This boy (Robert Smith x reader)

Won't you ever know (27)

MAYA'S POV

I woke up in solitude, the cool air hitting my skin and leaving small bumps.

After showering myself and changing clothes, I made my way downstairs for breakfast, seeing that Nikki was sound asleep on the coach.

My head was killing me, I had a hangover, which as odd since I barely drank a drop the night before.

I checked the pantry to find it'd been raided, as it was practically empty and stuffed with beer cans, drug leftovers, or clothes that had got left behind.

As I rested myself against the doorframe, I noticed there was a quiet, happy tune in the background, it sounded familiar.

The one that makes me laugh she said
And threw her arms around my neck

I felt myself slump in sadness slightly as it made me remember the happy love I once had. I mean of course I had Nikki, but it just wasn't the same.

I felt lonely, but it was too late to go back to that life. We were both so far gone, I don't even know if it was possible to fix that relationship.

I slipped into the living room where Nikki lay peacefully, the TV playing but with no volume.

Spinning on that dizzy edge
I kissed her face and kissed her head

The radio continued on, bringing back old memories with each verse.

I remembered the way he'd kiss my face and kiss my head. Or the way we'd both be so dizzy from spinning each other around like children. Or the way we couldn't see straight from all of the drugs we took.

And dreamed of all the different ways
I had to make her glow

I felt myself becoming more emotional as I recalled all the times he said just wanted to make me happy, make me glow.

"Why are you so far away?" she said
Why won't you ever know
That I'm in love with you?

Something about this hit me deep like a fucking knife.

Why was I so far away?

In that moment, I'd realized I'd made a big mistake coming to L.A.

***

ROBERT'S POV

I missed her.

I felt so lonely all the time, and it'd gotten to the point where drugs didn't even help anymore.

Luckily, I'd managed to rid myself of them and focus on my mental and physical health.

Simon had convinced me to see a therapist, which helped, but didn't take away that loneliness I felt so often.

I knew she had a perfectly reasonable excuse to leave and never contact me again, but that didn't stop me from loving her.

I still wanted her. I wanted to feel her smooth skin and hear her sweet voice. I wanted to hold her close as I felt her heartbeat.

The least I wanted was a simple conversation, which didn't particularly work out the last time I tried as her new boyfriend or whatever had to intervene.

When I called, she sounded scared. It pained me to make her feel like that.

It pains me to think about all of the things I did to her in general.

I was a sick and messed up person just the other day.

Being off of drugs has helped me, but it's a pain in the ass to force myself to ignore the urges. I've been trying my hardest not to slip up though. I hoped Maya was doing the same.

Since a telephone call didn't work, maybe I could try writing a letter. At least I could get what I wanted to say out before getting cut off.

Practically everyone knew where most of the Mötley Crüe members lived since they couldn't ever keep their fucking mouths closed.

I sat in my hotel room alone, spinning in the chair by the desk.

I grabbed a pen and a blank sheet of paper.

Dear Maya,
I know things aren't particularly the best between us. And you probably don't want anything to do with me. But I still worry about you.
I've managed to get myself off of drugs, for you and my own well being really. I was really fucked up whenever you left. I think I almost overdosed at least four or five times.
Simon's convinced me into therapy, it helps, but not with everything. Of course it helps with not bottling up my feelings and junk, but it hasn't brought you back to me.
I hope you're not going to be upset with me for still saying things like that. But I do love you and always will.
Yours truly,
-Robert Smith

As I pulled my pen away, I felt this drag. This tiredness.

What was I even doing? Why was I wasting my time and effort?

She probably wasn't even going to give this letter the time of day, much less me.

Why was I even trying?