Kendall Schmidt Imagines

Imagine #87: I Swear This Time I Mean It

So, @HeffronGirl and the others who wanted a second part to the last imagine, count this one as that.

(Based off song 'I Swear This Time I Mean It' by Mayday Parade.)

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A couple of months went by. One, maybe two, you lost count. You isolated yourself from the world in the beginning, giving yourself time. You wanted the pain to fade, but it was too real. The strength you had when you abandoned the old house, had left you the moment you had come back to your brother's place. You had cried for all it was worth, and in the end, even the tears refused to help.

A week or so after, you returned to work, silently let your boss's rants wash over you. He made you work over-time, and you did what he said without giving anything a second thought. It gave you something to occupy your days. And of all things, you wanted that the most. Something, anything to do. And after work, you'd come back, exchange a fake laugh, and go up to that room.

Even times, you'd find yourself doing something you promised him you'd never, ever do again. But then again, he was gone, wasn't he? All the wishes and dreams and promises were gone with him. And since he was making no effort to go away, you needed something, an explanation, maybe. And thus, at the end of every other thinking session, you'd find yourself in front of the mirror in the marbled bathroom. Holding that razor above your wrist, slashing through the skin and flesh until the physical pain would take over.

Other times, his promises would keep you from it. You knew you loved him, but how wrong could you be? You didn't know, that he was just like you. Spending his nights in thought. Waking up restless, because you weren't there to hold him. He realized the fault of his ways, he realized he was wrong, but how could you know? You lived in one corner of Florida while he was on the other one. You told yourself, everyday, that it was time to forget, and move on, but even then, every night, you'd go to sleep, on the pillow wet with those salty tears, once again, spilled over him. The man you had loved, for so many years, and hen finally gotten together with him, it's not that easy to forget, is it?

So that one Saturday night, when you had the next day off from work, you were in your room, not with your brother, who had so happily welcomed you back and given you refuge in his house, because he had a date that night, so you were in the house alone. And once again, staring at the ceiling, trying to blink away the tears, clutching a little cushion across your chest, trying to forget, once again, but then again, it was thundering outside, and you were, like always, scared. No one was here to hold you today. No one was here to say it won't fall on the roof and crush you beneath it. No one was here to just hug you tight till it was gone, over and done with. No one.

Somewhere wrapped within the sounds of the dangerous, un-predicted storm, you heard the sound of someone rapping at the front door. Cursing who ever it was, you shakily got to your feet, slipping your toes inside your slippers and grabbing a shawl from the side to cover your shoulders from the cold.

You went down the flight of stairs and hoped that whoever it was on the door, would either stop and wait or be worth the pain in their hands. Or your heart.

"Hang on!" You shouted down the hallway, and the knocking stopped. You sighed, shaking your braided head and opening the lock to reveal the shock that could have cost your life: You stared dumbstruck, at the soaking figure before you. You couldn't figure out if it was the tears that made his face shine, that you now realized glistened on your face too, or was it the rain?