Chapter One

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ATTENTION: This story contains sexual content. Do not read if you don't like this kind of stuff. I don't want any stupid comments. Anyways...enjoy the first chap ;D

Olivia's P.O.V.

"Damn you, Chris."

"Damn you, Olivia."

I rolled my eyes and struggled to unlock the door. My emotions clouded my sense of everything and I was too stupid to fit the key into the lock. 

"Try being smart and not a bitch." Chris growled at me from behind. I turned and smirked. 

"As soon as I get this damn door open you get your things and you are gone." I muttered. This is awkward. And humiliating. And overall stupid. I finally jammed the right key into the right socket and twisted open the door. Our flat was a pigsty. I blame it all on Chris Hansen. The idiot that weaseled his way into my life only to dump me for some trampy chick down the hall.

Chris disappeared into the back room. I heard him messily throw some clothes into his bag. I stared at the place I once called home. I used to be happy here. I used to be happy with Chris. I assume things just aren't what they seemed to be. 

"Will you hurry up, dipshit!" I yelled to him. The insult wasn't particularly carried through as my voice broke. I saw Chris smirk at me as he returned to the living room. He grabbed a few things from the kitchen, then a few from the living room. "Leave." I commanded, not be able to bear another second in the same room as him. 

"Bye, Olivia. Thanks for all the good times." He said sarcastically.

"Thanks for all the awful sex you dickhead!" I shouted at him, flinging open the door. He placed his hand on my shoulder.

"Doesn't seem like Nicolette thought so when we was moaning my name last night." He replied. My jaw quivered as he finally disappeared out of my sight and down the stairs. I slammed the door behind him and screamed in complete frustration. 

I tipped over the nightstand and broke a vase. I ripped down the photos and I tore up the scrapbook. I scrubbed my home of memories of Chris. I cried as I did this, mostly tears of anger, but sadness got to me eventually. I saw on my floor, my back against my kitchen cabinets, sobbing. Sobbing for my loss, sobbing for my stupidity, sobbing for my life. Bawling because I was an idiot and bawling because I believed he loved me.

My butt started vibrating and I dug my phone out of my back pocket. I sucked in a breath. Louis. My best friend. My rock. One whom I should have trusted in the first place. I wiped my nose of my sleeve and tried to pull myself together as I answered the call.

"Hello?" My voice was muffled from the tears. I coughed away from the phone, trying to gather up my dignity.

"Olivia? You okay?" He asked, automatically knowing I was hurt. I slapped my knee, angry at myself for being a horrifyingly terrible actor.

"Why are you calling, Louis?" I asked instead. If he really wanted to know why I was sad, he would have to come here, see my empty and mess of a flat, and understand. 

"Olivia, you're my best friend. We hadn't been separated since birth until I joined the X Factor. I know you, and I know when you're sad. I know when you're hurting. It's like a sixth sense." He told me. I sighed and looked up to the sky, blinking back my tears.

"You in town?" I then asked. I heard some shuffling on his end of the line, some shushing, some shoving, and then eventually Louis replied.

"I'm at the studio in London. Be there in twenty." He replied. I ended the call, not bothering to reply. I pulled myself together and walked to the bathroom. I scrubbed my face, needing the red in my eyes to disappear. I changed my clothes, but seeing the room only made me cry again. I returned to the bathroom to wash my face again.

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