The same metallic train and crystalline mirrors; the polished
furniture and the strange people with clueless smile and unnatural faces.
The same sleepless nights and tears on your pillowcase; the
same overwhelming dread in your stomach that knotted with your fear and
settling into a pit of helplessness in the crevices of your bones.
Your trip to the Capitol the second time is quite the same
the second time as it was the first time.
But not entirely.
You see, the second time, you’ve already had your hands
stained with blood, your eyes already tainted with the sight of death and mind
twisted by your own primal instincts.
The second time, you’re not the same girl as you were a few
You’re a diminished version of the girl who once skipped
freely along the shores of the ocean; now you lie on the receding shoreline and
stare at the endless horizon. You no longer hope for a life, for a future, because you know that every
dream can be twisted into a nightmare.
Your smile comes out a little dimmer now; your touch a
little coarser, your words a little sharper.
You look over your shoulder and you sleep with one eye open.
You’re a chipped, cracked, broken version of the girl you
But you must remember, things are different now – and not
just because of your fractured spirit and shaky hands – things are different
because this time, you’re not alone.
You have Ashton.
You have the boy who had the sun in his eyes and sand in his
hair; who had the same calluses on his hands as you, who had the same ghosts in
his bones and demons in his head.
You have the boy who held you close against the roaring
ocean; shielding you from the darkness that crawled into your mind with shaky
hands just like yours.
You have the boy whose half-smile is just as crooked as
yours, who held your hand as the both of you foraged forward together in hopes
of finding something whole again.
And even though the Capitol was insistent on tearing the two
of you down over and over again, you’d still fight for that hope with your
dying breath, Ashton by your side.
In all honesty, you’re not sure if it’s better or worse to
have Ashton with you.
You’re grateful for his arms to bury yourself in at night,
the scent of the ocean clinging onto his skin your anchor to your home – in the
dead of the night, if you lean in close enough to him with your eyes closed,
you can pretend you’re on the shores of the beach and not in some cold bed in
You’re thankful for his hand to encompass your shaking ones;
for his whispered words that banish the fears that overtake your mind on a
But you remember – you always remember – how it’s your
How if it wasn’t for you, he wouldn’t be in this position.
How he volunteered because it was your name
that was called; that you were chosen to die and he followed because it was
You, who he couldn’t lose.
And he tells you, he tells you that it wasn’t your fault – the odds just weren’t in our favour –
but you can’t help but to feel the guilt wash over your system, that it was
your name that drove the both of you to your inevitable death.
It’s not your fault.
The odds weren’t in your favour, but Ashton – Ashton could
have had a life, he could’ve lived.
But he chose death over living, he chose you over living.
You’d do the same for
And you would have, you would’ve jumped to the stage if it
was his name that was called, but it wasn’t it wasn’t his name it was yours and in a way, it was your fault.
You wonder what life would have been for Ashton if he hadn’t
sacrificed himself to protect you, for a girl with voices in her head and blood
on her skin.
What it would’ve been like for him if he had loved another
girl who didn’t have pieces of her drowning in the ocean, lost at sea. If he
had a life without you.
That’s easy, he
says. It wouldn’t have been a life at
You don’t miss it.
You don’t miss the shameful tut tut of the designers when they see your pitiful figure, the
disappointed shake of your escort’s head when you refuse to answer her
questions of did you miss the Capitol as
she tries to prep you for the interviews.
You don’t miss how you don’t recognize yourself in the
mirror when they’re finished with you; how your skin feels dirty after they’ve
scrubbed you down.
They’ve washed away what was left of who you’ve tried to
Days and months and years of trying to piece together the
shards of a broken girl that shattered after the Games, and they break you all
over again in a matter of seconds.
They strip you down and they push you out to a crowd of thousands
that are screaming your name, eyes hungry for your blood on a screen.
Ashton wears the mask that he’s constructed so carefully –
the one that he’s built specially for the Capitol with the dimpled grin and
carefree eyes, but you think you’re the only one who sees the crack in his
hazel orbs, who can see the shaking fingers that he hides from the crowd.
When they wheel the both of you out on the carriages, he’s
smiling and waving and he has the crowd wrapped around his finger; people
throwing flowers and screaming his name.
They’re too busy looking at the golden boy to notice the
small, mousy girl behind him.
But he wraps his hand around yours and it gives you the
strength to stand up tall despite being paraded around for thousands to see the
cracks that line your smile.
The Opening Ceremony is a torture in itself – President Snow
staring down at you from his podium with a snake grin as he announces welcome, my dear victors, his cold eyes
And you hate it.
You hate how he was
the one to put you through hell and back – to condone it, to construct it – and to watch with a smile
as it plans it out for a second time despite his hollow promises.
You hate how he was the one responsible for your shaking
knees, for the nightmares that haunts you when you’re awake and when you’re
sleeping – and worst of all, you hate how he stands above you while you’re
forced to look up.
You start to shake, but no longer out of fear – your hands
are trembling violently out of anger for the injustice.
Ashton can feel the sudden change in you; the way your eyes
narrow and teeth grit, how your shoulders tense and fingers shake before
He reaches for your hand as Snow talks and rubs his fingers
against your knuckles soothingly, his hazel eyes calming your raging ones when
you turn to look at him.
He mouths the word soon,
but you’re not sure what he means.
His hand squeezes yours, and it gives you a flicker of hope.
He tells you.
He takes you to the rooftop – we can’t let anyone hear us – and you can see all of the Capitol
glimmering below you.
You wonder how many families are in the glowing windows
tonight, watching the shows that narrate the upcoming Hunger Games with your
face and Ashton’s flashing across the screen.
You wonder how many children are in those richly furnished
houses, well fed and laughing while your people back at home are starving and
huddled over the screen in the middle of the market, crying when they see how
unfairly portrayed you are to the world.
How they make it seem as if it was an honour to play their sick games, how they dress up their pigs just
before the slaughter.
You wonder what it was like to be living in one of those
Capitol homes; to be able to eat until you were sick and worry about nothing
but the next latest trends and current styles, to be so clueless and happy with
their lives, with all the things that were handed to them on a silver platter.
But the thought of cheering as you watch the Games makes you
sick, and you think you’d rather be starving and humane than living the life of
luxury as something as unnatural as
those Capitol people.
Ashton’s arms encircling your waist interrupts your dark
thoughts, and his presence clears away the shadows that plagued your mind just
a moment before.
He has a way of doing that.
He buries his head on the crook of your neck and you lean
into him, his arms pressing you tight against him as the cool winds blew past
His mouth brushes your ears, his breath hot despite his near
We’ll fight back.
