#but it was pointless and now i feel sick and angry and i kinda wish i wasnt here | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

puppywritings · 4 years ago

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sometimes they come back - qian kun (ft. huang renjun, dong sicheng, wong yukhei & johnny suh)

⇢ synopsis: kun was distraught when he lost his brother sicheng at a very young age. sixteen years later, he’s moved on from his trauma and made a living as a high school literature teacher. however, with the entrance of a troubled young student, along comes reminders of his brother’s gruesome end and somehow, kun feels a daunting link.

⇢ word count: 9.3k ⇢ trigger warnings: swearing, nightmares, trauma, mental illness, death of a family member, demons, blood, murder, one instance of semi-graphic gore.

⇢ a/n: so this is the longest thing i’ve ever written and i worked pretty damn hard on it. quick disclaimer that although i made renjun very evil i still love him ❤️ (and evil renjun is kinda sexy but u didn’t hear that from me) anyways this story definitely fits in the horror genre and may be disturbing for younger readers!! based on stephen king’s short story sometimes they come back but deviates from the actual plot. see the trigger warnings above and proceed with caution.

⇢ part of @takitaro and @starryqian‘s stephen king collab! thank u for allowing me to be part of such a fun project:)

⇢ taglist: @badwithten @sandaigdigan-reads

masterlist

Sunday.

The clock read 03:26 when Qian Kun woke up from his nightmare, panting and covered in sweat. Long ago, this was a familiar occurrence. Long ago, it was strange if he didn’t wake up like this. But, long ago, this all ended. It had been fourteen years since the nightmares stopped - so why were they happening again now?

Shaking, Kun got out of bed and trudged downstairs to the kitchen in the house where he lived alone, and had done for many years now. He flicked the switch to boil the kettle; there was no way he was getting back to sleep any time soon. His toes tapped anxiously on the tile floor while he sat at the table, picking at a hangnail on his left thumb. Why now, all this time after he had recovered, was he being forced to relive his brother’s murder as he slept?

The kettle boiled with a click, and Kun jumped. He huffed, hand on his chest, and went to prepare his drink. Coffee, black. He couldn’t take anything light or sugary, not that night. The sharpness of his beverage bit at him, and it was what he needed - a sensory distraction from the images currently filling his mind. His brother Sicheng, just thirteen years old; the light leaving his eyes as he went limp in Kun’s arms; the blood flooding out of his stab wound, bathing them both in crimson; the greaser gang dispersing, leaving Kun alone to yell, bawl, and beg. Kun shuddered, swallowing back nausea. God, he wanted to forget. But he knew he never could.

(Timeskip - 16 years earlier)

The weather had been fair on the afternoon that Kun lost his brother; the sky was blue, cloudless, and the air was practically alive with all the opportunities for young boys to find fun. The afternoon had begun much like any other. The young Kun and Sicheng, revolting against the idea of spending any time inside while the sun was shining, had set off towards their favourite diner, just a few blocks away. Kun remembered every detail exactly - he had relived the event every time he fell asleep for years afterwards - his brother’s bright blue t-shirt, the freckles scattering his cheeks, the frayed laces in his favourite sneakers. Sicheng was still small at thirteen years old, not yet having hit that growth spurt he was waiting for. In their neighbourhood, plagued with crime, bullies, and greaser gangs, Sicheng’s size put him at a disadvantage. Kun, though not huge himself, always felt protective over his younger brother, and had gotten into many a fistfight in his defence. That fated day felt perfectly normal, up until the moment they turned onto the diner’s street.

Fourteen-year-old Kun sighed. Swarmed around the entrance of their beloved diner was a group of greasers, complete with coal-black leather jackets and huge, hulking motorcycles.

“Come on, let’s go,” Sicheng said, hands tucked in his pockets. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“No,” Kun said abruptly, and Sicheng looked at him in surprise. “I’m sick of living my life in fear of these idiots. They don’t own the diner - we can just walk right past them and go inside. They can’t stop us.”

“Are you sure? What about little Shotaro?”

This made Kun pause. Everybody knew the story about little Shotaro. In the next town over, a boy a few years younger than them had been beaten to a pulp, almost killed, over a ridiculous turf war that he hadn’t even been involved in. Kun clenched his jaw, angry at the injustice, thoughts of the incident only spurring him on. He had more confidence that day than perhaps ever before.

