is my oath to you.

Love, Blaire.

    When I'm finished reading, I read it over again a second time, then a third, in a desperate attempt to soak up the last recent remnant I have of her. When I've finally convinced myself that the letter has nothing left to offer me, I fold it back and fall unto the bed, clutching the letter tightly against my chest.

     I wrap myself in her sheets because they still smell of her and I close my eyes, tears leaking out of them again, with her words engraved so deep into my mind that I can almost hear her voice whispering them to me before the darkness lulls me to sleep.

******

I don't leave the mansion for three days.

    I've spend most of my time shut in my own room, except for the time when I have to eat, in which I dash in and out of the kitchen as fast as possible to get my food. My room is the only place that I feel comfortable in because everywhere I go now, I'm constantly reminded of her.

    Every time I pass the stairwell, I'm reminded of how soft her lips felt when she first kissed me.

     Every time I sit in the living room in silence, I'm reminded of how good she made me feel during the many times we laid sprawled on the sofa, naked, unable to keep our hands to ourselves.

     And every time I walk pass her bedroom, I'm reminded of the unbearable pain I felt when we made love on her bed, knowing all too well that that it was going to be our last time.

    It's much too painful to relive them now that she's gone. My room is much like my own safety net; I shut myself in there because it helps to desensitize the pain. My emotions are all over the place right now and the punching bag in my room helps to take each hit fueled by them.

    I throw punches, hoping that each one, I'll forget about her, about us, just even a little bit, but the memories come back harder each time, hitting me back twice as hard as it did before. So I hit with more force each time and after I'm done, my knuckles are bloodied and bruised. One time it was so bad I had to call Hunter to stitch them up for me.

    Both him and Baxton have been coming around the house now more often than ever ever since Blaire left. Although they want me to get out of the house, I simply can't. The mansion is swarmed with paparazzi after the scandal broke that Blaire, my now former bodyguard, has turned herself in for those housing robberies.

    I snort to myself. It's ironic, really.

    And the press knows it. They use Blaire's scandal to exploit my dad and myself and turn us into social pariahs.

    At this point Baxton doesn't even care anymore. He seems more concerned about me rather than his failing status as a celebrity. I think he finally gets it in that thick skull of his that fame isn't really everything. He visits me in the morning and always make sure that I eat. I'm still deciding whether it's good to have him bicker at me.

     He hasn't been around for most of my childhood—unfortunately for me, I had my uncle for that—so I'm not sure how to act around him. I sometimes find it endearing that Baxton keeps wanting to look after me, but sometimes I want to sew his mouth shut every time he says he wants me to be more productive.

    "And how the hell am I supposed to do that?" I snap at him, chewing on my burger. I'm not really in the mood for that. Tacos are always my go-to food when I'm hungry but I'm willing to withhold eating them. Tacos are Blaire and my thing. I'm going to wait for her to eat it, however long it takes.

      I continue on. "Never thought I'd ever say this but I'm literally in my very own version of hell. Blaire's about to go to trial for the crimes she's committed. And since she's also my bodyguard and my girlfriend, we've become one of the biggest scandals that has ever hit the media this year so that means we've practically taken over the internet and our pictures are slapped over every front cover of every tabloid and article there is out there. Oh yeah, and not to mention, I'm basically on fucking house arrest because the second I step foot out of the mansion, I get attacked and harassed by hundreds of paparazzi. So do forgive me if I haven't been up and about these few days. This is a lot to handle so cut me some damn slack."

    Baxton shrugs, scratching his head. He's leaning against the kitchen counter, arms rested on them.  "You're right. It's a lot of handle."

    "Thank you!" I say, exasperated.

    "But that doesn't mean you can't do something about it," he tells me. "Look, shutting yourself in that room of yours, taking up your anger and aggression on a punching bag doesn't change the fact that Blaire's gone, Jackson. She's gone and we don't know when she's going to come back. They predict that she'll get five years, maybe more if she gets a nasty judge. She's going to be locked away and there's nothing you can do about it."

