hard » m. phelps

XVIII|Clarisse

I limped to the park at the end of the street. I was drenched and soaked to the bone, my heart was shattered in a million pieces, and I felt pain worse than I have ever felt in the past 15 years. This pain was emotional, not physical. And hell, I would pick physical pain over it any time.

I couldn't believe what he had said. After all the moments we had, all the secrets we shared, I thought that he would be happy for me. I thought that he actually cared about how I feel.

He was pointing out all my weaknesses, and exaggerating them. I can take care of myself pretty fine, thank you very much. He was the one that took me in, and if he was so bothered by the prospect of keeping me safe, then why did he even bother?

I sat down on the park bench. I started recalling every hug, every wake up call, every song, every soft look, and every smile between Michael and I, up to his last face twisted im anger and fury. He had practically been letting out steam.

But you wanted to see him get angry, the nasty part of my mind chided.

"Shut up," I mumbled to myself, and hoped that no one else was around the area, so as not to think that I was some mental person.

It was partially my fault that he had gotten so mad. I had been a hypocrite, saying that I wanted to settle down, then going on a date with someone I barely knew. Sure, Conor was cute and nice and everything, but I was sure that he wasn't too keen on keeping a stable relationship.

I felt great guilt after not telling him about talking to Conor. I don't know why. But what had he expected me to do, really? Ask for his permission?! He's got no control over what I do, I am my own property.

I knew he had been an asshole, but I had been an uptight bitch too.

I inhaled the smoky Manhattan hair. It had been less than 40 minutes, but I already missed his sweet, sharp cologne. I missed his arm looped around me, and his hair fisted in my hands when I pulled him in for a hug. I missed playing with his delicate fingers, and running my hands on his gorgeously toned stomach.

I gave out a large sob, and settled my face in my hands. I knew I couldn't last long without my protector, no matter how tough I tried to be.

I digged in my tiny purse for my phone.

I needed a girl to talk to, and desperately. So I rang up the girl I hadn't talked to despite my promise.

Amber.

"Hello?" her bubbly voice replied.

"Hey Amber, it's me, Clarisse, the girl you met at H&M," I croaked awkwardly.

"Oh hey Clarisse! How are you? Wait, have you been crying?" I could picture her frowning despite not being able to see her.

"Yeah, I have been," I admitted quietly, "Can you please pick me up?"

"Of course darling," her voice showed sympathy, "Where are you?"

"I-I don't really know. I know that I am in a park that is near the carnival held in the midst of Manhattan," I looked around.

"Hmm, I think I have an idea where you are. Just hold on, Clare, I'll be there ASAP."

And with that, she hung up.

I shivered, my hair dripping with dirty rainwater on my face. My dress was completely soaked and stuck disgustingly to my skin. I bet that anyone that passed by would feel digusted by my skeleton-like appearance.

Five minutes into sitting huddled on the bench, trying to find any sort of warmth, a red Hyundai honked in my face.

As the windows rolled down, I found the cheerful face of my ginger friend.