“They won’t touch us.” Kun truly believed this. The group in question, a few years older than the brothers, had never caused them harm before. The most they had done before was chase them, and once spat on them, which had been an awful humiliation indeed, but Kun didn’t think they’d be bold enough to hurt them - it was all an act, a front to look tough. “Let's go,” Kun said with an edge of determination, and Sicheng followed him closely down the street.

As predicted, the greasers weren’t happy when Kun and Sicheng approached them - far from it. A boy, around seventeen or so, eyeballed the boys as soon as they got close. He scoffed when he saw that they weren’t stopping. “Yo,” he barked. “Diner’s ours today. Turn around.”

Kun puffed out his chest despite his nerves. “No.”

The greaser laughed incredulously, elbowing his buddy in the side as if sharing some ridiculous joke. He turned to Kun and Sicheng, looking down at them as though they were ants on the sidewalk. “Hold up. The fuck did you just say?”

“I said no,” Kun held his ground, fists clenched to keep them from trembling. Kun bravely chanced a look up at the greaser and was unable to read his expression. It was somewhere between disbelieving surprise and rage; his eyebrows were pulled tightly downwards, and his mouth was agape, showing a snaggletooth.

Kun felt Sicheng tug on the back of his shirt, holding onto his brother to ease his anxiety. He spoke up, following his older brother's lead. "We only want to get some milkshakes," he spoke with a tremor to his words. "Let us in."

There were sniggers and sneers from the group of greasers. "No means no, kid. Get lost," the ringleader spoke, leaning in close to Sicheng where he stood huddled behind Kun. "Before I make you wish you were never born. You don’t wanna fuck with me today."

Kun scoffed. "You wouldn't hurt us."

The ringleader raised a skeptical eyebrow at Kun, before stepping back, rolling up the sleeves of his leather jacket. "Grab him, boys."

Before Kun had the time to process the instruction, a pair of arms grabbed him from behind. He pulled, trying to break free, but it was to no avail. With the older boys being bigger and stronger, Kun's struggles were useless. Terror flooded his system; he had been wrong. The greasers weren't afraid to hurt him. They hadn't even hesitated. He had gravely misjudged their threat levels. As Kun grappled with the older boys, Sicheng watched. As if in slow-motion, Kun saw a fist, tightly curled, thrusting towards him, marked with a dark birthmark.

He heard the crack in his jaw before he felt the blinding pain. The pain was white-hot; it spread throughout his face, scalding his bones and making him groan. The greaser hit him again, and again, busting his nose. Kun felt dizzy with the pain, and his vision blurred.

"Let him go!" Kun heard Sicheng stick up for him as he went limp in the greasers' iron hold. "Let him go, you… y-you…"

The greaser laughed. "Spit it out, kid."

"You bitch!" Sicheng managed, almost panting with the effort.

Kun looked up to see the greaser gaping - Sicheng had managed to genuinely shock him. There was a fire in his eyes that Kun noticed despite his hazy vision. Still detained, Kun watched as the greaser reached into his leather jacket. He saw a silver flash, and naively wondered why he would wield a comb in such a threatening way.

It wasn’t until Sicheng was on his knees, crouched over and clutching his abdomen, that Kun realised it hadn’t been a comb.

“Jesus Christ,” gasped the greaser holding Kun back. He stepped back, releasing Kun, who fell onto his hands and knees.

“S-Sicheng,” Kun gasped, unable to breathe. Sicheng’s blood poured onto the pavement, and Kun felt it on his hands, warm, as he crawled towards his brother. Distantly, Kun noticed the crowd of greasers disperse, fast, but all he could focus on was Sicheng.

“Ambulance-” Kun choked out, unsure who he was calling to. “Somebody get an ambulance!”

Kun caught his brother as he collapsed, wheezing. “Sicheng, no- I- you can’t-”

Sicheng’s eyelids were heavy and they struggled to remain open. Kun knew it was too late - there was too much blood on the ground, on Kun. Sicheng went limp in his arms, his eyes went glassy. Kun screamed.

Kun suffered from a dark and heavy grief after losing Sicheng. The world seemed bleak and pointless for some time. He couldn’t understand why he was being made to live in this world, a world without his brother and best friend. What cruel hands of fate would ever take away such a young, innocent life? Plagued by nightmares, Kun trudged through the next few years.

