Theirs to Claim | 18+

C h a p t e r 2

I hate crying. It makes me feel weak. Vulnerable.

Because of this, I have learned that hiding behind a mask is my easiest form of survival. I smile through the silent pain, I cry behind closed doors, and I continue to fight off the countless battles that rage inside of my head. People have seen me angry and people have seen me scared, but the one thing I refuse to let them see is how truly broken I am on the inside.

So instead, these bottled up emotions are replaced with internal hatred to mask the fact that I'm hurting. I hate my body. I hate how weak I am, even though I try so hard to be anything but. I hate Noah for what he did to me, but I hate myself even more for letting him.

I hate and I hate and I hate, when all I've ever wanted is to love. To be loved in return.

Continuing to toss and turn in my bed, I eventually give up on my attempt to sleep for the third night in a row. I'm exhausted and slightly dizzy, but no matter what I do, I can't seem to calm my restless mind.

Swinging my feet over the edge of my bed, I grab a black hair elastic from my bedside table. Trying to tie up my knotted dirty blonde locks, it ends up turning into a pathetic excuse for a bun. Great, I can't even do that right.

I really need some fresh air.

Tugging at the zipper on my duffel bag, I confront the disaster I know awaits me. I haven't found the motivation to organize any of my clothes yet, so for now my belongings lay in a messy, wrinkled pile.

I pull out a box of my business cards, and set it beside me before scavenging through the mess in hopes of finding something warm to wear. Settling on my fleece lined hoodie, I slip it on over my head, instantly finding comfort in the soft material.

Walking into the bathroom, I catch my reflection in the mirror. I look like an absolute train wreck. I'm emotionally spent from the breakup, and my lack of sleep is shown very clearly on my face.

I have two day old mascara smudged under my eyes, and I was right to assume the messy bun on my head was a disaster.

Overall, I just looked sick.

Dark bags hang under my green eyes that are dulled in comparison to their usual vibrant colour. Oh god. I look like my mother. The thought alone was enough to horrify me.

Thankfully, on the side of the marble counter is a beauty kit provided by the hotel, including makeup wipes. While it's only a little bit of mascara and eyeliner that needs to be removed, I'd rather not sleep in it- or try to I suppose.

Afterwards, I manage to make myself look slightly more presentable, but only a shower and a solid night's rest will be able to fix this. Oh well, it'll do for now.

Exiting the bathroom, I grab my phone and wireless earbuds from my night side table, placing them in my pockets for safe keeping. Slipping on a pair of Vans, and double checking to make sure my room key is still on me, I walk out, the door automatically shutting behind me.

I take the elevator down to the quiet, abandoned lobby, where the faint smell of chlorine lingers in the air from the pool nearby.

Heading towards the exit, I put in one headphone, making sure to leave the other in its case. It can never hurt to be too safe.

The sliding glass doors open, sensing my motion.

Stepping outside, a cool breath of fresh air instantly fills my lungs, and I find myself relaxing for the first time in days.

This is exactly what I needed.

Not feeling comfortable enough to stray far from the safety of the building, I settled on leaning my body against the rough wall directly to the left of the entryway.