    "Fuck, don't you think I know that?" Now he's just making me even more pissed.

    "I'm just stating the facts here. I know you're in pain, Jackson. You love her. More than she knows," Baxton murmurs. "But sitting around and moping about her doesn't do jack shit. If she saw you right now, she would be really disappointed in you—"

    I slam my burger down and thrust my index finger at his chest. My eyes narrow and I seethe, "You do not get to play that card with me right now, dad. You don't know shit about Blaire." Anger burns and thrives inside of me and I close my eyes, knowing all too well that the old Jax is resurfacing.

    Fuck me.

    Baxton clear his throat and calmly removes my finger away from him. I inhale deeply and sit back down, seething silently.

     "I do know shit about Blaire, actually," he says. "I knew her when I took her in after I found her on the streets one night, curled up against the doors of a convenience store under the heater because it was too cold and her sleeping bag wasn't sufficient enough. I fed her, gave her food and tried as hard as I could to give her a home. So yeah, I know her like the back of my hand, just as much as I know you. So believe me when I say that she'd hate for you to keep torturing yourself like this."

    I stay quiet, my eyes dropping down to the floor.

    "I get that you're in pain. I really do," he continues on. "But wallowing in your own self-pity will not do anything but cause you even more pain."

    "You seem to know a lot about this," I mutter.

    "That's cause I've been through it before. With you and your mom." He reaches forward to touch my hand. "With the nasty divorce and having to leave you back in Boston while I started anew somewhere else, it left a huge gaping hole in my heart. I may have looked like I was happy here, but that's far from the truth. I hated myself everyday for not trying hard enough to fix the marriage, for abandoning you in Boston while I pursued my career in LA."

     He pauses briefly, then continues on. "I've had my fair share of regrets, Jackson, and eventually, I've come to live with them. I'm doing the best I can to fix my relationship with you and even though I may go about doing it in a peculiar way, at least I'm trying," he tells me. "Why do you think I put you and Blaire together in the first place? I deprived you of love for so long now and I knew no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't really give you all of that love that you so badly wanted. And then, I looked at Blaire and I knew in an instant that she would be the one to give you that love. Granted, it took a hell longer than I thought it would take, but it happened."

    Just thinking about Blaire makes my heart hurt all over again. Unwanted memories are resurfacing and if I let it take over me, I might have an emotional breakdown. "Please, dad. Don't," I whisper. "It hurts too much."

    "If Blaire were in your shoes right now, what would she do?" he asks.

    I shrug, looking down. I know the answer. I just rather not say it.

    "I don't know," I murmur instead.

    "Bullshit. You know the answer," Baxton says. "I'm going to ask again: if it was you who's facing half a dozen years in prison for robberies that you've committed, what would she do?"

    "She'd do anything in her willpower to reduce the sentence or free me altogether," I whisper.

    Baxton leans back against the chair, pleased with my answer. "Then, I guess that's what you're going to have to do."

    "What you're asking of me is ridiculous." I choke on a laugh. "I can't break her out of prison.  This ain't no goddamned movie."

    "I'm not asking you to commit a felony, Jackson." He shakes his head.

    "Then, what exactly are you asking me to do?" I fold my arms across my chest and cock my head sideways in confusion.

    "You're a smart guy. You'll know what to do," he gets down from the chair and pats me on my shoulder. "I'd reckon that you look for answers in her room."

    "You're being awfully skeptical," I say, looking at him suspiciously.

    "That's because I want you to find out yourself," he tells me. "It's your story, after all." He pats me on my shoulder and gestures for his bodyguards to follow him. "Goodbye, Jackson."

    And then he's off.

    My eyebrows arch in confusion and I scratch my head, wondering what the fuck is Baxton insinuating. I hate that he doesn't tell me things straight, he has to go around a maze to make me see his point. I guess there's no use prying it out of him, then. It'll be useless.

