I watched the boy that stood before me with sad eyes, tears slipping down my cheeks like a river. The boy before me looked on with a tensed jaw, his beautiful green eyes focused on me with a hard stare.
"I just- I don't understand Y/N" he snapped, combing his fingers through his dark hair, lowering his eyes to the ground. "Why?"
There was a long silence between us as I looked up in hope that it would clear my eyes of the tears that were spilling out. I took my bottom lip between my teeth and shook my head.
"Fucking answer me!" He screamed, whacking his upturned hand on the kitchen bench. The impact was loud and it amazed me that Tim hadn't winced in pain.
"I don't know what to sa-" I began in a low whisper, my throat cracking between each word.
"Oh fuck off" Timothée scoffed, looking around the room at everything else other than me, before his eyes snapped back to me and he shook his head. "I can't fucking believe you"
"I'm so, so sorry Tim-" this time I was cut off but Timothée taking slow steps toward me, listing off names with his fingers in a deep voice.
"Lucas" step.
"Matt" step.
"Oliver" each name earned Tim another step toward me and me a step away from the approaching boy. "Tom, Zach, Dean, Lucas again, Tony, Lucas again"
Each name he said was spoken with pure hatred. The names of the boys that were once his friends.
"Jack." my back found the wall of the kitchen, Timothée's leaving barely any space between us. He raised his hand and tangled it in my hair, playing with all the strands that surrounded my face.
"Timmy I-" the tall boy tugged lightly on my hair. Not a harsh tug, just enough to cause me to gasp.
"Eight boys" he whispered, tears prickling his beautiful green eyes as he bit his lip and blinked the tears away. The gip on my hair got tighter, though still not painful. "Eight fucking boys"
He took in a breath before breathing in and back out in a shaky breath.
"I leave for two weeks, two fucking weeks, and I come back to hear you fucked my entire friend group!" To say he was now screaming was an understatement. The anger and pain splayed upon his face was unquestionable.
His hand tightened again, this time, it was painful.
"I didn't mean-"
"So what? You just happened to be laying down naked and they all just slipped inside you by complete accident?!" He screamed, his hand untangling from my hair and instead smashing against the wall right next to my head.
"That's not what I-"
"Oh you mean, you didn't mean for me to find out?" His voice was hard and it scared me. I have never seen Timmy like this before, although I knew he had every right to be mad. I cheated on him. Eight times, in the span of two weeks.
"Timmy I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry! It was dumb, I know! I fucked up, I know! I'm so fucking sorry Tim!" I was rushing my words, hoping that he'd see my pain and let up. But he was dealing with his own pain and the betrayal.
Instead, he kept mumbling slurs under his breath as I spoke. 'Slut', 'whore', 'wrench', 'slag', 'tramp', 'skank'.
"You realise you just destroyed everything that we ever were" he whispered, his voice full of pain as he rested his head over my should and against the wall behind me. "I thought I loved you. I wanted to marry you. Have kids with you!"
"We still ca-"
"Now all I see is a sad pathetic girl, striving for attention. Willing to hurt whoever it takes to get what she desires" his voice cracked as he closed his eyes. "All I see is a slut"
I deserved that. I deserved all of it. I deserved to be pushed down on the ground and beat. I had committed a crime. It wasn't murder or robbery. It was worse.
I had broken the boy that loved and trusted me. I had taken his heart, thrown it at the ground and stomped on it. I had shattered and destroyed Timothée Chalamet.
And that was an unforgivable crime.
"Timmy-" I had now resulted in begging, pure, undignified begging.
"I never want to talk to you again. I never want to see you again. I never want to hear your name ever again Y/N" his voice was clear, yet still shaky as he slowly stood back up, towering over me again. "You and I... are done"
And like that, the boy that still held my heart turned, and headed to the bedroom to pack his things. I wanted to run after him, keep him from leaving by any means. But this is what I deserved.
If I couldn't provide Timmy with the love he deserved, who was I to keep him for ever experiencing it.
