Loving Claire {OHSHC}

Chapter 9

"Ralphie?" He stood at the doorway and sighed.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He doesn't say anything, and walks inside the room; making sure to lock the door. If it wasn't for the fact that I knew him, I would have screamed for help.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice just above a whisper. I was shocked, but for a number of reasons.

1- Ralphie was here, in my room to be specific.

2- He apologized.

3- He was in fucking Japan when he should be in France, where he belongs.

"You came all this way, just to apologize?" Disbelief was evident in my tone, in which he walked closer towards me. I took a step back, not wanting to look into his dashing emerald eyes. That was my weakness, and he won everytime.

"Your father had told me that you would be here for the remaining week with a few friends," he said as he raised an eyebrow at me.

Of course it would be my father to tell Ralphie where I currently was. He didn't care that the boy broke his only daughter's heart, or the fact that he ran off with another girl. That would be preposterous! He only cared about one thing; a royal wedding. Ralphie was rich, and my father knew that if he married me, it would benefit the company extrodinarily. The last thing on his mind was his daughter's well-being, seeing as he called me selfish when I objected the marriage proposal a week after he ended things.

"And you showed up why?" Ralphie ran his fingers through his hair in agitation, as if it was the most obvious thing.

"Because I love you!" I laughed bitterly as I took a quick peek at him from the corner of my eye. He had bags under his eyes that probably weren't noticeable to strangers, and his hair looked like an untamed lions' mane. No matter how pissed I was at him, he always managed to take my breath away; even at his lowest points.

"I'm so sorry, please forgive me..." I looked at the now vulnerable boy who was currently staring at the floor in embarrassment.

"What was her name?" He acted as if he didn't hear me, and I sternly repeated myself.

"Who was she," I persisted. He continued staring at the floor and took a deep breath before answering.

"Angela," he muttered with distaste. It was almost as if just by saying her name pained him, but it sure as hell had the same reaction on me. Her parents owned a multi-billion dollar factory that produced instruments. I had always been suspicious of the many days he would stay after school because he had "business" to take care of. He had me convinced me that "he knew how to play the cello", and me, being the gullible girlfriend desperately in love, believed him.

"How long had it been going on since we began dating?" At this he shook his head, not wanting me to know.

"Just tell me already! It can't be that long-" "Six months." He interrupted me coldly.

Six months? I had some how been stupid enough to allow this to continue for a total of six month whilst remaining completely oblivious?

"It wasn't your fault," he said comfortingly as he noticed the sudden change in mood. It was tense, and both of us were on the verge of tears.

"You know, I actually blamed myself. I should have been better, nicer, prettier, and most of all; I should have been rich." His eyes widened once I had said that.

"But- I moved on. I realized it wasn't my fault that you needed more then what I could offer, it was yours." I pointed my hand at him accusingly, letting the venom that I spoke spew out without any self control. I had bottled up my emotions on him, not being able to tell him how I feel. But now? I let it burst down my walls and petrude his; not caring if it stung.

"You selfish, ignorant, jackass who only cares about himself! Did it never once dawn on you that you still had a girlfriend? Or did you forget about me and the countless dates that we went on?" He remained quiet, knowing I needed to rant until I felt sane again.

"You two faced, backstabbing, good for nothing-" He walked towards me and grabbed my chin, forcing me to look him in the eyes.

"Cheater," was the last thing I said before feeling a tear fall from my eye. He wiped it away, and pressed his forehead against mine. It was if a magical force was keeping me from attacking him, but I knew all too well what that supposed 'force' was. After years and years of being friends, I still loved him. Maybe not romantically, but he had always mended the broken pieces whenever I needed him most. Never did I think that he would be the reason for needing put back together. But as we sat face to face, I noticed he was just as broken as me.