CW // Mentions of abuse and murder
Word count: 2516
Your P.O.V:
Pounding. Loud pounding, on what sounded like a door. How desperately I wanted to keep my eyes shut. Had Larry ordered anything? Not that I can recall, he doesn't often order things online. The pounding continued on, and on, and on. I had no choice but to open my eyes, as much as they ached. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was Ashley's face. I fell asleep on her lap last night after smoking, I guessed. I couldn't remember much of last night at all. All I remember is coming in, smoking and laughing with Ashley over various things. My head felt like it was split into two pieces by a blow to the head with a blunt axe.
I groaned loudly and got up, the pounding on the front door getting disrespectfully louder, or it seemed.
"Alright! I'm fucking coming!" I screeched in anger, and the pounding stopped abruptly.
I sluggishly approached the door. My vision was 10 times blurry than usual. Couldn't tell if it was from my severe hangover, or that I woke up pretty much 15 seconds ago.
Firstly, I looked through the peephole, if I hadn't known any better I would've opened the door to the police the way the person was pounding on the door. That was what I was worried about at first. I've learnt that I can be a bit hectic when I'm black out drunk. God knows what I did last night.
But it was a man about my age, maybe younger. A college logo jacket. Shaggy, brown hair. I know that face. Dylan. Dylan from last night.
I ragged open the door with aggression. "What the fuck are you doing here? How did you find me?" I barked at him, making him pull a shocked expression.
"Jesus, last night was rough I assumed?" He laughed. "I'm not here to pester you anymore. I got the message loud and clear." He put his hands up in surrender before comfortably sliding his hands into his pockets. He was talking to me like we were friends. Who the fuck does he think he is?
"Answer the fucking question, Dylan. How did you find me?" I got closer to his face, because though I was shorter than him, I can be intimidating when I want to.
"Oh yeah, that's why I'm here actually." He pulled out a flip phone out of his back pocket. My flip phone. I snatched it from him once he pulled it out.
"How did you get this?" I queried again, observing it. It had a scratch or two on the back that were new.
"I found it at the party. It was on the bathroom floor and I noticed it was yours because you had it out when I came up to you. I couldn't find you, so I went around asking, and here I am. I like how you decorated it, by the way." He smiled at me. I only pulled a more pissed off expression.
I went to close the door, but his foot stopped me, as it was in the door frame.
"Woah, woah, woah. You gonna say thank you for saving you spending an extra $40 or what?" He leaned against the doorframe, hovering over me with a grin.
"No. Why should I? Thought I wasn't shit to you anymore because I didn't want to get near your tiny dick." I slammed the door on his foot, hoping he could pull away, but he seriously didn't budge.
"Now how do you know, it's tiny, hmm?" He leaned down closer, his grin extending playfully.
"Because I know guys who act like you have cocks only big enough to satisfy a fucking bug, speaking from experience."
He laughed. "Fair enough. But I personally think different."
"Of course you do." I huffed and tried closing the door again, but he only held onto the door, and easily pushed it back open.
"What the fuck do you want from me, man? I'm too hung over to argue." I tightened my grip on the door because I didn't trust him at all. I didn't know his intentions, he was hard to read.
"I came her to apologise too." He pulled away from the doorframe, crossing his arms as he looked at the floor. "What I said was so low. I had a few drinks. I'm not normally like that, swear."
He sounded sincere. But that isn't excusable.
"You hurt my feelings. You hurt me and my boyfriends feelings. Why should I forgive you?" I asked, more calm this time, but still that disappointed tone. The kind a parent has when they're lecturing you.
"You don't have to. I just wanted to tell you while I still had the chance." He shrugged hopelessly, looking back down at his muddy, blood red converse.
I stared at him in silence. I knew nothing about this dude, other than his name is Dylan, definitely an attendee of the college we went to for that party, and he seems like an ass.
"Also, tell your boyfriend I said sorry to him too. I like metal myself, actually."
When I said this, I arched a brow. What kind of metal fan would say the kind of thing he did to Larry last night, drunk or not?
"What's your favourite metal band?" I asked, trying to sound interested, but I just wanted to tell if he was lying or not.
"Erm..." He stammered. "Does Blink-182 count?"
"Oh my God, bye, Dylan." I tried to slam the door in his face, but he easily opened it back up.
"Wait, wait, wait!" He exclaimed, opening the door to my aggravated face. "That was obviously a joke...Heh. My favourite metal band is...Metallica."
"Right..." I squinted at him, still not believing him by how he hesitated, but there was no point in querying him further. "Can I go now?" I complained.
"Can we start over? You seem cool and I want to give us a chance." He explained.
I looked at him, trying to read if he was being sincere. He seemed to be. What would giving him my number hurt? If he starts to annoy me, i'll just remove his contact. Surely it'll get him to get off my back about this.
"Fine." I sighed, opening my phone and giving it to him, specifically to add my number. I'll be able to tell if he starts rummaging through anything else that isn't his business. But he seemed to be dialling his number in like he's supposed to. After he pressed several buttons, he gave it back to me. I looked down at the contact.
'dylan :)' Is what he dialled himself in to be. What a dork.
I looked up at him while flipping my phone shut. "Satisfied?"
"Very." He smiled at me. "I'll get out of your hair now. Text you later."
I didn't even bother to say goodbye. I slammed the door in his face and turned around, grumbling under my breath. Though, I did find it quite funny he though Blink-182 is a metal band.
Once I looked up, I saw Larry, already standing in his bedroom doorframe at my surprise.
"Oh. Hey, Larry." I said surprised.
He looked rough, I probably did too. The black eyeliner he had on his waterline last night was smudged broadly underneath his bottom eyelashes, and his hair was extremely messy. His facial hair was rough looking, and it looked like his drunken self couldn't be bothered to change last night, because he was in just his boxers. But the most noticeable thing, was his expression. It was intimidating. Like the one he had when looking at Dylan last night. He must've been standing there while I was speaking to him.
