Made For Each Other - Jobe Bellingham

𝟬𝟬𝟯

"No, but I can tell you're crying over a boy because you wouldn't spend this much time sulking," she kisses my forehead protectively while chuckling.

I crack a small smile at her very accurate observation. "There's that smile," she pinches my cheeks playfully, causing my smile to grow larger. "Stop," I chuckle, hiding my face in my hands.

"You have to move on," she speaks up after a while. I agree with her, I do, I just don't know how to. "I don't know how to," I sigh, playing with my fingers.

"Is he moved on?" she asks. "Mhm," I hum in response. "Then what are you doing in bed?" she exclaims with a slight eye roll. I shoot her a questioning look.

"You need to live your life! Show him what he's missing," she nudges me gently. "Listen to me, Kiki," she tilts my head so we're making eye contact.

"You are a bad bitch, you don't need some man dragging you down and lowering your self-esteem," she hypes me up. "You're just wasting your time and energy on someone who doesn't even care about you," she adds.

"So what are you gonna do, sit here in this bed spending all your life crying over a hoe?" she points around my dimly lit room.

"Or are you going to forget him and live your best life while you're still young?" she continues with an eyebrow raised for my answer.

"Fuck him," I mumble, "come on louder," she encourages me. "Fuck him!" a smile playing on my face. "That's right, fuck him," she high-fives me.

"Whoa, whoa, who are we fucking here?" my dad enters the room, making us both laugh. "It's just girl stuff you wouldn't understand," my mum gets up from where she was kneeling and goes to greet my dad with a kiss.

I expect it to be a quick one, but it quickly turns into a make-out session, and I am not having it. "Ew, guys, get a room," I throw a pillow at them, making them laugh.

"I'm going to go shower," my dad pulls away, giving my mum a knowing look, making me gag.

"I'm getting me some tonight," she cheers while walking out the door with my dad as I shake my head in disapproval.

"Remember, forget him, fuck him!" she yells from the hallway before closing my door.

Sometimes I forget she's my mother and not my best friend. I guess that's one of the perks of having chill parents.

I sit in my bed and think about her words. She's right; I need to move on. I can't just cry about him forever while he's out there living his best life as if nothing happened.

He isn't worth my time and energy at all.

Nah, I was wilding. I am a strong, independent woman; you can't tell me otherwise. Fuck Jude; I've already forgotten about that hoe.

I get up and walk to my mirror. My skin is blotched, my eyes are red and puffy, my lips are dry, and my hair is literally identical to a bird's nest—I just look weak. This is not who I am.

I examine myself for a while until I come to the conclusion that I need to take a long, therapeutic bath, and that is what I do.

Feeling fancy, I throw in some dry rose petals and help myself to a bottle of rosé. I take so long relaxing and cleaning myself that I manage to watch a whole two movies.

Once I start pruning, I take it as a sign to get out. I change into some pink, silk pyjamas and do my skincare routine, something I haven't done in a while.

Once I finish, I feel so light and fresh.

The tension that once grips my muscles unravels, leaving me with a profound sense of relaxation.