𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 [✓]

2. Nighttime Revalations

Warnings: mentions of eating disorders, depression. Slight mention of self-harm. Its kind of really shitty writing

Corbyn's PoV

I crept into our room, trying not to wake y/n. I shed my t-shirt and jeans and sat on the edge of the bed, taking a moment to admire my sleeping girlfriend. I almost wish she had been awake so I could talk to her for the first time in months. But I had flown in fairly late. I wasn't surprised that she was asleep.

Her face was edged in moonlight and her soft curves were swallowed by one of my hoodies. The sheets were bunched around her waist.

In sleep, y/n was softer, more innocent looking. Her face seemed oddly shiny, seeming wet. Had she been crying? I got under the blankets and gathered y/n in my arms. She seemed small. Even more petite than when I last saw her. I slid my hand over her hip- I could feel the sharp protrusion of her hip bone.

My mind immediately went into overdrive. She was so thin. I wasn't imaging this was I? No, she was for sure smaller. Deeper and deeper my mind went, going down the darkest regions of guesswork. She was sad. Was she hurting badly? Did she stop eating? What if she was depressed? What if she cut?

I hesitantly shifted up her sweater. I could count every one of her ribs. Tears slid down my cheeks.

"Corbyn?" Y/n's voice, hoarse with sleep and confusion.

I kissed her. Y/n smiled into it, though I could tell she was confused. The kiss was rough and desperate, my mouth hot against her own slightly chapped one. I pulled away, cupping my girl's cheeks in my hands and looking into her eyes. "Baby, are you okay?" I murmured.

She seemed to shrink into herself. "W-what do you mean?"

"You're so thin. Baby, please. Please tell me I'm imagining it. Please tell me I've just forgotten your body. Tell me that you're okay. Tell me and please don't let it be a lie." I sat up, pulling y/n into my lap, stroking her hair and burying my face in the crook of her neck.

Tears dripped onto my hair and back. Y/n shook with silent sobs and she clung to me. "I can't." she gasped out. "I can't tell you that Corbyn. Not without lying to you."

"I'm sorry, love. If I had been here-"

Y/n jerked back. "Don't you say that Corbyn. Don't you dare try to blame yourself. This is on me, not you at all. I'm sorry I let it get this far. I'm okay now. Now that you're here."

Was this imagine shit? Yes. Do I care? Yes. Am I going to rewrite it? Absolutely not.