His words take you surprise, and you turn back to look at
him, alarmed. He nudges you to look back at the city below you, his touch
You try to rid your face of your perturbed expression,
trying to focus your eyes on the lights below, though your ears strain to hear
his next words.
We’ll end this. All
of this. We’re finding a way.
He pauses, and you turn to whisper the word how into his collarbones.
To an outsider, the two of you looked like nothing but mere
lovers embracing in the moonlight, him holding your in his embrace and your
head buried in his chest.
But there’s a faint tenseness in his hold on you and your
jaw is set behind his arms; they couldn’t see the hardness in his eyes and the
worry that laces your touch.
To them, you are just lovers.
But what they see, what they understand – has been distorted.
You were two pieces of driftwood that clung onto each other
in an ocean that stormed around you; you were two specks in the sand that lost
themselves every night but never lost one another.
You were two fragments of the people you once were, and now
you were trying to find a way to make your cracks fit with his dents.
There’s lots of us –
here and outside – who are finding a way. We can join.
You’re not sure what his words mean – no, you know perfectly
well what Ashton is trying to say, but you hold your breath, afraid of what it
Afraid to hope, afraid to dream that his words could
possibly be true.
Because every wish you’ve had is always torn down by the
Capitol, just as every rebellion is demolished by them.
We just – we just have
to survive the Games. They’ll get us out of there, and we’ll plan how we’ll
But you know this is impossible, and the faintest slivers of
hope that you harboured are dashed away.
Ash, only one of us
can survive – only one of us can win.
Not anymore. We’re not
playing their Games any more.
His voice is biting and hard, and you can feel his grip on
you tighten with his words.
We won’t play by their
rules any more.
You find it funny how the days fly by faster when they’re
You only remember snippets of your days – Ashton’s trident
soaring through the air during training, crawling into his bed in the dead of
the night, his whispers in your ear before you entered judging.
You remember his score of ten and your lowly 6, and you
remember crying into his arms that night because your odds will always, always
never be in your favour.
He whispered I’ll
protect you and you only cried harder because you couldn’t return the words
Not with your feeble throws and weak aim, not with your
shaking hands and quivering lips.
And god, did you
want to be strong for him, for yourself –
to be the girl who could smile in the face of death and to banish fear on her
But you were just a girl with one too many demons and one
too few abilities and you barely survived the first time – you aren’t even sure
how you managed to live through it, really – but this time, you’re certain you’ll
die in an arena like Snow wants.
Like he planned for you.
You remember Ashton’s interview the most in your blurred
Not yours – you were a stuttering mess with quiet, dull
answers that everyone forgot soon after, and you’re quite content with that.
But Ashton – Ashton was a spark in the Capitol, and he knew
how to glow when he wanted to, how to captivate anyone he wanted.
(You’re still not certain why he chose you. Perhaps it’s
because you still saw him even when he closed himself off, when he was at his
He said he wanted to recite a poem, and you were watching
him with curious eyes backstage, a faint smile playing on your lips.
My love, you have my
heart for all of eternity.
He’s looking at the camera the way he looks at you, and you’re
certain that his words are for you, despite the hoard of screaming Capitol
girls who’d like to convince themselves otherwise.
And if… if I die in
that arena –
It’d be your fault; it was because of you that he even
volunteered, it was because you couldn’t protect him like he could for you.
– my last thoughts
will be of your lips.
He’s smiling that dimpled grin, and you’re covering your
lips, trying to hide your own smile.
The crowd is screaming – noticeably female screams – but your
voice is quiet when you embrace him after he bounds backstage.
How silly you are,
Am I? I thought it was
You’ll have those
girls in the Capitol fainting left and right.
But will I have you in
The day of the Games arrives too quickly.
You’re a mess; jittery nerves and bloodshot eyes with tears
that threatened to spill that you forced yourself to hold in.
I can’t go back in I can’t
go back in I can’t –
Ashton holds you close but you can feel him shaking just as
much as you.
You stay like that – silent, in one another’s embrace –
until they pull you apart.
They always do.
You try to memorize his face – his hazel eyes and the gold
flecked in them, the tanned creases of his skin, the unruly waves of his dark
blonde hair – blinking back the tears that blur your vision.
You try to hold on to the memory of his lips on yours and
the sea in his presence and his touch caressing your skin, the bruises on his
palms rippling over your own.
But when his hands leave yours, you feel as though you’re
letting go of an anchor and you’re floating, floating, floating away.
They whisk you away to an empty room with a tube placed
dauntingly in the middle, and you’re forced to step inside.
The glass doors close around you, and you feel the hysteria
bubble in your stomach as the claustrophobic feeling of being trapped in that
glass tube started to rise, the panic escalating as you ascended.
The world slowly changes from metal pipes to bright sunlight
that blinded you.
You squint through the brightness, blinking as you tried to
readjust your eyes to the unfamiliar world around you.
You start to scan the landscape around you as the booming
voice in the speakers start to count down.
The Cornucopia in the middle, overflowing with weapons that
spill from the wide opening. Metal spokes from your small platform that led to
it, and water in between – separating you from the other tributes around you.
The water leads to a shore of a beach before extending into a thick rainforest,
dark and daunting, its leafy terrain hiding god knows what.
You swivel your head, looking for Ashton with wide eyes.
You spot him mere seconds later, a few platforms over to
He catches your eyes and offers an uneasy smile, eyes
Your heart is beating uncontrollably in your chest as the
voice counts down, the numbers diminishing faster than you’d like.
You don’t even have a plan – am I going to run am I going to jump do I head to the beach do I try
for some weapons – and all you wanted to do was survive, but you knew that
twenty three other tributes wanted the same as you, and they were willing to
pay the price for it.
But are you?
The voice counts down before you can make up your mind.
A canon erupts, the deafening boom echoing in the vast arena around you, ringing in your ears.
Summary: You and Luke are forced to date because of management, but you end up falling in love. (Requested)
Hiii so this first part is super short, but if you want, I’ll write another! Hope you like it!
Also: MY ROWYSO CONCERT IS TOMORROW! if anyone is going to Saratoga Springs, hit me up and we should totally say hi! I’ve been screaming pretty much all week and I’m so so so excited! I’ll make sure to post tons of pics!
“So…” Luke stared at you from across the conference table. “I guess you’re my… girlfriend?”