However, as is inevitable when it comes to the resilient nature of mankind, Kun managed to move on. He went to therapy, vanquished his demons, and held Sicheng close to his heart. He stepped out of the shadow that grief had cast upon him, and vowed to live a better life than the one Sicheng had, the one that was cut far too short. He worked hard, went to a good college, and moved out of the area that was haunted by nightmares of gangs and crime.

Sixteen years after losing his brother, Kun had made quite a life for himself. He taught literature to wealthy children at a prestigious private school. The school was nothing like the one he and Sicheng had attended in their youth. Kun taught the children of politicians, CEO’s, people with money. The students Kun taught were free of leather jackets and motorcycles, and their pockets had never seen switchblade knives. They thrived in an environment that nurtured its students, looked after them and educated them. Kun lived a calm life, a stable life. He went to work each day and there wasn’t a steel-toed boot or studded leather glove in sight. He was in peace -

Monday.

Until that week. Kun rubbed his eyes as he yawned, stretching his legs, stiff from sitting at his kitchen table for such a long time. Not a single nightmare about his brother’s death for fourteen years, and now, out of the blue… Kun had dreamed of Sicheng’s death every night for a week. It was as puzzling as it was concerning. Kun blinked tiredly, looking up at the clock on the wall of his kitchen. He jumped - he had been sitting there all night. He stood, going to his window and pulling back the curtains. It was true; morning light illuminated the dew drops on his lawn, which was littered with small birds twittering away to each other. He put on another pot of coffee; it was only an hour until he had to leave for work.

Kun had had the week from hell. Each dream had been different; in some, Sicheng roared at Kun, blood gurgling from his mouth as he cursed his brother for failing to save him; in others, Kun was stabbed alongside his brother. Some dreams were a perfect replica of the actual events. One thing remained unchanged, though. Kun never saw the face of the attacker. He knew it was just a matter of his brain blocking out details to protect him, but it frustrated him at times. Kun could never hunt the man down, not even if he wanted to. He could walk past the man on the street and be none the wiser.

His house had begun to feel like a prison; he had spent each night either waking in a cold sweat, or sipping coffee at his kitchen table when the threat of nightmares was too daunting for him to even lie down. And he had spent his days recuperating. A dreadful headache had been afflicting him, and he had taken the whole week off work. Now, however, he knew he had to return. Though still exhausted, and with a dull pounding tormenting his head, Kun was very aware of how easy it was to slip back into a depressive slump. He believed that the normalcy of his work environment would soothe him, and that the darkness that had built up in his home could be shed by a nice, regular day at work.

Or so he thought.

Kun felt uneasy throughout his day at the school; there was a darkness hanging in the air, albeit a darkness only himself picked up on. He coasted through the day, serving mediocre lessons and dodging his students’ questions of, “Where have you been, Mr Qian?” and “Were you sick, Mr Qian?”

Something was off. There were dark clouds that lingered at the edges of his vision, always staying in his peripheral, never quite coming into view. There were cold spots that sent chills down his spine, and whispers that were too distant to decipher. Kun tried to brush off his paranoia as a lingering side effect of the built-up sleep deprivation he was facing, but he simply couldn’t deny the fact that something just felt wrong.

All too soon, the school day ended. Students filtered out of the building, and Kun was alone with his thoughts yet again. Resting his forehead on the cool wooden surface of his desk, he allowed himself a very self-indulgent groan, an attempt to release his frustration and restlessness. It didn’t work - not that he actually thought it would. Kun knew that he could use the excuse of catching up on work to remain in his classroom for a good few hours. However there was a limited amount of work he could stay behind to carry out, and he would have to return home soon enough, back to the darkness and the nightmares.

Kun stood, stretching his aching muscles, and idly looked out of his classroom window. Winter was approaching - though only just past four in the afternoon, a grey gloom was already beginning to fall as the sky darkened. He would go home now, he decided. At least there he could set the fire going, change into a warm sweater, and make himself dinner as he worked. Kun donned his favourite brown coat, picked up his worn briefcase, and departed his classroom.

“Mr Qian.” Kun stopped on the way to his car when he heard his name. His head whipped around at lightning speed; one could say he was a little on-edge.

“Principal Suh, hello,” Kun greeted his boss.

