Falling ♡ Timothée Chalamet

01 - eyes

I've stopped caring.

About myself. About the people around me. About the world in general.

None of it matters anymore. At least not like it used to.

Not since the only person that made every day worth it left me alone in a never ending cycle of pain and misery.

My mother was everything to me. Her name was Jean Myers, and she was beautiful and truly magnificent.

A perfect mother. That's how I always saw her as. She loved me like no one else did, and she taught me how to love.

Memories start to fill my mind as I lay in my bed, thinking of things I shouldn't be thinking of at three in the morning all by myself in this lonely house. All I see when I close my eyes is my mother, with her big curls and her pretty green eyes. She's smiling, and laughing. God I can almost hear her laugh, just picturing her in my mind made the memory come to life instantaneously.

I grin to myself as I think of her. I can feel her brushing her soft hands over my cheeks, telling me she loves me, kissing my nose and chasing me down the hallways. I remember her jumping into my bed and telling me stories about her childhood and snuggling me close to her like she always did.

She never failed to make me feel loved, to make me feel like I mattered in this world full of faces. I always thought I was worth something when she'd look at me with so much pride in her eyes and tell me how special I was to her.

I even believed her. I believed her every word no matter how absurd it sounded to me. Because I loved her so much.

But I've stopped believing in those childish thoughts that I once had. My hopes and dreams, my optimism and my happiness all died once she did.

That kid that I once was is gone now.

I'm not her anymore. I stopped being her a long time ago.

Alcohol. My room smells like alcohol all of a sudden and I listen closely as my father stomps up the stairs. His stench filling up our tiny house and suffocating me all the way inside my room.

I shut my eyes tightly and pray to god he doesn't come in here and talk to me. I wasn't in the mood tonight. Not after what he did to me last night.

I listen closely as he gets closer and closer to my room. His footsteps getting louder and louder by the second. My heart thumps in my chest and all the good memories that I had of my mother were being replaced with memories of my father.

His stern icy blue eyes, his vicious and rude tone and his aggressiveness when it came to me. I feared him and I despised him so much. Sometimes I'd picture him getting hit by a car or falling off a cliff so I can be at peace without him haunting me or controlling me for once.

I hated him.

But tonight as I listen to him walk past my room and enter his own room I can't help but let out a sigh of relief.

I was safe. But not for long.

***

Parties. They're my favorite pass-time. Getting lost in a sea of people and not giving a fuck about anything else is my specialty. I love parties because they distract me from the constant thoughts I have in my mind.

However, tonight as I stand in the corner all by myself with my huge cast and my two crutches I couldn't help but feel like my life was a real shit show.