The Tattoo (Troyler AU)

Chapter Twelve: Troye

The tear tracks still stained my face. My heart was aching from the memories rushing through my head. I forced myself to stand up from the empty bed, casting my eyes around our small apartment. He wasn’t there. He hadn’t come back. I felt a combination of disbelief and anger coursing through my veins. He’d just left me. It was as if my heart had been torn to pieces, my coherent thought gone along with it.

On shaky legs, I stumbled through to the kitchen. Everywhere, small things reminded me of him. The dam broke once again, and I sank to my knees, shaking from the force of my sobs. Slumped against the kitchen cupboard, I barely registered the sound of the key turning in the lock.

“Babe?” My head snaps up, letting my bloodshot eyes unabashedly rake over his disheveled form. His hair was messy, and his eyelids were puffy, almost as puffy as mine surely were. I flew into his arms, wanting to drink him in, whilst his muscular arms embraced my skinny frame.

He kissed my forehead repeatedly, muttering “I’m so sorry,” repeatedly into my hair as he did so. I melted into his arms, unable to stand another minute without them around me. I missed the safety they gave me, the sense of security and home. Even if his body smelled like sweat and alcohol. Wait.

He’d been at some club. I’d broken down on our kitchen floor. 

I broke free of his arms, the feeling of content suddenly being replaced by and undeniable anger. The room felt like a cage, trapping me within the confines of the small apartment and my own mind. I intentionally didn’t look at him as I grabbed my keys, ready to leave. Not forever. Just for some space.

“Troye?” The whimper came from just behind me, and I turned just enough to see tears brimming in his eyes. Despite the wave of guilt washing over me, I forced myself to continue on my way, out of the door, away from him.

“Are you coming back?” I nodded, giving no indication as to the timeframe. I really just needed some space from myself and my own dark thoughts, and having Tristan there would surely just break me.

What was I doing with my life? I was stuck in a complete dead-end, with a job that was going nowhere, and I called the world’s crappiest apartment home. Sure, I had Tristan, but is it wrong to want more? I wanted to sing, I wanted to make music, I wanted to do something with my life. What I had now just wasn’t enough. I loved Tristan, with every fibre of my being, but I wanted things to be better for us. To do that, I needed a record deal. I know I’m good enough, I just haven’t found the right style. I’d tried pop, singer-songwriter, alternative, what else is there? 

I needed a keyboard, a microphone, money. Considering that I had been the only one with a job for quite a while, we had practically nothing. This wasn’t the way we should be living. We should be enjoying life, not just living. 

Throughout my internal pondering, my feet had directed me to a familiar apartment block, the home of Alfie Deyes and Zoe Sugg. I rang the buzzer, desperate to see a familiar face, someone who would listen. Anyone.

“Hello?” Zoe’s chiming voice sounded through the intercom. 

“Zo, it’s me? Can I come in?” My shaky voice almost betrayed the overwhelming amount of emotions threatening to completely spill out of me. I was answered by the door swinging open, obviously opened by Zoe. I stood in the elevator, staring into my own eyes. I didn’t look well. I had dark circles, my face was gaunt, and my clothes were hanging off of my already skinny body. I guess that’s what comes from having no money and arguing with the most important person in your life. 

The elevator stopped, and I stopped outside of Zoe’s door, only for it to be flung open by the petite girl. I collapsed into her small arms, silent sobs wracking my body. Her palms rubbed comforting circles into my back, encouraging me to completely break down. She led me into her apartment, never breaking the soft embrace. Recognising the delicate and stylish furniture, I threw myself onto the sofa, knowing that she wouldn’t mind.