“You’re feeling better, I hope?” the principal spoke as he caught up with Kun, who faked a smile and nodded. “Great. I was hoping to catch you tomorrow morning but since I’ve got you now; there’s a transfer student, he’ll be in your first-period class tomorrow. I only feel the need to warn you because…” the principal paused, taking a measured sigh, as if trying to find the best words to use. “Well, he’s a bit of a problem child, it seems.”

Kun nodded and smiled at all the correct intervals, clenching a fist inside his pocket to cope with the frustration of how badly he wanted to get home.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” the principal continued, “Nothing we haven’t seen before. Rich kid lashing out to get daddy’s attention.” Kun gave a cynical laugh. “Huang Renjun. I’ll give you his file tomorrow morning.”

Huang Renjun.

Kun recognised that name from somewhere. He began to think back, but was pulled sharply from his thoughts by a searing pain in his jaw. It was deeply reminiscent of the injury he suffered from all those years ago, during his brother’s accident; the dislocated jaw he sustained when the wretched greaser had hit him.

“Right,” Kun commented distractedly, plastering that fake smile upon his face once again. “See you tomorrow, Principal Suh.” The man smiled, giving Kun a hearty pat on the back before departing.

Kun hurried to his car. The pain in his jaw was worrying, and it only became more intense with each passing moment. He couldn’t think what could’ve brought this on - surely not repercussions from his previous injury, which had healed fine and hadn’t shown a single problem in sixteen years. He drove home, the ache hanging over him like a thick fog. Once there, Kun fell into his bed, passing out just as the pain became paralysing.

Tuesday, 6:03am

Kun awoke the next morning, feeling as though he hadn’t slept a wink, despite the thirteen hours he had under his belt. Groggily, he brought a hand up to his jaw, rubbing it tentatively. No more pain. That was relieving. Still, even with the lack of pain, he wouldn’t consider the morning particularly pleasant thus far.

Kun had dreamed again that night. Another nightmare replaying Sicheng’s death. This dream, however, had been different from any other before. The faceless entity who stabbed his brother had a name. The name was never spoken, never outright stated, but Kun knew it to be true; his name was Huang Renjun.

Kun sat up, rubbing his tired eyes. He had a bad feeling. Come on, Kun, be rational, he willed himself. This was just his brain feeding the day’s information into his dream. Obviously there was no link between Kun’s new student and the bastard who killed his brother sixteen years ago - obviously. The logical part of Kun’s brain believed this completely. But he had a gut feeling that something was very, very wrong. He couldn’t shake the feeling, and it laid heavy in his stomach like a stone. He couldn’t shake it as he made breakfast, and he couldn’t shake it as he washed his face and dressed for work. It overpowered even the pounding in his head, which was rather powerful itself.

Kun knocked back some painkillers; he couldn’t take another day off, as he had used up all his paid sick days until the end of the semester. Even if he did have another sick day available, Kun didn’t think he would take it. He had a real feeling of dread, entirely surrounding Huang Renjun, transfer student and alleged problem child, guest and visitor to Kun’s nightmares. Call it morbid curiosity, but Kun had to meet the boy. He wondered if these feelings would go away once he met the student. Kun imagined it, all dread and darkness dissipating when he saw that Huang Renjun was just a regular teenage boy, albeit a little troubled.

Maybe it was just the pessimistic devil on his shoulder, but he doubted it. Everything lined up just a little too nicely for his liking - the return of his nightmares, the unshakable feelings of both dread and paranoia, the ache in his jaw, and the entrance of this child. God, Kun felt like a madman, but it truly felt linked to him.

A while later, Kun was still pondering these things as he paced up and down the staff room, clutching his coffee mug a little too tightly.

“Morning, Kun.”

The greeting was innocuous, harmless. But Kun, like a skittish horse, jumped out of his skin and allowed his mug to fall to the ground, shattering. Kun sighed.

“Woah, sorry,” Yukhei apologised, surprised and worried. “Didn’t mean to scare you there.”

“It’s okay,” Kun waved it off with a shaky smile. “Way too much caffeine in my system.”

Yukhei, gym teacher and Kun’s friend, silently helped him clean up the mess. Kun was thankful, and displayed his appreciation with another smile that he hoped seemed genuine.