    I fold the burger wrapper and throw it in the trash can, then proceed to head up to my room. I feel even more miserable now more than ever, after Baxton had pointed out to me that I'm doing absolutely nothing to help Blaire with her situation. Even though half the shit that comes out from his mouth never makes sense, this is does. And it hits home hard. That I'm being a useless fuck of a boyfriend doing nothing but sit around and moan about never being able to see Blaire again, when in fact, I could have used that time to find a way to help her for her upcoming trial.

    I know her trial will be clear-cut. She already admitted to what she did wrong, and so did Ben. They're both facing multiple charges, including trespassing and burglary. But since this is their first offence, their punishment might be reduced.

     I know that she'll be trying her damnest to get Ben out of this, and there is a chance he will since he wasn't the one doing the actual robbery; he merely assisted in it. But there is hope that he gets to walk away unscathed—with just a fine and probation, which is more than I can say for Blaire anyway.

    I need to take care of her. She can only do so much from her side and I need to get my head out of my damn ass and provide her with my help too, no matter how minimal it can be.

    I walk pass her room and am about to head into mine when I stop at my tracks. I backtrack a little and peek into Blaire's room, with Baxton's words ringing in my ears. You're a smart guy. You'll know what to do. I'd reckon that you look for answers in her room. I know that if I don't take his advice, I'll end up regretting it in the long run. So I muster up all of my courage and step inside, heart slamming against my chest so hard that it threatens to break my ribcage.

    I don't know what I'm looking for but I do so anyway. My fingers brush upon the surface of her vanity table, littered with hair ties, miscellaneous and perfume bottles. When I don't find anything there, I check her bedside and then her bed. Nothing that can help me there. I check her bathroom for anything and when I'm done, I go to her closet. I sort through her clothes and come up empty-handed.

    Fuck me. When the realization finally sinks in that this was a stupid idea, I turn on my heel and start to walk out of Blaire's room when suddenly a glint of metal catches my eye. I whip around and force out a small laugh. Beneath all those huge piles of clothes lies the weapon that Blaire first used to hold me captive in the mansion when she didn't know who I was. I rummage through her clothes and pry it out, gazing at it with awe.

    I can't believe she still had it with her. I remembered her telling me once that the katana sword was meant for her brother. She bought it as a gift for him but she hesitated to because his step-mother had gotten him a better and bigger version of it. That's why she never gave it to him. So she kept it in her closet all these months, too ashamed to give it to her own brother, knowing that she'll never be able to compete with a mother-figure who could provide for Eden more than she can.

    I hold the katana sword in my hands and it feels heavy in my hands, as if I'm carrying the weight of her insecurities of being unable to provide for her little brother, as she promised her parents she would do. I realize that her motives to steal came from that, her willingness to prove to herself that she is the only one capable enough to take care of her brother. She didn't steal because she was a wicked person. She stole because she was going to lose her brother and she'd do anything it takes to secure her relationship with him, even if it meant breaking the law—something that the judge couldn't possibly understand.

    ...Or could he?

    Suddenly, my mind suddenly clicks into place.I grab the katana sword and dash out of her room.

    I know exactly how to help Blaire.

******

    "Jackson?" Eden's voice prickles my ears as he opens the door to his house, his eyes wide-eyed. He looks almost surprised to see me here.

    "Hey, kid," A small smile stretches on my face. I feel like it's the first time I've ever smiled since Blaire left. I wave at hello to him with my hand while carrying the huge long box in the other.

    "Hey." He steps outside, shutting the door closed beside him. "What are you doing here?"

    "I thought that we could talk for a while," I say. "You heard about Blaire right?"

    "Yeah." A deep frown falls upon his lips. He looks down, his gaze falling upon his shoes. The devastation in his face is enough to know that I'm not the only one who's grieving Blaire's absence.