“Uh… yeah,” You replied, scratching the back of your neck and offering him a small smile. Sometime last month, a man had seen you at your job, and later introduced himself as the manager of 5 Seconds of Summer. You had always been a fan, and didn’t quite understand his motives until he requested to meet with you. There, he offered you the title of ‘Luke Hemmings’ girlfriend’ which apparently was some type of publicity stunt for the young star to profit from. You agreed, not being able to resist the massive salary. Plus, Luke was always your favorite, so it would give you a chance to look into his life. He, however, was less than ecstatic about it.
“I just don’t like faking stuff,” Luke huffed, turning to his manager.
“I know, Luke, but the media will thrive off of this story, and it will be great for all you guys.” His manager nodded to you.
“It’s too soon,” Luke responded quietly. You vaguely remembered that he had just gotten cheated on by his longterm girlfriend -a real one- and apparently it had left him heartbroken for weeks.
“This is just temporary, Luke,” His manager sighed. “To prove you’re still in the game.”
After that meeting, you and Luke received a schedule of several set up dates. The first two were horrible, Luke still being too heartbroken to want to do anything. By the fifth date, he was slightly better, and you assumed that someone had talked to him.
Slowly -painstaking slowly- he started opening up to you. On your ninth date, you both had gone to a movie, returning to his hotel to keep appearances up. When you were about to leave, he surprised you by suddenly requesting you to stay.
“You want me to stay?” You asked, surprised he wanted you behind the cameras. He nodded slowly.
“I mean, it’s raining and your hotel is pretty far. We can just chill and watch Netflix.” He shrugged, so you set yourself down on his fluffy bed, glad that he wasn’t being grouchy for once.
You learned a few more things about him as you both watched a few hours of Netflix. Just little things, like the movies he liked or favorite foods. After the third hour, you both decided you were hungry, so you got room service. It was as you were finishing your gourmet meal that Luke suddenly broke the silence.
“I’m really sorry.” He blurted out, cheeks seeming to flush right before your eyes.
“For…?” You raised an eyebrow at him, chewing carefully.
“Just, um, being a dick,” he swallowed thickly. “At the beginning, I really hated this whole thing.”
You chuckled. “You weren’t very good at hiding it.”
“It just was tough, you know?” His eyes clouded with sadness. “I know our relationship isn’t real, but it was so hard to think of being lovey with someone after, well, you know.” He looked down at his empty plate.
“I completely get that,” You sympathized with him. “It’s okay.”
He gave you a small smile. “Thanks. I know I’m a pain and I don’t know how long you’ll be my 'girlfriend’, but I’m glad we’re friends.”
“Me too, Luke,” you smiled back, continuing to learn things about him throughout the night. It wasn’t until much later that you were dropped off at your hotel, and your heart dropped when you felt a strange emotional ache running through your chest. You recognized the feeling, your eyes squeezing shut as you realized what was going on.
Harry: You were bare while he was
fully clothed. Your heat grinded against the rough material of his jeans,
rubbing against your clit and pushing apart your folds. “Just like that
kitten,” he murmured out, taking his bottom lip between his teeth. His eyes
were glued to you, watching your movements and watching your body build up with
the orgasm. Your hands flew up to your chest, grabbing onto your breasts
tightly when you did finally climax. “There we go darlin’,” he chuckled darkly,
blowing out some air. “My turn now…”
Liam: Looking around, you moved to
straddle his waist in the small area you had in your airplane seats. “Are you
sure no one’s gonna see?” you whispered, trying to make it look like the two of
you were just cuddling. “It’s fine baby, just be quiet,” he smiled softly,
resting his hands on your hips. You nodded softly, beginning to grind your hips
down into his, putting enough pressure against him to send a shock through your
sensitive area. You lowered your lips against his to quiet the both of your
moans as you kept going, trying to get each other off before anyone noticed.
Niall: You were soaking through your
panties, as you rolled your hips against his thigh. You whimpered out softly,
reaching out to put your hands on his shoulders as you sped up, needing
something to support yourself. “O-Oh…” you moaned out softly, letting your
head fall back on your shoulders. “Baby, you’re gonna drive me crazy,” he
groaned out softly, breathing out sharply. “Wait…” you whimpered out, digging
your hips against his leg, feeling yourself build up. Niall got quiet, except
for the few little moans that left his mouth. Your climax hit and your body
shook with the release, falling against him.
Louis: He groaned out softly as you
pushed yourself against his hardening length. His eyes were fighting to stay
open, but you let out a satisfied giggle when he finally fell completely under
your control. “You like this baby? Just wait until tonight,” you chuckled out
darkly, pursing your lips as you continued to grind on his leg, making sure
yours brushed against his erection. “Baby, please,” he whimpered out,
tightening his grip on your hips and digging his fingers in. “I don’t wanna…
yet…” he breathed out and you smirked getting up. “Take your pants off…”
Zayn: It was your way of preparing
yourself for the actual thing. He was sitting on the bed and the both of you
were bare as you rode his thigh, wanting to get as close to climax as you could
without actually cumming. Zayn’s and your breaths were hot and heavy, and
through your pants, you couldn’t help but chuckle as he got harder and harder.
“Are you close yet?” he groaned out, helping you move your hips in a uniform
fashion. You nodded but you knew you could go a little further. “A-Almost,” you
stammered out, swallowing thickly. “One more minute…”
“Liam, I suck at Lacrosse there is no way.” I groaned as my boyfriend handed me a lacrosse stick “Your good at archery. Just pretend the stick is your cross bow , the ball is your arrow and the net is your target” He explained . You sighed and turned to the goal, positioning yourself and doing just as he said . Liam loved lacrosse, it was his favorite thing to do so when he dragged you along so he can practice you gave in knowing he would be happy. But, now he wanted you to try , and you sucked . Listening to his words you pictured yourself doing archery and swung the stick , the ball soaring through the sky before hitting the net . You dropped the stick, mouth agape as you looked in disbelief . Turning to Liam you grinned and ran into his arms hugging him. “I did it!” You squealed “I guess I’m a good coach” he murmured leaning in for your lips . You smiled and attached your lips to his loving the feel of them on yours . Your hands found their way to his hair, fingers raking through them. Out of breath, you pulled away smiling when you heard your name being called . Turning around you saw your Uncle Chris , Scott , Derek and Stiles . Furrowing your eyebrows, you turned to Liam who seemed just as confused “Uncle Chris? What are you guys doing here?” “I don’t want you with this boy” Taking a step back you looked at him astonished “What ?” You whispered breathless “Uncle Chris I thought-” But he cut you off “I don’t want you seeing him . I don’t want you dating him. He’s a wolf ” “But Scott’s a wolf and so is most of his pack” “They know how to control themselves ” “But Malia, barely knows how to as well! Uncle Chris you know that Liam won’t hurt me . Whats the real reason?” “I’ve lost to many people because of this .” You knew he was mainly referring to Allison . “I’m not losing you to . ” “You won’t!” “Enough y/n. We’re leaving. ” “No! Scott!” You ran over to Scott who looked emotionless “Scott, you went through the same thing with Allison. You were a young wolf , she was a hunter . Everything turned out fine you controlled yourself . Please tell him that.” You whispered clutching onto his shirt.“ He held onto your hands slowly pulling them down "I’m sorry, he’s right.” He softly spoke making you drop your hands to the side . It suddenly felt numb, everywhere suddenly felt numb. You turned to Derek who avoided your gaze , and then to Stiles . Stiles. Stiles had become your best friend since you moved in with your Uncle . “I tried, I’m sorry” he mouthed making you let out a sob. You felt and arm around your shoulder and another clutching one of your hands to keep you steady. Your uncle . Turning you saw Liam looking at you with tear filled eyes and a look of disbelief as if he couldn’t quite gather that his entire world was taken away from him in a matter of minutes .