Kun looked up, after sweeping up some smaller shards, to find Yukhei looking at him inquisitively. “Are you doing okay?” the taller man asked.

“I- Yeah. Yeah, I’m doing fine.” Even to his own ears, Kun didn’t put on a very convincing show.

“Burnout is a real thing, bro. You gotta take care of yourself.”

Kun’s heart raced a little, at the receival of some genuine human concern. He hadn't realised the effect it had had upon him, isolating himself for that week-long period. Kun nodded, trying hard not to tear up. “Thanks, Yukhei.”

“I think Principal Suh was looking for you, by the way,” Yukhei mentioned offhandedly.

The kid’s file - Kun had completely forgotten. In a display of perfect timing, the bell sounded, signalling the beginning of first period.

“Shit,” muttered Kun.

Yukhei gave Kun a supportive pat on the back. “We should have a catch up soon, man. You know where I am if you need anything.”

With that, Yukhei was gone, presumably to teach a class, and Kun followed after him, out into the crowds of tired, blathering teenagers. He supposed he’d just have to read the file whenever Principal Suh was free to contact him.

Kun’s classroom was full by the time he reached it - had he really taken that long? he wondered distantly. His students were a little rowdy despite the early hour, seizing the lack of supervision and taking full advantage of it, chatting to each other noisily. They hadn’t noted his arrival yet, so Kun took the opportunity to stand in the doorway for a moment, unseen and undetected. He glanced around the room, and his eyes fell upon his new student easily.

Huang Renjun. He stuck out like a sore thumb. Where his classmates dressed appropriately in the uniformed navy blazers, Renjun wore a very prominent black leather jacket. Kun swallowed nervously. The boy was facing away from Kun, speaking to his peers, but he knew it was him. Taking a shaky breath, Kun stepped into his classroom, pushing through the panic brought on by one of his triggers. The leather jacket, far too reminiscent of his youth and the traumas he endured there, had had a profound effect on him, but he had the necessary coping mechanisms to deal with it. He inhaled deeply, paused, and exhaled.

Kun cleared his throat as he entered the room, and the chatter quietened. “Excuse me,” he spoke, his voice clear and bold, pointedly avoiding looking at the boy. “I know you’re new here, but you can’t wear that in class.” Still keeping his gaze away from the student, Kun removed his coat and pressed the power button to boot up his computer.

Huang Renjun remained silent, although another student, Haeun, spoke up. “What are you talking about, Mr Qian? He’s wearing the uniform.”

Kun blinked, finally taking another look at Renjun. The boy had turned around and was, in fact, complying entirely with the uniform code. Blazer included. No leather jacket to be seen. A few students snickered at Kun’s mistake. Luckily, he knew he wouldn’t get mocked too much; most of his students respected him highly. He was well-liked, generally. They would let this mistake pass.

Renjun wasn’t looking at Kun. His gaze was pointed straight down towards his desk, face hidden behind long bangs.

“Oh. Right. I apologise, it must’ve been a trick of the light.” Kun gave a sincere apology. Though he was paranoid, exhausted, filled with dread, he wasn’t going to forego his manners.

“No worries, sir,” Renjun forgave him easily. He sounded like a regular teenager, Kun thought, although he wasn’t sure what else he expected. The student looked up at Kun, using his hand to flick his hair out of his face. Kun noted the mark on his hand, the dark birthmark. He began to feel dizzy; he knew that mark.

Out of nowhere, Kun felt that pain again - that white-hot, blinding bite in his jaw. It reached out its burning tendrils, spreading all throughout his face. Kun stepped back, staggering almost, as he cupped his jaw apprehensively. Kun was still looking at Renjun, who moved his stare, looking directly into Kun’s eyes.

Renjun’s eyes were black. No whites, no iris. Pure, solid black.

Though Kun didn't think it was possible, the pain intensified. Grey spots danced across the classroom as his vision went spotty, fizzling like static on a television. Kun swayed, reaching out to grab the edge of his desk for support but missing it entirely, catching thin air instead. Heavy as a stone, Kun fell to the ground, passing out.

The last thing he saw was Huang Renjun glaring at him, a malicious smile on his face.

Tuesday, 9:53am

Kun's eyes snapped open. The fluorescent lights above his head were harsh, and he winced, blinking. He was lying down; where was he?

