21: Obsessed Vows

Jax Harper

‘You’re a good monster. Her favorite monster.’

My lips mumble the words, and I try to register them in my head, but the only thing that clicks is the image of her wet puppy eyes, her terrified frame shaking in my grasp.

“Fuck!” I slam my fist to the wall in a full-blown rage. 

My bones snap, and I can feel my knuckles shatter. Blood pools beneath my skin, forming a red scar.

I’m now in my room, living with the consequences of my actions. The well-decorated master bedroom can’t save me from my mind. 

I hurt her.

I broke her.

And damn! I hate myself for it. 

Take her around the world, make her giggle as I whisper sweet nothings to her, refine her so that James will hate himself forever for leaving such a rare gem… Not make her cry! 

If anyone had done it, I’d make him suffer terribly so that he’d wish for death instead. Now the tables are turned, and I will be hypocritical to spare myself.

The only time I’m permitted to hold her like that is when I fuck her when she permits me to show her my feral side. 

My fist drives itself into the wall for the second time. I bite down a cry from the jolts of pain that almost explode me into halves. My bruised hand palms the wall, trying to even out the pain. 

‘You deserve worse, Jax!’ Voices in my head bang, and consume me in grief. 

My hands are visibly trembling, and the skin of my bruised fist seems broken, but it still doesn’t feel enough. If I don’t put a restraint to my madness, it may get the best of me. 

Not thinking through my decision, I walk out of my room and head to the small gym. It’s always therapeutic for me, except that today, I’m getting punished. 

I throw a fist at the punching bag hanging from the ceiling. I’m not shedding my pain, but intentionally hurting myself. Then I go with the hurt hand. It cracks so badly, sending sharp waves of tremor through my spine, and spreads to the tiniest bone in my body. 

“Hmm,” I clutch the bag, panting for air. 

Sweat drips from my face and streams down my body. The slippery bag makes it hard to get a good grasp. I struggle to stay still, my teeth dig into my bottom lip. 

“Ahhh,” a deep groan escapes my mouth. 

A tinge of metal and salt fills my taste buds. I’m tasting my blood. Any more pressure on my hand and it will be severed for life. Even though I’m not punished enough, I let go and collapse on the cold floor. 

The place is totally silent, save for the chirping birds and my rough breathing. My sweat mixes with sand and sticks to my body, and the sharp grain pokes me like thorns. 

I pull out my phone from the pocket of my shorts and open my gallery. The only photo I have on this phone is hers, that sweet photo of her that makes me goofy. 

“Mama,” I murmur, consumed with dark obsession and regret. My eyes lock with her pretty ones, and I don’t take them off. “I’m only allowed to treat you like a queen. My queen.” 

My next click makes the photo my screensaver. I want her there, just as I want her here. I drop the phone on my chest, next to my beating heart. It gives me a sort of peace I know I don’t deserve. 

Sleep comes knocking, overtaking my willpower and subduing me. My breathing slows down and evens, my eyelashes lazily close, and I soon lose power, totally.

‘You don’t deserve me! The only thing you deserve is the burning furnace!’

A cry loudly rings in my head. Heavy footsteps pound as they descend the stairs. It resonates with the banging headache eating me like a virus. 

‘You’ll never find peace! Let me go!’

It echoes so loudly that I shoot forward. My phone flies off my body, I’m panting, swimming in the pool of my sweat. My demons are closer than I imagined. 

“Not again.” I sigh and clasp my face in my palms. 

It just doesn’t go away, no matter how much I try to live past it. Abigail has suggested therapy, she’s the only one who knows of my broken past. But I can’t, I can’t let the world get a snippet of my secret. I’d rather take it to the grave. 

‘Let the poor lady go,’ that tormenting voice feeds off my dark memories. ‘You know you’re not deserving of her.’

‘You know nothing!’ I shoot back, refusing to be a prisoner of my thoughts. 

My hands fall forward, and I crawl to where my phone is lying. The remnants of the bad dream still linger in my head and taunt me.

‘You’re no different, Jax.’ It cackles, a rusty, dark laugh. ‘Don't let your pride make her a victim…’

“STOP!” 

I scream at the top of my lungs, shaking the island from the thunderous echo. It doesn’t do much good as the headache hits me in full force. My head is burning up, about to split.

Weak, I pull myself up and stagger to my room. Thankfully, it’s on a different wing. I’d hate for Tessa to see me this way. I will be a bad monster to add to her terror. 

As soon as I survive the long walk to my room, I pull out the drawers and search for my pills. 

If I don’t find it in ten seconds, I’ll go mad. The voices are returning in a whirlwind of chaotic laughter, it’s close… too close! They become a tall, thick shadow with hands, reaching to grab me and pull me into its void.

The sight of the brown bottle causes relief to seep through my pores. My shaky hand grabs the small bottle. I pop the lid and down a good number of them, more than I should take. I’m struggling to breathe. 

After a brief moment, the spasm is gone. I crawl my way to the bathroom and dump myself in the jacuzzi. 

Cold water rushes in, soothing my body and mind as it fills up the bathtub. I let it soak up my pain, let it overflow. The whoosh sound of the trickling water swallows the mean voices in my head. 

I don’t know how long I spend in the bath, but my sanity slowly returns, with Tessa taking a good chunk of it.

A nasty grin hinges on the top of my upper lip. “You’re mine. All mine.” I growl. “I’m not letting you go, Tessa Morris.” I choke on a dangerous laugh. “Except all men in California die.”