Life's Complicated // l.t

Chapter 12: Put it to an End

A/N: HOLA WEIRDOS. BONJOUR. VAS HAPPENIN’?

…. …. …. … I may or may not be being weird because of my demon laptop. Don’t get me wrong, I love this laptop like I love you guys, which is, FYI, a lot. But it’s a demon.

Anyhoo, I knew you would all want to kill me after chappie 11. And I bet your bottoms apples that you’ll camp in my driveway, waiting for the perfect time to shoot me with an MP5K or an AK47. But enough chit chat, let cut to the chase.

After this short message:

71 FANS

41 VOTES

88 COMMENTS

2,794 READS

And you wonder why I love you weirdos? GAH THIS IS TOO MUCH! YOU’RE TOO MUCH! I love you all to bits! This? THIS IS AMAZAYN!!!!

For anyone who is reading and not commenting, why not speak up? Perfect time because I am now wondering, who else is out there?

PS: Before I forget, if you’re a writer and you’re reading my book, send me your book link and I will be more than glad to read it. As long as you’re not promoting it in the comment section, then feel free to hit me with a message and your story. <3

Love you, and thanks again weirdos. I love you more than ANYTHING. Like, I just want to squeeze you into oblivion, and that’s a PRETTY big hug. ;)

Now, for what you’ve been waiting for………

*cue drumroll*

Chapter 12:

Put it to an End

Alyssa’s P.O.V

I know they are worrying about me. But I mustn’t give in.

Ever since Michelle died a week ago, I have been grieving in my bedroom.

I starved myself. I cut myself. I never left my room.

Occasionally, Louis would come up to try and check on me. But to no prevail. I took a vow of silence. I won’t ever speak.

Mishy knew how much I LOVED to talk. I would never stop. But now… now there isn’t a point. If she can’t be happy, neither should I.

It was my entire fault.

I should have called the cops as soon as I stepped foot in Doncaster. I was so into the events that had occurred that I completely forgot about Derek.

If you’re wondering, he is in jail, sentenced 20 years to life.

Every time I starved or cut, or even lay awake at night, feeling as if I needed sleep but couldn’t bring myself to do it knowing she isn’t with me anymore, I would think in my head,

 “She wouldn’t want you to mourn. She would want you to foresee the events and move on. She wouldn’t want you to cut or starve.”

But it wouldn’t stop me. I need to feel the pain she felt. I need to. It wouldn’t be fair. I should be the one with a bullet inside of me, dead, not her.

I’ve made my decision, how to get out of the house without being noticed is the problem. But, they should trust me. Well, they shouldn’t, but I know that they will.