bliss 🖤 imagines

1. jealousy 🖤 brad renfro

Much to his dismay, he soon hears your footfalls. You pad towards him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. "So soon?"

He flinches, resisting the urge to shake you off. Your touch just doesn't feel right anymore. "It's late," he says. "We should probably be getting to sleep--"

"You know you can stay here, right?"

With those last words, he feels a hot rush of anger flow through his veins. Maybe it isn't fair, but he can't help it; sure, maybe he could stay, but he wouldn't feel welcome. He'd just be a nuisance.

Just like he is everywhere else, he thinks.

The fact is, he's bitter. As long as you're taken by this new guy, things will never go back to being like they were before. There won't be any more late nights when he swears he could pour his heart out to you at any moment, no more early mornings afterwards when he's able to shamelessly admire you, standing in your pajamas whilst making breakfast for the two of you, turning now and then to smile at him over your shoulder while he strums absentmindedly at his guitar.

Worst of all, he feels like he can't hold out hope anymore. Hope that maybe this eternal in-between phase might blossom into something more one day. Hope that he might truly believe a promise one day, just as long as it's the two of you, promising each other forever.

Pathetic as it was, he had been dreaming of one day making you his wife since he first laid eyes on you when he was fifteen. He could never watch you with another guy in good conscience, all the while thinking such stupid, boyish thoughts.

All these feelings bubbling up inside him make his hands shake. Miraculously, he maintains enough composure to force out two coherent words. "I... can't," he manages from between gritted teeth.

"Can't what?" you ask. Jesus, you're so damn oblivious.

Brad doesn't answer. Instead, he pulls on his coat and opens the door, escaping into the cold.

He doesn't expect you to follow, calling after him with concern in your voice. To be quite honest, he really wishes that you wouldn't.

"Brad?"

He tries his best not to answer, but that's sort of hard when you're chasing after him, for God's sakes, practically begging for him to talk to you. "Brad... please. Where are you even going?"

Annoyed, he whips around, fire flashing in his eyes. That look seems to surprise you, causing you to stumble back a bit.

And yet, he doesn't seem to be worried about scaring you when he tells, letting all the frustration within him erupt. "Jesus!" he yells. "Why don't you just stop being fake and leave me alone?" Shaking, he looks down at his sneakers, kicking a loose pebble across the pavement.

"Come on," he continues, his voice quieter, but no less severe. "I know you want to. Run."

But you don't run. You remain rooted to your spot, your own body beginning to tremble. For whatever reason, he's obviously hurt. But you're not going to baby him and act like he hasn't hurt you, too. If nothing else, you and Brad were always honest with each other.

Or at least, you thought you were.

"Fake?" you ask, your voice cracking. You take a step closer to him, trying to stand tall. "What about me seems so "fake" to you, Brad? I'd never lie to you. Ever. I thought you trusted me more--"

"I do trust you," he spits back. "That's the whole damned problem. I trust you more than anything, and you know it. You're just too scared to walk away and leave me." He stops kicking at the pavement, allowing himself to meet your eyes. "Well, I don't care. Go ahead and leave me. I can promise you that it's nothing new."

You shake your head, tears beginning to prick at your eyes. God, he's scaring you. "What the hell are you talking about?" you demand. "Why would I want to leave you? Do you want me to leave you?"

He shakes his head. "Jesus Christ! No! No, I don't!"

At this point, you're letting the tears flow freely. You can't even remember a time he's yelled at you like this before now, and you still have no idea what you've done to upset him. "What is it then?" you ask weakly. "Tell me what you're seeing that I'm not."

He sighs, clenched fists falling to his sides. At this point, he's all but ready to surrender. Yet, your icy stare grabs hold of him and doesn't let go.

"I know that you're pretty much ready to be done with me," he starts, "because of your new... boy toy."

Those last two words are daggers, coated in venom. They make sure that you end up just as pissed as he is.

"Are you serious?" you yell. "God, Brad! You can't do this! What are we, sixth graders?"

He doesn't respond, staring back at you blankly.

"I care about you," you continue, "but I am allowed to love other people. It's nothing that you haven't done before."

He snaps to attention at that. When he speaks again, his voice is much less severe, -- soft, even. "Love?" he asks. "You--"

You place your hands on your hips, fed up. "Yes, Brad," you say. "I'm falling in love with him. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

He hangs his head. "Not... particularly." He looks back up at you, hoping he can form just one sentence that might aid him in explaining all of this. Any attempt to do so is fruitless; all that will come from his mouth now is a mess of stammers. "I--"

Shaking with anger, you step closer to him. "What is it?" you ask. "What do you want from me?"

"I--" Finally, he stops, seeming to give up. "Dammit."

Before you can even tell what's happening, his hand is on the side of your face. And then his mouth is on yours, -- hard, angry, kissing you in a way that seems so passionate and meaningful. Your eyes drift close as everything slowly falls into place.

Oh.

You feel like an idiot, considering how obvious it all seems.

After what seems like an eternity, he pulls away. As soon as he backs away from you, you can already see the look in his eyes, -- they flash with regret. "I love you," he finally manages, sounding utterly broken. "And I'm sorry."

With that, he begins to walk away, leaving your heart breaking. Not sure what else to do, you grab his hand, helplessly calling his name once again. "Brad."

Reluctantly, he turns around. "What?"

Desperate to keep him here, you wrap your arms around him, pulling him to you. "I love you, too," you mutter, burying your face into his shoulder. "I'll make him leave for the night. Just please, please stay."

He stays quiet, trying to make sense of all this as he breathes in the scent of your hair. Finally, he speaks again, and you can hear the scared little boy in his voice. "What are we gonna do?" he murmurs.

"I don't know," you answer quietly. "We'll think about it tomorrow. Just please..." You pull away, looking up into his eyes. "I need you here tonight."

Knowing that he truly has no choice, he nods. "Yeah," he manages. "Alright."

You manage a shaky smile as you pull away. "Good," you say. "You know, you can always have the couch..."

Your hand slips into his as you pull him along with you, back towards your house. "...and I'll take the floor."