Tour Bus Troublemaker// c.p.

•31• ~Warning~

That would be the last time I saw my best friend. And I knew it.

I slowly pull out of her driveway and begin to drive down the street like I was before. Slowly at first, then quickly accelerating as I sped down the street. I reached my house as quickly as possible, still feeling nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Nothing mattered.

I didn't matter.

My mom wasn't home from work yet, thank God. I slammed the front door behind me and sped upstairs. I took a seat at my desk with a piece of paper and a pen, prepping myself to write my final few words.

It wasn't even an emotional event at this point. My tears had all been cried, my mind consumed by my own deadly thoughts.

I did this to myself.

It was all my fault.

I wasn't good for anyone.

I completed my letter to everyone and calmly walked into my bathroom, a blank expression on my face.

This was best.

It needed to be done.

I opened my medicine cabinet, reaching for the blades I'd told my mom I threw away a long time ago.

Spoiler alert: I lied.

I twisted the cold metal around in my fingers and stared at my reflection in the mirror. I was a mess of mascara streaks and tangled curled hair but I didn't give a fuck. This is how I wanted it. Except one thing.

I walked into my room and put on a t-shirt with some spandex shorts. Not just any t-shirt. It was his. I wanted him to know he was the last thing I thought of, because he would be.

After I changed, I walked back into the bathroom and shut the door, without locking it. I stared at the scars on my thighs, the ones nobody except my mom had ever seen.

My wrists looked so perfect, so flawless in every way. That needed to change.

I took a deep breath and picked up the blade again, leaning against the closed door and sliding down, feeling the cold tile under me.

I stared at the blade with no thoughts in my mind except him. He wouldn't want me to do this, right?

Wrong.

He didn't need me.

I wasn't good for him. I wasn't good for anything or anyone.

I pressed the blade into my skin, softly at first, then pushing deeper and pulling against my skin. The blood seeps from the cuts. I groan in agony from the pain before doing the same thing to the other wrist.

I take some deep breaths and blink a couple times, my vision already going black.

I remember the first time I saw him, tall and intimidating. But I knew I had to have him.

I remember when I fell in love with him, the first time. It was a crush, but when he kissed me in Las Vegas, I'd never felt more alive.

I remember the night in the club, his lips pressed against mine. I knew it was wrong, but I needed him.

I remember that one magical, drunken night in the hotel room. He'd been so gentle, yet somehow urgent at the same time.

I remember kissing him for the last time. I'd fallen in love with him deeper now, the kind of love that rips your heart out if it's taken away.

I remember that final phone call. He'd said he loved me one last time.

And I never said it back.

I didn't say it back...

I didn't say it back...

But I loved him. I loved him too much.

I loved...

I loved...

Him.

My world faded to darkness, my chest clenching from the pain of love.

And with that, I was gone from this world.
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