A/N this might be 3-4 Parts long? 50+ notes to continue? Leave me requests! And if its not to much follow as well and check out my blog for more imagines/ prefs !
Preference: “Just a Little Bit of Your Heart” by Ariana Grande
I know I’m not your
But at least I’m one
Does she love him like you do?
Chipped nails and flyaway hair love; untied shoelaces and
scratchy voices, the love you had with him that was everything raw, the only way to describe the way he
looks at you like he’s reading the stars in your eyes or touches like your skin
like he can feel the blood rushing through your veins underneath his fingertip.
It’s a love that’s scratched; nails down backs and clumsy
tripping over fabric that’s suddenly too tight, broken picture frames and
blurry pictures, everything messy, everything stained.
It’s something he wants to hide behind curtains that brush
the floor in sighs of the wind and groans of the bedsprings; sighs into neck
and groans into your shoulder, it’s not something for the world outside the
windows, just his little secret that he doesn’t keep quiet when the doors are
locked tight behind you.
It’s not a love like her,
not the one with the lip gloss smiles and perfectly placed pecks on the cheek –
how sweet – not the laughter at all
the right moments and hair caught in the wind, dress rippling in perfect time.
It’s not a love like her,
the one for the camera flash and the city lights, not the one that Calum can
show off to the world like he so deserved to – perfect, with the arch of a smooth collarbone and the skin that
brushes against his like water when she holds on to him tight; flawless, with bright eyes that reflect
him as beautiful as he truly is, with a smile that will never do anything but
You aren’t meant for the world with him, but that doesn’t
mean you’re not meant for him in some other way.
What the world doesn’t
know isn’t wrong, and he’s so good at making everything feel right.
You’re lucky just to have a taste, just to have more than a
moment with him.
She has his love, and you have it too – in a different way.
You’d take that over nothing any day.
But I’ll still be a
‘Cause I’m a fool for you
It’s because it’s him, isn’t it?
It’s because of the way his lips brush yours in ways that
make you redefine lust, that make you
understand what love could be.
It’s because of the way he smiles like he’s got a secret for
you – and only you, the most delicious part of it all – and because of the way
he touches you like you’re a treasure that only he can claim even when you know
he’s got fingerprints of clues to other prizes all over his tanned skin.
It’s because of the way you don’t even know how to be lonely
And if it was anyone else, you wouldn’t stand for this – you
wouldn’t be reduced to just another imprint on the bedsheets, you wouldn’t be
just another shadow he didn’t want the world to shine the light on.
It’s because it was him, and despite knowing better, despite
knowing you deserved better – you couldn’t
let go of what little you had of him.
You don’t stop to think that you’ve just been falling this
I heard a little love
Is better than none
And despite it all, you know what you had with Calum was
It had to be –
what else could it be?
(a silly girl, simply infatuated)
It had to be love because you didn’t want to think about it
being less, even when you were always less to him.
Even when you were always something he was ashamed to admit,
even when you were always something he was ashamed to even have in the first
(is it love when he thinks of you like this?)
And you’ll take it, you’ll take as much of him as you can
get, even when it’s nothing but a memory when he leaves too early again.
You know he’ll be back and he knows you can’t walk away.
And it’s not love, it’s a cycle of only when I need you and pushed aside questions of what if I needed you too; it’s a
downfall of believing in one day and
sinking into another one more night.
It’s not love, it’s not love – but you had – you had – something. Something.
You’ll take anything from him.
And he’d take anything from you.
The only difference is you’re the only one who’s willing to
give it all away.
Just a little bit of
Just a little bit of your heart is all I’m asking for
It’s all you had with him.
Something a little fractured
– he never did say I love you and
you never asked why he came home late with lipstick smudges under his collar –
something a little splintered – he doesn’t
return his calls but you swear he makes up for it in touches you can convince
yourself to mean sorry.
Something a little broken.
You see, you could love him whole – you could love him with
your whole heart and his in your hands, you could love him with everything you
were – but he couldn’t.
He wasn’t whole with you.
There was always just a little bit of his heart that
belonged to someone else.
He sighed for the umpteenth time that day, his breath
hanging heavily in the air.
You didn’t notice though, your eyes focused on yet another
story Luke was telling.
Michael narrowed his eyes slightly at the sight of you – his
girlfriend – and his best friend
laughing at yet another joke he wouldn’t understand.
He hated to admit it, but Michael hated how Luke made you
He loved your smile – how it made your eyes wrinkle in the
corners and showed the curve of your lips – but there’s a twist of something
inside of him that settles uncomfortably in his stomach when he’s not the
reason behind it.
He suspects it’s jealousy.
And he hates being jealous of Luke – he was his best friend,
after all – but there was something in the way your eyes never left Luke’s blue
ones, how your knees almost touched, how your hands grazed one another’s arms
when you laughed – that bothered Michael more than he would like to admit.
Michael’s been trying to get your attention for the past
hour – hey, wanna hear the new riff I
came up with? – but it seems as if Luke held your interest more than him – in a bit, babe, Luke’s about to tell me
about this joke he heard the other day.
You and Luke were similar, Michael had to admit – the same
dorky humour and cheerful aura – but the realization only made it more
difficult for him to control the twisted feeling in his stomach whenever he saw
the two of you together.
In all honesty, it felt like he was the third wheeler when he was your boyfriend.
Sometimes Michael wonders how much happier you’d be with him
– Luke was practically the male equivalent of you, and based on all the
laughter you shared that spiked his skin, he certainly made you happy.
