....i got tired of waiting....so i made my own


“The Man From The Past” - Derek Luh Fanfic (PART 3)

@jackgilinskisbae it’s a little bit short, but it’s here :)


‘Y/n?’ His eyes went wide and mouth fell open when he saw me. ‘Oh my God, what are you doing here?’ He asked smiling and in that moment Delany threw up again and both of us quickly knelt down to her. 

‘Taking care of your sister?’ I chuckled holding her hair. 

‘Obviously, yeah.’ He laughed. ‘Do you need to vomit again?’ He asked Delany. 

She shook her head and said ‘I’m good.’ He helped her get up and then put her in his car in the back seat. 

‘So you’re Delany’s brother?’ I said crossing my arms as he closed the door and stood in front of me again.

‘Yeah, I’m Delany’s brother.’He said. ‘Do you guys know each other?’ 

‘Yeah, we’ve known each other for about 10 minutes.’ I said making him laugh slightly. ‘I’m kidding, I don’t know her actually. My best friend and I were out here tonight and we were about to go home and while we were waiting for taxi we heard some girl throwing up and struggling to stay on her feet so we decided to help her.’

‘Oh, Gosh..’ He said putting his hand over his eyes. 

‘Y/n, taxi is here.’ Bella said. 

‘Is that your friend?’ Derek asked. 

‘Yeah, well, our taxi is here so I gotta go-’ 

‘No, I’ll give you a lift! You don’t have to spend money on taxi.’ He said. ‘Besides, you just helped my sister, I need to say thank you somehow.’ 

‘No, it’s okay. You don’t have to, really..’ 

‘But I want to, y/n. C’mon, you and your friend jump into the car.’ He said heading toward the car.

Without much explanation and arguing, Bella and I accepted and apologized to the taxi guy. I sat in the passenger seat next to Derek and Bella sat in the back seat next to Delany. She was so scared that Delany will puke all over her, but she managed to stay calm somehow until we reached her house.

‘Thank you, Derek.’ She said getting out of the car. 

‘No problem, bye.’ He smiled as she closed the door. ‘Shit.’ 

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.

‘The red light is blinking.’ He said pointing at it. 

‘And that means..?’ 

‘That means that I don’t have much gas left.’ 

‘Oh shit.’ 

‘But don’t worry, we’ll make it.’

We started driving again and even though I was in fear that we’re going to run out of the gas halfway to my house, we talked and laughed through the whole ride and I actually enjoyed it. I don’t know him for a long time, but he seems like a quite interesting and nice and funny guy and I like him. 

As we pulled up in front of my house, I let out a breath in relief and he chuckled. ‘I told you that we’re going to make it to your house.’ 

‘Yeah, but will you to yours?’ 

‘Umm..hopefully, yeah.’ He laughed. 

‘Give me your phone.’ I said and at first, he was confused, but he handed it to me anyway and I typed in my number. 

‘Here.’ I said handing it back to him. ‘I typed in my number so you can call me or text me when you arrive so that I don’t live in fear.’ I said making him smile. 

‘Wow, you’re such a caring person’ 

‘I try.’ I winked opening the door. ‘Thank you for the ride.’ I smiled. 

‘Wait, wait, wait.’ Just as I was about to close the door, he interrupted me.


‘Umm..I was wondering..if you’d like to grab a coffee or something sometimes?’ He asked clearing his throat a little in the middle of the sentence. 

‘Sure, why not?’ I smiled. 

‘Awesome. Well, see ya then.’ 

‘See ya’ 

I entered the house trying to be as quiet as possible so that I don’t wake up everyone in the house. Honestly, I can’t wait to get my own place so that I can do whatever and whenever the fuck I wanna do. And about moving out thing, I’m working on it. 

I was too tired for taking a shower, especially at 3 in the morning, so I just brushed my teeth, took off my makeup and changed into one of Kyle’s big white t-shirts. 

