Blurred Lines - Henry Cavill

Part 2

I hate to admit it, but I've thought about that morning countless times. I've examined every single detail of the previous night, and the following day. It didn't make sense. All those times, I came to the conclusion that something had to get him that worked up. Something was on his mind. He had to have a reason to do that. I just didn't know what.

I recalled that conversation at the hill, when he told me he had found that spot driving around after something happened. Maybe this had something to do with it. Whatever it was, it was bugging me. No matter how much I deny it, it bugs me.

But I always ended up shoving those thoughts to the back of my mind. It didn't concern me. I had nothing to do with it. And I definitely shouldn't sit here and try to come up with excuses for what he did.

He humiliated me, treated me like absolute shit. He fucking threw me out of his house. I didn't deserve it, and I was not at fault in this. How dare he show up in my house after what he did? He thinks it's ok to show up here, shooting me his best puppy dog eyes? It's not going to work, mate.

I don't bother replying to him. I try to close the door as I roll my eyes at him, but he blocks it with his arm. Fuck, why does he have to be so strong all the time? I just want to close my goddamn door in peace.

"I am so sorry, (Y/N)." He says lowly, avoiding my gaze in shame as he gets the door fully open again. "I really am."

I let out a sarcastic chuckle before replying. "No, you're not."

Well, that seemed to switch something on him. He looks offended, hurt... maybe even disappointed. I almost felt sorry for him, but I quickly shake those feelings off. He brought this on himself.

"Yes, I am." He shoots back, and now I know I'm right... he really got offended. "I didn't mean to lash out on you or hurt you... I care about you."

"Look, you said it yourself. The only thing you're good at is fucking. Guess what, you're right. You fucked me as many times as you wanted. So, congratulations." I tell him, sarcasm and anger lacing my tone as I try to maintain my composure. "Now, it's over, so please, leave my house."

Once my words sink in, his whole expression changed. His face and his shoulders fall down instantly. He looks defeated... dejected. As if I had just slapped his face and twisted a knife in his chest.

"I... Yeah." He trails off, rubbing his forehead for a second as he plasters a fake smile on his face. "You're right. I shouldn't have come."

That's it. He turns on his heel and leaves.

The look on his face, the way he's carrying himself... it's breaking my heart. I want to run after him, hug him tight and tell him it will be ok. But I can't. I won't.

It's been an hour since he left. And here I am moping around again. My mood for cleaning up vanished. Well, any will to do anything to be honest. I feel like shit. I should have listened to what he came here to say. But now it's too late for regrets. The wound is open again. And it's still bleeding...

Why does life need to be so hard? I just want a goddamn break.

It's dinner time and I'm not even hungry. My stomach is twisted in knots, anxiety taking control over my nervous system. I settle for a hot tea and a cookie, if I could eat it, for dinner. Hopefully the tea would help me get cozy enough to fall asleep fast. At least, that's what I am praying for.

Zapping through my TV, I couldn't find anything that interested me. Of course I couldn't. My main interest, the image pinned in every corner of my mind, is clearly this beautiful, flawed blue-eyed man, who had so many wounds he refused to share, who loved my body so much but still broke my heart... and that I couldn't find on TV.