He gets up from his slouched position on the couch, dragging
his feet as he made his way to the kitchen, figuring that if he was going to go
on a downwards spiral picturing you and Luke together, he might as well do it
with some food.
You’re still talking excitedly with Luke when he leaves, and
Michael hates how rejected he feels from you not noticing his longing gaze;
like a lost schoolboy so childishly pining for a girl he couldn’t get.
He’s rummaging through the fridge, trying to focus his
attention on the contents of the crowded fridge instead of your laughter in the
next room, the cold air numbing his cheeks and turning his soft sighs into
small puffs of white before him.
When he finally looks up with a small feast in his arms, he’s
taken aback by the sight of you standing at the doorway, arms crossed with a
small grin on your lips.
Michael’s not too sure what to say to you – he didn’t strike
up a conversation as easily with you as Luke did, and he wonders how he even
managed to hold on to you in the first place.
Thankfully, you speak first.
“Hey – you don’t mind sharing some snacks?”
He shakes his head, and you make your way over to him,
lifting some of the containers and packages from his arms and transferring them
into your own.
Michael tries to ignore the soft graze of your skin, but he
can’t help wondering if you feel the same chills as him when you touch.
“What’s wrong, Michael? You’ve been sighing all day – I
almost thought you were having breathing problems.”
He cracks a small grin, but it disappears quickly.
“Michael, you’re holding three boxes of Pop-Tarts. Something
is clearly very wrong.”
“Maybe I’m just craving Pop-Tarts.”
“Maybe you’re not telling me something.”
You stare him down for a moment, and he can’t look away – he
could never stray away from you, not when your eyes were so captivating.
“I just – you’re pretty close with Luke.”
He shuffles his feet slightly, embarrassed at his childish
“Yeah – well, he is my
“But I’m your boyfriend.”
You can hear the pout in Michael’s voice, and there’s no
denying what his words mean.
“You don’t have to be worried about anything, Michael.”
“Well, I am.”
His voice is firm, though his eyes are still frequently
darting away from yours.
“He always knows what to say to you, and he always makes you
laugh – and I – I, well, you know me.”
He hates how dejected he sounds, like some pathetic puppy.
You set the food down on the counter, and you do the same
for the packages in Michael’s hands. He stands as still as a statue, still
evading your gaze.
You take a few steps towards Michael and wrap your arms
around his stiff torso, snuggling close to him despite his tense form.
He’s taken aback by your sudden affection, and he’s not sure
what to do with himself.
But slowly, slowly he melts in your embrace like he always
does. His hands find their place on the small of your back, travelling to the
back of your head as he rested his chin on the top of your head.
You tight grip doesn’t change, pulling him close to you.
“I know you, Michael. And I love you. I’m sorry if it might
seem like I pay more attention to Luke, but I promise that’s not the case – you’re
the only person in my mind. And my heart, as cliché as that sounds.”
“I don’t recall you being this clichéd before.”
“Shut up, I’m trying to reassure you.”
Michael lets out a soft chuckle that reverberate in his chest,
a rumbling bass in your ears.
“You’ll always be the person I want, at the end of the day.
To watch Netflix or play video games with – even though you always beat me and
scream louder than me when we watch horror movies.”
“I do not scream
louder than you – “
“You’re making this whole reassuring thing really difficult
when you keep on interrupting me.”
You turn your head up to look at him scrunching your nose at
him. He kisses it lightly before grinning down at you, playing with the ends of
your hair behind your back.
“I’m sorry – please continue telling me how amazing I am.”
point is, it’s you that I want,
Michael. I want you and the quieter nights we have and the lazy mornings and
there’s no one else I’d rather have. I like your silence. I like our
conversations. But most importantly, I love
He’s silent for a moment, savouring your words and the
feeling of your body in his arms.
“I’m sorry. I just – I just got a bit jealous.”
“Huh. A little,
“Okay, maybe a little bit more than a little, but it was
You don’t have to look up to imagine the faint splotches of
pink that were surely on Michael’s cheeks.
“You’re so silly sometimes, Michael.”
“Maybe a little more crazy than I am silly. But only for
“As I am for you.”
You’re smiling up at him and he’s grinning down at you,
getting lost in one another, talking without moving your lips.
“You guys are absolutely sickening.”
The two of you are so enraptured by each other that you
barely even notice Luke coming into the kitchen, a sour expression on his face
at the sight of the two of you.
You can practically hear the smirk in Michael’s words.
“I probably should’ve cut you off three drinks ago.” You said, patting Liam’s back. He just grinned at you, placing a sloppy kiss on your cheek. “Nonsense! I am fine. Don’t know when they put in tilting floors though, that’s awesome.” You shook your head, glancing at Niall who was very interested in what looked like a very expensive vase. You scurried over to him, taking it from his hands. “Let’s not break stuff tonight, okay?” You said, patting his shoulder. “You should be drunker.” He mused as you rolled your eyes. “I think the three of you are drunk enough for all of us.” “___, I am not drunk. I promise. Pinky promise.” Harry said from beside you, sipping on his drink, holding a pinkie about three feet from where you actually stood. “Sure.” Some song starting bumping through the walls of the small private room that you had all been in all night. “Ohhhh. Tune!” Niall said, jumping up and heading out, no doubt for the dance floor. “Come dance!” Liam said, all the sudden by your side, nearly knocking Harry over. He frowned at your boyfriend, but Liam didn’t notice. “You know I can’t. If I go out there, they will take pictures of us.” You said, reminding him of the photographer that was here every night, putting pictures up on the clubs website. You two had gone through so much to keep you a secret at the moment. “ Don’t give a shit. I want to dance with my girlfriend, let’s go. Management can deal with me and it all tomorrow.” He said, waving you off. You glanced towards Harry, who always seemed to be the voice of reason when Liam couldn't, who shrugged. You shook your head, following Liam out to the blinding flashing lights.
