Aspiring Nobody

Chapter 43 Cut you down

ERIN'S POV

The rational part of my brain that tells me to get up, eat, shower, change my clothes, has yet to kick in. I don't have the slightest urge to do anything other than to dwell on what happened and cry. Since discovering Styles' secrets, I haven't left my room. In truth, I have barely left my bed.

For the best part of two days, I've stared at these four walls, almost hypnotized by the cream-colored paint and the seventy-nine tiny marks and bumps I have counted. But that is a brief distraction from the real disarray that now occupies my mind. All I wanna do is keep going over what Styles did to me—why he did it--what it all means.

Ok, I know what it means. It means he's a manipulative lair. And he was no more ready for a relationship than I was. If we were, we never would have let things get to this point. The part that hurts the most is knowing I won't get to be with him again.

And that's on him as much as it is me. I'm not saying what he did wasn't bad, because it was. And it hurts like hell. But I also lied and need to take reasonability for my part in this. Because, if he felt even a third of what I do for him, then he'd be going through something similar right now over my lies.

Not that it matters, because with those sorts of lies between us, what chance did we have of making it work, none? That's if we were ever a couple. Well, at least for me we were. I gave myself to him because I fell in love--not that I will ever know what he felt for me. And even though I don't want to let him go, I must.

I just wish my heart would listen to my head, because it doesn't register or understand that it's time to let go. It still longs to love him, to be near him, even after everything. It doesn't stop, and as long as blood pumps through my circulatory system, I doubt it ever will.

A heavy banging noise awakens me from my nightmares. I lift my woozy head from the pillow and hear it again. Thump, thump. When I see myself in the mirror, I cringe at the pathetic sight staring back at me. I look unrecognizable. Who is that person? My hair is tangled and greasy. The dark rings under my eyes are so prominent, I now resemble the heroin addict who lived by my high school.

It takes a moment to realize someone is knocking at the door. I don't move. A tsunami could be coming my way and I wouldn't care. Until I think of Styles. He's here. The thought of seeing him has me kicking the sheet from my legs and leaping out of bed. Excitement and hope surge through my body. The moment I pull the door open and see Michael standing there, I remember the horrible truth about everything, what Styles did to me—how Michael wants to hurt me.

I shove the door. I expect it to catch on the latch. It doesn't. When I feel him pushing on the other side, I throw all my weight against it. He may have the physical advantage; however, my weak body refuses to give up. "Leave me alone!"

"I'll give you five seconds to remove your foot from the door or I'll scream!"

I. Can't. Hold. Much. Longer.

"Bitch, you better not!"

"Five, four—"

Before I get to three, he shoves the door and it springs open, slamming into my shoulder and knocking me off balance. I fall to the floor with a thump, watching as he enters my room and kicks the door shut. With a shaky hand, my fingers move across the floor in search of Styles' gun I had placed under the bed and forgotten about. I need to defend myself. Michael's a desperate man with a violent temper, and I should know after his previous attack. I just hope he's not here to finish what he started at the club. Because without a bouncer to come to my aid this time, God only knows what could happen.