Forgotten Promises

08 - n o w

Aubrey

My eyes flutter open and I squint before taking in my surroundings and adjusting to the lighting. I yawn and look around the room until I see him perched right next to me, legs perpendicular to the floor with his arms casually laying atop them, head tilted back to the wall and eyes closed.

What the actual heck?

I must still be asleep. I clearly cannot be seeing him. There's no way.

I face him, blinking in disbelief.

"You're so careless for not locking the door, burrito," He says, entire body remaining unmoving.

Again with that fucking childish nickname.

His presence, I realize, does something to me. It switches up my mood from fine to fucking vexed. I hate when he's around me. I can't bear it.

Earlier today, it was almost as if nothing had happened between the two of us. Usual banter. No hard feelings. Except, I meant every single insulting thing I said to him. The thing is, it takes time for memories to kick in and really shake you up by reminding you of the past. When I saw him in the morning, I felt hopeful.

And I fucking hate hopeful.

Because if someone reappears so casually into your life like they didn't trample on your will to live, you want to play along to morph things back into the way they were. Before they left.

That's how memories work. You'll only feel the good ones for a while until the bad ones are enough to overpower them. Unluckily for me, the bad memories my mind stores is next to uncountable. That's why I didn't feel the blazing fire of my hatred for him burn so ferociously, as compared to now.

I remember everything now. All of it. Every single moment of hell he put me through.

It actually angers me how he has the audacity to talk to me normally. The audacity to speak to me so calmly and follow me around.

"Why are you here?" I make it evident in my voice just how much I cannot stand him.

He really came to ruin the rest of this terrible day. I thought that once I'd woke up, things wouldn't have been as insufferable. I was wrong.

He opens his eyes and faces me, "What's wrong, Aubrey?"

I hate the genuineness laced with his voice. The sincerity in his eyes. The way he pronounces my name.

I hate how I almost give into him and think of answering truthfully.

I hate myself for allowing him to be in such close proximity with me.

My eyes screw shut as a fresh pang of pain blooms within me. God, when will it end?

"Get out, Luca." My jaw is clenched.

"Not until you tell me what's up with you."

"I said get the hell out of here." My anger is spiking and it's going to be through the roof if he decides to be any more stubborn.

"I'm not moving an inch."

I freaking hate how goddamn calm he sounds.

I want to hurt him. With words, my hands, in any way possible. I want him to experience raw, unadulterated pain. To know what it feels like to have your chest stabbed numerous times.

I hate him. I hate him. I hate him so much I actually want him to die at this moment.

"Aubrey. What's going on?" He presses.

His concern, real or not, evokes a laugh out of me. I actually laugh at the ludicrousness of the situation, and his ignorance to the reason to my current state. It's anything but a happy sound. I feel like a psychopath.