“Liam, can you move your arm , jesus.” “Louis! Stop throwing shit at me I swear to god.” “Harry you need to switch seats with me, you’re too fucking tall I can’t be seen at all.” “Who’s taken me mic pack?” You blinked at Lou, who looked completely unfazed by the commotion that was happening in front of her. You had been around all the bboys, obviously. But never this sleep deprived and never under this amount of pressure. “Did Liam just throw a piece of fruit at Harry?” Lou asked tiredly, you nodded, noticing the bright red stain on Harry’s shirt. Louis eventually caught your eye and waved you over. You shook your head, wanting to stay hidden from where the audience for the interview couldn’t see you. Louis gutted out his lower lip, silently begging. You heaved a sigh, stalking over towards him. As soon as you came out of the shadows, a few gasps, and then the whispers that followed, came from the audience. You were getting used to your every move begin criticized around Louis, so you made sure you were beaming as you walked up to him. He patted his lap and you obliged, leaning against him. “Zayn, wake up.” You said softly to your friend, who was asleep on his hand, slumped in the chair. He swatted you off and you turned your attention back to Louis. “I can see why you don’t like press junkets too much.” Louis shrugged, “It’s nice having you here. These lot get boring to look at quickly.” He said, pecking your cheek. You left him when the camera mean said it was time to go on air. Part way through the interview, the interviewer brought up the moment she witnessed between you and Louis, which made you blush like mad, and Louis grin like a cheshire cat.
You held your breath, tensing your body up and Zayn’s voice carried throughout the stadium, relaxing as he settled into the higher range. “You do that every night, it’s so cute.” Lou said from beside you. You laughed, adjusting your purse. “He will beat himself up for hours after the show if he doesn’t hit those. He knows the fans love it and expect it from him.” You explained, glancing back at the stage as Liam was talking, making the crowd scream loud enough to make your ears ring, going into the next song. “I think he has got it handled.” Lou laughed, you shrugged in agreement, focusing back on the stage, snorting as Harry nearly tripped over himself to start his chat. “Ahhhh so loud! How we doing? The lads and I are excited tonight because we’ve got some special people in the audience, always fun. No, love not you in the banana suit. It’s a One Direction Girlfriend party out there! Mine is stupid and is hiding somewhere, but Zayn’s is over there! Everyone say ‘Hi ___’” The audience followed his wishes, echoing a hello at you. You looked up at Zayn who was laughing at you as you blushed, waving. Zayn brought the mic up to his mouth “Hi baby!” He said quietly. You grinned, shaking your head as most fans cooed. You and Zayn had been together a while, but you were usually very private about everything. You weren’t like Louis and his girlfriend, who had been together since forever, and were always out and about. You two liked to keep to yourself. But you realized that might not be possible as you could see quite a few cameras from the audience, snapping pictures of you and Lou, no doubt going to be all over Twitter nearly instantly. But Zayn looking as giddy as a school boy on stage helped you worry less.
You felt a tap on your shoulder, so you turned around, wondering what is was. You heart nearly sank to the floor as you saw three teenage girls standing in front of you. They all began chattering before you could ask what the wanted. “Did we see Niall go in there?!” “Are you his girlfriend?! I bet you are!” “I love your coat!” You opened your mouth to answer, but your boyfriend had impeccable timing, stepping out of the dressing room, holding up pants that were clearly far too big, staring down as the legs dragged on the floor. “Babe, these do not fit, I know you love my body, but me arse is no where near this big.” He glanced up to see the three girls, who now looked as if they’d seen a ghost. Niall looked at you for a moment, grabbing your arm and dragging you back into the dressing room with him, shutting the door behind him. “Okay, I will go take pictures, and ask them if they have any of us together, to delete them yeah? And then we will get coffee or something cause I had fully convinced you no one would stop me today.” He said, tossing off the pants, and jumping around to wiggle back into his much skinner pair. “No you don’t have to do all that. Niall it’s fine, I promise. They were going to find out eventually. We are constantly together anyways.” You shrugged. Niall blinked at you for a moment. “You sure? We spent 4 months hiding, I don’t care if we have to wait longer so you’re comfortable.” Niall said, hands on your shoulders. You shook your head, shrugging. “Let them talk.” You quipped, pressing a kiss to his cheek and stepping out of the dressing room with him.
”Top left, just picked his nose.” Harry murmured, adjusting his hand on your waist. “I don’t know how you are seeing a damn thing, I am so blind right now.” At your words, Harry’s grip on you tightened, taking a step to the right as you leaned into him. “Well, take my word for it. Also I am fucking starving. This is the longest carpet ever.” Harry whined, all while still grinning for the cameras in front of the two of you. “Don’t be a baby. I told you to eat a granola bar before we left the house, because you always get hungry at these things, and you didn’t listen.” You quipped, tugging on his blazer, noticing it was off kilter. “Well excuse me, I was trying to help someone into their dress. Zipper had it out for me, I swear.” He replies, muttering to himself. “You smell nice, by the way.” He said, paying you a compliment after a few beats of silence. You turned towards him grinning as he smirked down at you, patting your backside. “Alright, solo photos. Count to fifteen and then we are ditching this and going to get McDonalds before this starts.” You nodded, pulling away from him, letting them get photos of him by himself, before the cameras turned their attention to you. You were seasoned in this. You can’t remember a time when you and Harry weren’t together, so the media and fans are now just used to your presence. It was still a little weird to have your fashion sense be on the news, but it was becoming more and more normal. You moved out of your pose of glancing over your shoulder, one that Lou had insisted always made you look amazing, smiling softly at Harry who seemed to be mesmerized by you. He grabbed your hand, the two of you heading off the carpet.
jack frost has hit. it is cold. i am sleepy. either way, I hope you enjoyed!
It’s nothing, really – the outline shirt blending into the
background, the colour of his hair a little hazier.
But if you stood close enough, the picture of Michael was
sharp in your vision – and he loved it.
He absolutely adored how close you stood – not just for your
vision, but for the warmth. He loved how you were always two steps closer than
the rest, how you automatically melted into his arms and stared at him with
You were drinking him in.
You knew and he knew and it was just a matter a time; just a
matter of days before everything would melt into black.
And while the very thought of it left spikes of panic and
fear for the unknown that was behind your eyes, it was nothing in comparison to
the butterflies Michael’s touch left on you.
You savored every moment with him – hell, you savored everything.
The colour of the sky just before the sun rose. The details
of a painting you love. The colour you loved so much on your favourite shirt.
The way the waves of the ocean were an artist’s palette of blue and green and
yellow and purple, all smudged with a paintbrush as the colours melded into
each other with the sound of the ocean hitting the shore.
But most of all, you savored the sight of Michael.
The flecks of silver in his eyes when the moonlight shined
on it. The pale marble white of his skin, the way it sloped and curved on his
body. The shape of his lips and the exact shade of pink just after he wet them
as he spoke. The black ink on his skin, the faded red of scars from bumping
into doors and tripping up stairs. The multiple shades of his hair; how they
glimmered differently in the sunlight than they did in the moonlight; how it spiked
in chaotic directions in the morning and flattened after spending a day in a
snapback you loved so much.
You tried to memorize him, tried to burn the picture of the
boy you loved behind your eyelids.