Just as I laid down in the bed and closed my eyes, I got a text which made me smile when I read it.

“Just to let you know that we made it! Sleep well, beautiful.”


My grandmother taught me that without lipstick my smile wasn’t worth the look.
At five years old all I felt was wax and weight across my small lips I became afraid to open,
“Don’t smear it. You’ll ruin all the work we put into making it perfect.”
I spent my childhood trying to reach something pristine,
Something that wouldn’t look like the disaster I started to feel waiting to happen on my skin that was stretched too tight over my elbows,
Bird-like spindles that I kept breaking down to fit closer and closer to my growing body.
I became afraid of the space I lived inside of,
Afraid I filled it too fully and that one day it would retaliate against my already failing lungs.
Bones I couldn’t quit bruising against the floor every time I prayed to the God she promised was out there.

I wasn’t sure where there was but I knew I wanted to be worthy of it.
A girl with dirt under her story and knives in her teeth isn’t worthy,
Is what I started to say when I wanted to stop the explosions in my chest from catching the closet person on fire.
I became a dentist at 7 year’s old with fingernails for pliers and I started to shred the fighting instinct in my mouth.
My mother was too busy feeding hers to see her baby girl slipping away with the words she swallowed down her numb throat.
She never saw the way the wall in my eyes was whispering
“please mommy…”

My mother taught me that love wasn’t worth the pain because eventually it’s gone.
She taught me that it left a stain when it walked away.
I always assumed that her stain was the ribbons in her eyes I always wondered about seeing dance.
I wondered why that’s what it left her with after it vacated the building her hands tried to make into a home.
I started to wonder if maybe the addictions were because she lost the high her feelings had given her,
Or maybe she ran to them because of the accompanying lows.
She tried to scare me away from the thing that had made her into a ghost story you tell the local kids on a Friday night to keep them in line before they do things the whole neighbourhood will regret.

With a sick feeling in my stomach I walked out into the world.
The knives back between my molars and a spike attached to my tongue,
I’d decided that if I couldn’t reach worthy I’d reach worst.
I’d been raised to see red everywhere I stepped,
Who knew my converse could make the ground bleed like the stilettos in the ground at my uncle’s funeral?
I always felt like the ground around me was sinking beneath my heals and I kept barely dragging myself out.
I was waiting for the final earthquake to shake down my skin from my bones and the soaked ground to take me under.

By 15 I felt like a danger- zone of broken steel.
I made my eyes lose the sunshine but it didn’t keep the blood-thirsty giants away,
It just brought them closer.
Sympathy isn’t a trait common in the teenage populace these days,
The self-hatred cooked it out of our already chemically imbalanced brains just waiting for biology to tell us we were right and dying was what we were made for.
I was the highway-crash that you turned around just to see if you felt anything for,
And so seldom did.
I got tired of the train-wreck smiles in people’s eyes and started throwing the still hot metal fragments into every face that looked too long.
I’d tried at perfection and all I got was a failure for a heartbeat.

My body was black with bruises painted from my own hands.

I covered my eyes for a while until I learned how to see with something more reliable.
The dark circles morphed into ink and I started seeing the bruises on my chest as a construction site instead of a road-side collision that no one wanted to think to hard about.
I learned that lipstick was my grandmother’s weapon,
And I promised the God that I had finally started to believe in that I’d be bolder than the rest.

I grew up surrounded by red and never realized what it meant until I was a sixteen year old girl making my lips match the rawness of my switch-blade smile.
I’d finally realized that this world is ours for the making,
Even if it made us with some rough edges.

Smiling at a cracked mirror I promised I’d embrace it like I’d been taught my whole life to hold on instead of let go.

—  Tara Hayes (dont insult lipstick until you know its story/let me tell you about how i got this far. there’s a reason for the scratches on the insides of my thighs,my forearms, my chest. i was looking for a way out and i found a way to let the light in.)