"Why was he here?" He crossed his arms tightly, leaning up against the doorframe.
"Don't worry." I reassured him, while walking up close. "He gave me my phone. I left it at the party last night." I placed it on the coffee table on the way, taking a few steps more and I was a few inches away from him.
"How the fuck does he know where I live? How the fuck did he get down here without a card? Why did he give you his number? If he thinks he can have you I fucking swear to God—" He rambled angrily.
"Shhh, don't get all worked up." I caressed the sides of his bare arms. "But if he knocks our door again, I'll let you do something about it." I smiled up at him.
"Why did you give him your number?" He looked down at me, not smiling or anything. Still the same expression. My smile dropped.
"Just to get him to go. He wouldn't have stopped pestering me otherwise." I explained. That didn't seem to satisfy him.
"Yeah, well, you should've come and got me." He said annoyed as he turned, walking into his bedroom. My eyebrows dragged down my face.
"Lar, it won't hurt to give him my number. I'd never dare do anything with him." I shook my head, following Larry like a lost puppy.
"He knows where we live, and he knows your number. What if he goes out and gives that number out to some sick bastard, hm? What then?" He whipped back around to me, clearly pissed off.
"He's just some harmless kid! He wouldn't!" I signalled the front door with my hand.
"You like him or somethin'? You seem to be awfully defensive over him all of a sudden." He crossed his arms, his face slowly contorting angrier.
"That's so fucking low of you, Larry. You and I both know I'd never go date him. He thought Blink-182 was a metal band, for Christ's sake!" I exclaimed. He scoffed a bit.
"I don't trust that fucker one bit. He reminds me of Brett."
My expression dropped. Silent fury grew in me at the mention of that name, coming out of that mouth, in that context.
"Don't you dare bring him up." I sneered, my top lip raising in rage.
Larry looked at me, confused but angry. "You bring him up all the time! Why can't I?"
"Because that's a completely different thing! I knew him personally, but you just brought him up like you knew him too!" I resorted to yelling. I was getting angrier.
"You hate him, don't you? Why can't I express that I hate him too? You always talk about him like you miss him, so I doubt that." He shook his head and looked away in annoyance.
"What the fuck?! Are you jealous of my dead ex-boyfriend that I had no choice to murder because you were in the bathroom suddenly fucking deaf, not hearing me screaming and crying?!" I screamed, my face feeling more heated than I remember. He turned his head to me, and that face. The one he had last night when looking at Dylan. Suddenly, I got scared. I know Larry won't hurt me, but when Larry started approaching me with that look, I couldn't help but back up until I was up against the wall.
"I'm not jealous. But don't act like you don't tell me the good times you and him had, even though they weren't fucking true." He snarled, his face inches away from mine.
"How the fuck would you know?! You didn't know me back then!" I barked back. "We had great times, when he wasn't being abusive. We were still dating!"
"Who's side are you on, Y/N? Like Jesus! You were saying how much you hate him the other day, now you're defending him! Make it make sense!" He hissed, turning around to pace around the room like he does when he's angry.
"There's no sides! I just need you to understand that though he was my abuser, we had good times!" I explained, getting closer to him in hopes we'd meet half way, but he still seemed heated. He turned around when I was a couple feet away from him.
"The way you always put it, is that you both never, ever had any good times. Now you're making me sound like a bad person, because you hardly ever tell me about your 'good times'."
I suddenly snapped. "It's not that. It's that YOU grew up with a loving mother and no problems! You don't know what it's like to be fucking abused! I focus on the good times and block out the rest! You fucking asshole!" I pushed his chest, not hard enough to hurt, just enough for him to get out of my face.
"...Get out." He muttered angrily.
Suddenly, dread hit me.
"Larry, please, it's just—"
"Get out."
"—we need to reason with this, it—"
"Get out!"
"—doesn't need to be an arguement, we can-"
"GET OUT!" He roared, making me shut up in an instant. I stared at him, wide eyed. I swore I saw his eyes turn black for a second. I've never seen that side of him, aside from when he argued with Brett.
It took a few seconds for him to calm himself, and once he came to terms of what he did, he saw the tears flooding in my eyes.
"Y/N, I didn't mean to—"
He couldn't even finish the sentence before I was out the bedroom door, and outside his apartment door. I didn't bother getting all my things. I had just my phone.
Larry's P.O.V:
I rushed over to the door after she slammed the door shut, but once I opened it, I could see across the hall the elevator doors already squeaking shut.
I hung my head low and heavily sighed. "Fuck..." I panted. "Fuck!" I whined. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Larry?!" I yelled at myself.
"Wh—What happened?"
I shot my head around to see Ashley, waking up and groaning. "My head hurts...Where—Where's Y/N?" She asked, looking around with her visibly exhausted eyes. But she seemed to know everything just by looking at my face.
"Larry? Are you okay?"
'Are you okay?' Those words triggered me. They triggered me to cry. I couldn't help it. It just came out. I know it's not that manly to cry, but it was uncontrollable.
Ash rushed off the couch like she didn't wake up seconds ago, and immediately embraced me.
"Did you two argue?" She asked, caressing my back. I nodded into her shoulder, still sobbing.
"Oh, God. You guys hardly seriously argue..." She muttered with worry.
"She's—She's the best thing that's ever happened to me. I've fucked it all up! I—I—" I hyperventilated.
But before Ash could comfort me, I heard my phone buzz in my bedroom. I let go of Ash, not thinking and only thinking that message could be Y/N. I rushed over to my bedroom, scooping up my phone and opening the message within seconds.
Y/N <3: "i think we should take a break from eachother."