Because if all you had left was black nothingness – if you
were to focus your memory on one last thing for the rest of your life – it would
You could soak up the picture of Michael next to you and
paint him underneath your eyelids for you to return to, but the darkness always
inches closer and closer, day by day.
You wake up every morning and you still see the colours and
you still see the shapes – albeit blurry past recognition – but Michael is
there, he’s always there.
You always wonder how many times you can still wake up and see
this beautiful boy next to you.
You relish every day you wake up with the sunlight piercing
your glassy eyes, because you know one day you’ll open your eyes and there’ll
be nothing left.
And at that point, you can only hope to reach out and find
Michael there, still smiling like he did in your memories.
You’re afraid because even though you saw it coming – even though
you knew it for months, even though you quite literally saw it coming – or stopped seeing, slowly – nothing could prepare
you for the moment the last bits of light left your eyes.
Nothing could prepare you for the moment everything comes
crashing down on you, without a way for you to dodge it.
I’ll never be able to
drive a car I’ll never be able to draw I won’t be able to see another sunset or
the ocean or the forest or my parents or Michael and I won’t be able to see my
children or –
And he tells you it’s okay, that it’ll be alright because he’s
here – he’s here for you and he’s not the only one and he’ll guide you with
gentle hands that will undoubtedly take you where you want to go.
But while his reassurances were soft, it couldn’t dull the
ache you felt in your chest over the darkness the enveloped your vision.
I’ll be – I am a burden.
Because you know that you’ll spend more time fumbling around
for doorknobs and shoes and socks and you’ll mix the shampoo with the soap and
you’ll accidentally misplace a book or the remote and you’ll be constantly
searching in the dark for something right in front of you.
And the thought of someone having to take care of you – to constantly
have to hold your hand and walk with tiny steps to match your hesitant ones, to
reach for things for you and read out what you no longer could see – it only
sinks your heart down further with remorse.
You don’t want to be the body Michael has to drag, for him
to be the crutch that you’ll need for the rest of your life.
He deserved better than that.
But he merely chuckled lightly in your ears and while you
can’t see him, you can feel him behind you, his breath hot on the back of your
He tells you you’re just as beautiful as you were before and
if you miss his lips then he’ll settle for a collarbone kiss; if you trip he’ll
carry you; if you wear his clothes instead of his then you can just keep it; if
you can’t find the shampoo then he’ll just run his fingers through your hair
with the soapy suds instead.
Michael tells you that if you can’t see, then he’ll tell.
He’ll tell you if your shirt is on backwards or if you’re
holding a fork instead of a spoon; if your socks are mismatched or if you’re
supposed to push the door instead of pull.
Quite honestly, he finds it rather cute.
How your cheeks are a faint pink when you say oh as you realize your little mix-up,
how you need him a little more because he’ll always need you more than he can
put into words and for once, maybe he can help out.
Michael doesn’t mind the extra few seconds it takes for him
to guide you, for him to point out something you can’t see.
It gives him an excuse to hold you for a few seconds longer,
for a millimeter closer.
He loves you all the same, and he makes sure you can feel it
through the darkness.
You grow around the darkness, like a vine climbing up a wall
and reaching the other side.
It’s a part of you – the nothingness behind your eyelids –
but you find a way to carry on your days around it.
Your fingers discovered what your eyes couldn’t; your ears
sensing what your eyes once missed.
Your steps become less hesitant, your touch less cautious. You
know where things are; the height of the doorknob or where you should be
facing; which shoe is which before putting it on your foot; where the last step
of the stair should be.
Your fingers learn to identify things in your hands faster,
and your mind remembers things clearer – where to put things back, where things
Your ears learn to pick up the sound of closing doors and
sighing winds and they learn to locate the sound of voices for you to identify
the faces behind them that you once knew.
You find your way around, but it doesn’t stop you from
holding Michael’s hands.
The first few days were a dizzying rush of fear and darkness
– not knowing where you were or who was around you, and the vertigo feeling
that possibly nothing existed at all in the vortex of blackness that you saw –
and Michael was there.
He was there to remind you lightly where things were, to
guide your hands around the tables and chairs, waiting patiently as you fumbled
around with shapes and textures that you never noticed in your life before.
And while things are better now – while the details of your
life that you never saw before, but simply felt
now became clearer – you didn’t want to let go of him.
He’d describe things for you – the way the leaves changed
colours and the city beneath the airplane, the flashing lights of a concert and
the morning dew clinging onto the grass – the simple things that you missed,
that you saw in your head thanks to Michael.
He painted out the life around you so, so well – and you
always asked him for more.
My hair’s purple now!
What kind of purple?
Lilac, a little – a bit
like the light purples of a summer sky during sunset. Some bits are lighter
than others; like clouds wafting by.
But you think he asks you
for more stories.
Because you see things a little differently now – your stories
are different from his because he couldn’t see like you did.
It’s rather funny, you think.
But it’s your favourite time of the day – the moment where
the two of you would crawl underneath the covers and he’ll tell you about lone
cars on the highway at night and you’ll spin out stories of your day that he’d
be so enraptured by.
How you can feel the fading paint of his guitar, the worn
out places where his fingers pressed down – how you could tell what his
favourite chord was from the indentations of the wood and the pressure of the
string. How you could feel the worn bricks of your school and find the words
engraved into the stone; how you could tell which walls were painted on by
spray cans from the way your fingers ran across the dented surface. How you
heard the rain falling in rhythms and the wind whispering in melodies; how you saw
the world without really seeing it at all.
It always amazed him – you
amazed him, with your whispered words and blinking eyes that would always
They’d be blank, but Michael knew you saw more, he knew that
while your eyes couldn’t convey the messages he once read, your lips told him
all the stories he needed and he’d find new ways of reading you with more than
just his eyes.
It always shocked him; your uncanny ability to sense him in
the room even with your back turned and his footsteps light. How you knew he was
tired without him saying a word, with him merely walking into the room.
There’s something in
your footsteps… I don’t know. I can just sort of – sort of feel it.
That’s just how it was. You felt things; with your fingers,
with your heart.
And while Michael could see that your eyes were glassy and
blank as they stared at him, he could feel the sincerity in your words when you
said I love you, or the message your
body sent him when you curled up to him at night.
And he knew you could feel the same when he did the same for
you. The soft kisses. The lingering touches. The helpful hand; the horribly bad
joke. The affection behind his words and the devotion in his touch.
You didn’t need to see to know that Michael Clifford loved
you, that he’d always be there.