"Oh, you're awake. How are you feeling, Mr Qian?" The school nurse, Joohyun. Right. He had passed out in class.

Kun sat up abruptly. Huang Renjun - that piercing gaze, the menacing grin.

Nurse Joohyun spoke to him again. "You passed out during first period. Do you remember that, Mr Qian?"

"Yes," Kun confirmed, rubbing his jaw and reminiscing of the pain prior to his fainting spell. It was now entirely painless. "Migraine," Kun materialised his excuse on the spot, "They've been bothering me lately."

"Ah," Joohyun nodded in sympathetic understanding, talking as she prepared Kun a cup of water and passed it to him. "Nasty things. You should go home and rest for the remainder of the day. Will you be able to drive yourself home?"

"Yes, thank you." Kun didn't realise how thirsty he was until the water passed his lips. He drank it gratefully.

Nurse Joohyun departed, leaving Kun in the quiet once again. He finished his water and left the school with haste. Once in his car, he allowed himself to fall apart a little, unseen. When he threw his head into his hands, he found that he was shaking, trembling. Was this it? Was he going insane?

No. Kun’s mind was sharp. He knew it was still intact. He always had been a logical man, and so he remained. He only believed in what he saw, what he knew to be the complete truth. And even now, when the very truths of reality had become so dark and twisted, he knew that what his mind believed was the absolute truth.

He kept his eyes trained directly on the road, focused straight ahead as he thought. He had to be rational here. In completely untenable circumstances, Kun had to remain tenable. In this utterly illogical situation, Kun had to think logically.

He laid the facts out in front of him: sixteen years ago, his brother was stabbed. He suffered from terrible grief. He went to therapy, grew up, the nightmares went away. He worked hard, got a good job, and moved on. Everything was okay. Right?

Then the nightmares returned. A new student arrived at his school, Huang Renjun. He started getting splitting pains in his jaw, right where that bastard punched him before murdering his brother. The student featured in his nightmares. He had the same birthmark as that killer. Kun made eye contact with Renjun and passed out. And the student had looked at him with that expression, that malicious smile. A look of pure evil.

And so, illigocial, irrational, implausible, untenable as it was, Kun knew it to be true. Sixteen years ago, Huang Renjun murdered Sicheng. And now, sixteen years later, Huang Renjun was a student in Kun’s class, not having aged a day.

Kun was home before he knew it. He went inside, but didn’t rest. He didn’t sleep, didn’t close his eyes for longer than a blink until the next morning.

Wednesday.

Kun felt unsafe in the school. He was angry; how dare this entity make him feel so uncomfortable in his own place of work? He felt the lingering darkness, even when he was surrounded by students and faculty. It smothered him like a blanket of smoke, impossibly heavy and making him choke.

Kun wasn’t teaching Huang Renjun’s class that day. Yet he was still terrified. Paranoia tinged his vision, altered his very perception of reality; every student that entered his classroom was Renjun, until he blinked and they weren’t. Every sudden movement was a punch flying towards his jaw, until he shook himself and there was no threat. He was completely on edge all day.

While Kun was exhausted, he was also overwhelmed with the energies of a thousand different emotions. He was terrified, paranoid, furious, devastated. He couldn’t believe that he was back here, replaying Sicheng’s death in his mind over and over. This piece of shit, this monster - he was here solely to fuck with Kun. And the worst part of it was that he was succeeding. Kun felt defiant. He couldn’t let this thing ruin him. Not for a second time.

Kun looked around. The sun was shining brightly, but he didn’t feel its warm rays. He stepped on a piece of bright pink bubblegum, flattened on the pavement, but his shoes didn’t stick. He looked up; thirteen-year-old Sicheng was looking back at him.

Oh, fuck. Not again.

Kun wished he could grab his younger brother by the arm and march him back home, stopping the imminent events before they even happened. But the picture was already in motion. Before Kun knew it, he and Sicheng were stood before the greaser gang.

“Diner’s ours today. Turn around,” barked the ringleader, Huang Renjun.

Wait, Huang Renjun?

Surely enough, the boy from Kun’s class was in front of him, in all his greaser glory - leather jacket donned, hair slicked back, snaggletooth displayed in a mean snarl. Slowly, the other greasers melted away, ceasing to exist in this dreamland. Even Sicheng evaporated. Only Kun and Renjun remained.

