In, out. In, out.
Come on. It's not like it's fucking hard.
But it is, it is, it really fucking is.
Still keeping my eyes shut, I refuse to move. I'm still, pretending not to be awake at the moment. Actually, I think I'm trying not to fucking be alive right now. I don't really want to breathe. It seems like it would be useless, kind of just prolonging the inevitable.
I woke up half an hour ago without the feel of her skin against mine, her breath on my neck, and I froze.
It's not like I didn't know it would happen, but it still hurts like a motherfucking bitch. Expecting it to happen is one thing, and it actually happening is completely another.
The worst thing is, I can't blame her. I really can't fucking blame her. In a way, I should be happy that she left. She's gonna have a brilliant fucking life. Marry a lawyer or some shit. Not a criminal, like me. Not a fuck-up like me.
She's gonna have everything she fucking wanted. A nice job, kids, husband who'd fucking do anyhing for her. She's gonna grow old with him and live happily ever after and all that happy shit.
And I'm either gonna rot in prison or die at somewhere in the next few years and rot in hell. It's what I fucking deserve.
With a lot of fucking difficulty, I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling for another half an hour. I know I have a plane to catch, but it just doesn't seem worth the effort at the moment.
She's just another girl, dude. Plenty of those around the globe. She's not worth you thinking like this.
I scoff at my thoughts because she is and I know it. I'm just trying to... I don't even know what the fuck I'm trying to do.
I force myself to get off the bed, but not before sniffing her side of the bed like a maniac and then vomiting for fifteen minutes in the shitty bathroom. After that, I leave the room.
I don't bother to change or to clean, I just leave. I paid the fucking room, I'm not cleaning it, they have housekeepers to do that shit.
I love her. It's why it hurts so much. Because I love her and she's probably the only person ever to exist that I ever loved.
Sitting in my car, I think about how the fuck she managed to leave. How did I not wake up? How did she manage to just leave without a goodbye? How did she go back?! Did she hire a cab or some shit?! The driver better not have been a fucking creep or...
I take a slow, deep breath, calming the panicky storm building inside of me. She's okay. She has to be. She just has to be. I'd feel it if something happened to her, somehow.
Still, I can't let it go and I just type a quick text, asking if she's okay. Yes, she's not my girlfriend anymore. Yes, I probably won't ever see her gorgeous ass again. And yes, despite all that, I'm still worried about her.
Fucking hell, I'm so pathetic.
I sigh and start the car, beginning the drive towards the private airport.
Twelve hours later
Dumping my bag at the doorstep of my apartment, I kick it inside and slam the door shut behind me. With guilt burning inside my chest, I open the bottle of Jack and leaning my head back, bring it to my lips, taking large gulps of the liquor. I'm ashamed of myself as I do it.
I really have become a useless, worthless drunk.
At least here in Britain no one knows me. Nobody will recognize the failure.
Realization of everything that I've lost in the past hours, after getting it back for such a short period of time, dawns upon me and I fall to the floor, vomiting and crying all over myself.
I don't bother to get up.
I fall to the ground in Gemma's bathroom, crying when I realize what I've lost. Again. I can't escape the tears and they can't escape me. Somehow, it seems like we can't be separated, tears and me, and it's an embarrassing fact.
Gemma comes rushing in and I apologize because it's three in the morning and I'm laying in her bathroom, crying my eyes out. Liam follows after her and I apologize over and over again, everything becoming a blur as I'm transformed into a kind of daze.
Suddenly, I get a sick feeling to my stomach and I lean over the toilet and empty my stomach into it. I apologize again until I have no idea what I'm talking about anymore and I just let them both hug me, wrapping me in a sandwich of comfort.
The story comes out on its own. I tell them everything. I tell them how happy I was that he's back. I tell them what happened with Tom. I finish off by telling how I had to leave, and they thankfully don't push me.
Even in my weak state, I know I can't tell them what he did.
I fall asleep soon after that, I fall asleep and when I wake up the next morning, I'm in the bed again.
Not for long, unfortunately, because the sick feeling reappears and I vomit into the bathroom for the second time in a few hours.
"I'm sorry. I'll leave." Gemma shakes her head. "No fucking way you're leaving while you're like this."
"I have to, I have to go back. I might be sick. I don't want you getting sick too, if it's contageous." I try to support my point and she shakes her head, but in a few hours, I'm hugging her goodbye on the train station and thanking her.
God knows I can't stay, and as selfish as it sounds, I'd like to be alone right now, buried under my sheets.
shitty chapter and a day late, I know, but I love you so please don't be angry with me <3
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HOPELESSLY HIS (h.s.)Fanfiction
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