Calum Song Preference: “These Four Words” by The Maine
Listen to your friends and leave me alone
He knew you deserved better.
He was nothing but trouble – sarcastic, flighty, a little too flirtatious for his own good – and he knew it. He couldn’t be there for you with his busy schedule, and even when he was, he wouldn’t be treating you right.
He’d always want to go out clubbing when you just wanted to stay at home; going out to see all his friends when you just wanted to spend time with him.
And he was no good and you were the best; he knew and you should’ve known and you should’ve stayed away and he should’ve done the same.
They all tried to warn you – friends that told you he was just a boy who had no limits and no regrets – and that wasn’t always a good thing. You friends told you that you would end up with a broken heart when it came to him, that he would leave you the moment you started to fall for him, that you’d be nothing but a moment’s fun for him when you so clearly deserved something more.
You should’ve let him be, you should’ve found someone else.
You shouldn’t have chased him down at clubs and restaurants and you shouldn’t have fell for his puckered lips and coy smirk when he saw you smiling shyly at him.
You shouldn’t have taken his callused hands and let his touch enchant you for a moment when he made you feel like they were for you and you alone; you shouldn’t have let yourself believe his words that echoed in your ears.
But you couldn’t stop your body from shivering with his hot breath on your neck, and you couldn’t stop yourself from melting in his warm touch, and you couldn’t stop yourself from falling from Calum Hood when he would so readily let you hit the ground.
You should’ve ran far, far away from that charming smirk and deep voice.
But instead you ran into his arms like they were your home.
I don’t want to hurt you anymore
And he saw what he was doing to you, he knew what effect he had on you – every bashful smile, every glint in your eyes – he knew he had you wrapped around his fingers, that you were head-over-heels lovesick.
It was cute, really.
But he felt bad. For brushing your smooth cheeks with his dirty hands, for stealing the innocence from your lips, for taking you away from someone better.
And he knew that what he felt around you wasn’t love.
His heart beat didn’t beat faster around you, he didn’t get butterflies in his stomach and he didn’t anticipate your every call or text and he didn’t dream of holding you close at two in the morning or of seeing you in his clothes in the afternoon with messy bedhead and sleep in your eyes.
Calum didn’t know what he felt around you, but it wasn’t love.
But he could feel your love; he felt it with every lingering kiss, every warm hug, every sincere I love you, every sweet smile.
He felt your love and he had nothing to give in return.
And he didn’t want to see you like this – in love with a boy who didn’t love you back – not when someone could be falling for the sparkle in your eyes, or the curve of your lips.
He didn’t want to keep you when someone else could cherish you so much better.
He had his fun, but now all that washed into his system was guilt whenever you told him he was the only one.
Don’t waste your tears on me now, pretty girl
He knows how much he hurts you – every small crestfallen look after a sarcastic remark, every soft little sigh after a stiff hug – he can see it with the sadness that grows in your eyes as the days pass.
Your disappointment in him.
This isn’t what you wanted, he isn’t what you wanted.
You didn’t want half-hearted responses, you didn’t want quick pecks, you didn’t want dates that barely lasted an hour.
You didn’t dream of this when you wanted to date Calum Hood.
No, you didn’t deserve this from anybody, not even if it’s the Calum Hood.
And he knows he knows that he’s hurting you with who he is or who he isn’t to you, and a part of him feels bad for stringing you on like this; for being the reason behind the tears that drip into your pillowcase at night or the quiver in your chin.
You had such beautiful eyes, and he hates how he’s the reason behind the tears that shine behind them.
He wishes he could be something more, something better – but this is just who he is and he just isn’t enough.
Not for you; not for your unconditional love and sincere words, your bashful smiles and playful kisses.
He can’t change himself and you can’t hold on to him.
You shouldn’t be wasting your tears on someone as selfish as him; you shouldn’t be wasting your time on someone as finicky as him.
You shouldn’t be wasting your love on someone who isn’t willing to give any back in return.
These four words don’t come easy
He’s not sure how to tell you.
Not when you still look at him with glimmers of hope and love in your eyes, not when your touch is lingering – though it’s more forlorn than it was before.
But Calum knows he has to say it soon because he’s watched a beautiful, shining girl turn from happy smiles and playful kisses to sad sighs and tearstained cheeks because of him.
And he doesn’t want to know how much more you can deteriorate before his very eyes, how much more damage he can do to you.
He doesn’t think he can handle much more guilt.
But it doesn’t make it any easier, not when he can still see you clinging onto the thinnest fibres of hope in what you once called a relationship.
He tries to muster the courage to say it, to just break it to you and let you be – it might be hard at first, but it’s for the best for you.
You needed to move past him. You needed to find someone better.
But every time he opens his mouth to say it, the words die in his throat and he shut his lips again, pursing them and berating himself for missing his chance, forcefully promising himself that he’ll do it next time.
He doesn’t have the heart to sever you away, not when he sees you so desperately still holding on.
But he doesn’t have the heart to keep on hanging on to something that isn’t there.
“I don’t love you”
The words come out soft, whispering.
You think you must of misheard it the first time – the words are so quiet on Calum’s lips and you can barely make out a mumble.
But his eyes are averted away from yours and he’s avoiding your touch and he’s biting his lip and you think oh no oh no oh no.
When you ask him to repeat himself, he merely looks at you with something that looks like pity in his eyes, but he stays silent and it’s heavier than any words he could say.
You feel something inside of you snap, and you feel pieces of your heart begin to crumble and shatter.
You never knew you could feel bits of your heart break inside of you; that you could feel yourself shut down as if those words were a coded password for the destruction of your system.
And you should’ve known, you should’ve known.
You should’ve known from the start when his touch was warm but his eyes were always so distant. You should’ve known when you tasted the hunger in his lips but heard the boredom in his words. You should’ve known when you said I love you but he never said anything back.
What a foolish, lovesick, stupid girl you were.
You set yourself up for the fall. And you let yourself break, you let yourself plummet into this crumbling relationship when there was clearly no hope in the first place.
And the worse part?
You let yourself believe there was. You let yourself believe there was something inside Calum that could possibly love you, that this frost would blow over with your love, that there was the very chance that he could love you the way you loved him one day.
But here you are now.
Regret is tainted in his words and pity is painted in his eyes and you don’t want it you don’t want it.
The tears fall too fast and too thick and you find it funny how the tears that blur your vision finally allow you to see the person Calum truly is.
He doesn’t say sorry.
You don’t say goodbye.
You just turn on your heels and walk away from him, tears still falling from your eyes.
You can’t help but to feel like you left your heart behind with him when you walk away.