“What the fuck do you want with me?” Kun asked, his voice dripping with equal parts anger and desperation.

Renjun shrugged, smiling smugly. He looked as though he were playing his favourite game. “You’re fun to mess with, Kun.”

“Fuck off,” Kun bit back. “Haven’t you messed with me enough?”

Renjun laughed. And laughed, and laughed. The hideous melody went on for far too long, and Kun winced at the sound. “I’ve barely even begun messing with you, Kun! Wait and see, how depraved you’ll get. People do funny things when you push them far enough.”

Renjun stepped closer to Kun. Somehow, the child towered above him. “And I- Can’t- Wait-” each word was punctuated by a tap on Kun’s nose, “To see what you’ll do.”

Kun tried to slap his hand away, but missed. “You’re sick,” he spat, “You’re a monster.”

“Well, duh,” Renjun scoffed. “You’re just stating the obvious here, Kunny.”

“Get the fuck away from me,” Kun hissed, stumbling backwards. He turned, running down streets that were so familiar yet so distant to him.

“You can run,” Renjun’s voice followed him, “But you’ll never escape.”

Kun woke with a start, panting in his bed. His usual calming mantra of “It’s just a dream,” did nothing that night. Kun knew that it was far more than a petty nightmare. This was real - all too real.

Thursday, 11:12am

Kun had Renjun’s class again that day, and he was determined not to let the child hurt him. He had it figured out, or so he thought; don’t look the kid in the eyes, don’t speak to him, don’t even acknowledge his presence. And then Kun would be safe. This was all a game to Renjun, and Kun would not be playing. He simply would not engage.

The class began relatively smoothly. Though it was late morning, the sun hid behind thick clouds which produced a healthy drizzle, darkening the world and giving the background noise of rain against the classroom windows, pitter patter. Kun worked hard to ignore the heavy weight that hung over him, and the dark energy that Huang Renjun exuded from the back of the room. Nobody else seemed to pick up in it, but Kun sure as hell did. He could've collapsed under its pressure, it was so heavy. But he remained strong, resisting toughly against its darkness.

Kun gripped a paperback tightly in his hand. Macbeth. A text he knew well, and found easy to teach.

"So," Kun explained to his class, "As she desperately tries to rub away this invisible bloodstain, we see Lady Macbeth-"

"Sir." Kun was interrupted by Renjun. He ignored it.

"We see Lady-"

"SIR," Renjun interrupted again, raising his voice.

Kun looked around the classroom. Nobody else seemed perturbed by the boy's yelling, nobody so much as batted an eyelid. They all looked rather bored, staring off into space or doodling in their notebooks. Part of Kun wondered whether anyone else had actually heard what he did.

He gave a level sigh. "What is it?" he answered the boy. Kun refused to speak his name, refused to even look at him. He kept his eyes directed down towards the book in his hands, and he noticed his knuckles turn white with their grip.

"Why are you staring at me?" Renjun's tone was lazy, playful. He was toying with Kun. Driving him to his limit? Daring him to snap?

"I'm not staring at you," Kun responded, remaining calm. It wasn't easy; Renjun's darkness was overwhelming, pulsating in the air, making Kun's head throb. It brought out the worst in Kun. Oh, how badly he wanted to throw the boy across the room. But he wouldn't. He would stay calm.

"Yes, you are," Renjun argued, and Kun could hear the smirk in his voice.

"I'm not," Kun denied.

"You are," Renjun returned.

Kun dropped his book, which fell with a slap onto his desk. "I haven't glanced at you once this whole lesson," he snapped. Kun cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure - if one could consider this shaky state composed. "We see Lady Macbeth's descent into madness. Now, can anyone tell me-"

"Well that's strange."

"Can anyone tell me how-"

"Why are you avoiding me, Kun?"

"Huang, go to the principal's office."

As soon as Kun spoke that name, the deep, dark energy that had been smothering Kun for the past twenty minutes permeated his body, penetrating his very soul. He shuddered. It was dark; so very dark. It was as if by speaking his name, he had let the beast touch him. He had let him inside, he had been infected.

"Fine," Renjun said, standing up. His desk was empty, unlike the students that surrounded him. He had no notebook, no notes. No pencil case, no pens. With nothing to gather, he marched straight to the door.