    "How are you feeling?" I ask softly. He still doesn't look at me. A lump forms on his throat as he shakes his head.

    "I don't know how to feel." Eden's lip quivers. "I'm sad that she's going to jail but I'm angry at her too. For stealing from all those people's homes. For being so selfish."

    "Oh, kid. You don't know the half of it," I mutter to myself.

    He points to the box in my hand. "What is that?"

    My lip curves into a smile. "Something from your sister. You wanna see it?"

    He nods wordlessly. I pass him the box and watches as his face scrunches up in confusion when he takes off the lid to reveal the katana sword. He stares at it for a couple of seconds and he returns his gaze to me. "What is this?"

    "Part of the reason why your sister did what she did."

His eyebrows knit in confusion. "I don't understand."

    And then I tell him. Everything. From the part where Blaire had been really upset about the fact that his adoptive parents were trying to keep Eden away from her to the crazy plan she cooked up to get herself a lawyer to fight for custody to the nights she spent robbing those houses so she could get cash to execute her plan.

    After I'm done, Eden stares at me, looking completely baffled. His eyes fall upon the sword again, and this time, his eyes begin to cloud with tears. "Oh my god," he breathes. "I-I didn't know..."

    "She loves you, you know. All she did, everything that she did, was for you," I tell him. "Perhaps she didn't go about it the right way but all she wanted to do was to be in your life."

    Tears fall down Eden's cheek but he makes no attempt to wipe it away. "I want her to be in my life too," he sniffs. "I don't want her to go to jail, Jackson."

    "You and me both, kid." I lean down to kiss him on his forehead.

    The door creaks open and a middle-aged woman materializes. I immediately know it's Mrs. Adams, Eden's adoptive mother. "What is going on here?" She demands. She looks at Eden and her frown becomes uglier. "Get inside, Eden. You shouldn't be talking to him." She spits the last word out like it's venom.

    "Ah, Mrs. Adams, just who I was hoping to see." I beam at her, trying to hide the scowl that I so badly want to show her.

    "Stay away from me and my family," she hisses, clutching Eden's arm. "I've seen the news. You and Blaire are nothing but trouble!"

    Christ. This may be harder than I thought it would be.

    "Eden doesn't need to be associated with you," she snarls at me. "He is a good boy and being around bad influences like you and that Blaire girl will only make it worse—"

    "That Blaire girl is his sister," I cut her off. "and she's about to go to jail because of you."

    She looks stumped by my accusation. "Excuse me?"

    "It's true." I shrug. "Look, I don't expect you to like me. Hell, woman, I don't deny that I hate your damn guts. But before you send me running, I think you might want to hear what I have to say."

    An incredulous laugh escapes her as she folds her arms across her chest and jerk her head towards me. "And why should I?"

    "Because it concerns Eden," I nod towards his direction. "And I think we have a common goal here and that is to ensure Eden's happiness."

    Her eyebrows arches in confusion. "I'm not sure I follow."

"As you know, Blaire, Eden's sister, is about to go to court for the crimes she committed. No doubt she's guilty for all of them and if she's unlucky, she'll be locked away for 6 years. That can be reduced, of course, if she builds a solid case."

"But what does that have to do with me?" Mrs. Adams seem irritated with me.

"It's pretty simple, actually," I tell her. "You're going to help Blaire by testifying for her."

******

A/N: Not exactly a good cliffhanger but ehhh.

Anyway, how are you guys? Two weeks feel like so long. I've just had a very wonderful three day two night trip to Brighton and if you follow me on Instagram, you can see how much fun I had LOL.

So how're doing with JAIRE? Not that good right now. It's a shame. SOBS.

I actually have a surprise for you guys, something that I'm not sure ya'll would want to read, but I decided it's worth writing about it anyway. HINT: It's another short addition to the Perfect series...

;) ;) ;)

Stay tuned, my loves.

Love, Claudia.