Kun, in a moment of weakness, or perhaps just a moment of pure stupidity, glanced at the boy for a split second before he slammed the classroom door behind him. A split second was all it took.

Again, Renjun's eyes were fully black. He grinned at Kun, but it was very much unlike the menacing grimace he had displayed a few days prior. His teeth were bared, rows and rows of razor-sharp fangs, needle-like in nature. They were sheer white, polished and shining, piercing Kun's heart from ten feet away.

The door slammed, shutting him out, but that split second was long enough to instill fear in Kun's deepest core, absolute terror. The external darkness eased a little once he was gone, returning to a low hum of evil energy, but Kun was shaking as he resumed the lesson.

As expected, Renjun's behaviour had gone entirely unnoticed by the rest of the class. They didn't even seem disturbed by Kun's raised voice - he was extremely glad about this. He had a deep integral belief that it was wrong to yell at his students. He would have been kicking himself. But he knew Huang Renjun wasn't a student. It wasn't a teenage boy, it was something dark, dangerous. a powerful entity from god-knows-where.

Kun gave his students a task to complete at their leisure, and took a seat at his desk. He gripped the heavy oak, trying to still his shaking hands. Maybe he ought to go back to therapy, he considered. But where would he even start? With the death of his brother? With the return of his nightmares? With the entrance of Huang Renjun.

No, he dismissed the idea. No competent therapist would believe him - he would be sectioned and medicated after a single session. Plus, whatever was going on was solely between him and Renjun; it was completely unseen and unacknowledged by anybody else.

Kun sounded delirious, even to himself. Nothing in science or logic could possibly provide an explanation for what was happening. But he knew it was real. He knew. Huang Renjun was something cruel, something sick. Something that had crawled right out of hell, directly to Kun's doorstep to torture him. He would figure this out, he vowed. He would rid himself of this beast.

Thursday, 3:49pm

The end of the day - Kun had made it. He let himself relax in his desk chair, leaning back and closing his eyes. He had to admit, he was rather proud of himself. Yes, he’d had a minor run-in with the boy, but he’d managed to diffuse the situation and rid himself of the problem. And, more importantly, he hadn’t passed out this time. Kun scoffed at the hilarity of it all - what a ridiculously low standard for a good day, reaching 3pm without suffering a fainting spell. He would go home and treat himself, he decided, by cooking a comforting stir-fried beef dish.

Knock, knock, knock.

Kun sat forwards with a jolt, gripping his desk tightly for some form of stability. He hated living in this near-constant state of fight-or-flight - it could easily be a quiet freshman, coming to ask questions they were too shy to raise in class. It could have been a colleague, a parent, any number of harmless guests. Despite all of the possibilities, Kun’s mind went to the worst place. He was certain he knew who it was. God, don’t let it be him.

The door swung open in a dreadfully slow manner. Pale fingers wrapped themselves around the door, which gave way to reveal none other than Huang Renjun; just Kun’s luck.

“What do you want?” Kun asked the boy, hackles raised.

Renjun didn’t respond. He closed the door behind him, and the click sent shivers down Kun’s spine - what was he doing? Kun could only watch, frozen, as the boy moved. He grabbed a chair from behind a desk, and brought it to Kun’s desk. The shiny metal squealed as it was dragged across the floor, making Kun wince. Renjun sat on the chair backwards, facing Kun and leaning his arms on the backrest. He rested his head on his arms, looking up at his teacher. He was the picture of innocence; wide eyes, a small mischievous smile present on his lips. Kun only sat in silence, waiting for the boy to act. He was action-ready, prepared to bolt (or even fight) should Renjun do anything drastic.

Kun wasn’t sure how many minutes passed before Renjun spoke. Until that point, they had simply been staring at each other, Kun with a panicked look in his bloodshot eyes and Renjun clearly enjoying the effect he was having on the older male. “I’m sorry for upsetting you today,” Renjun said. Kun didn’t reply, only moving his hands to his thighs, digging his nails inwards to ground himself. “Why do you have it out for me?” Renjun spoke again.

To an outsider, the scene would have been simply heartwrenching. Renjun, a very obviously damaged adolescent who had been hurt by the world many times, looking his teacher in the eye and asking why, pleading almost, begging to be treated right for once in his young life. He sounded like a sad, broken young man; innocent, confused, curious.

Kun knew it was a ruse.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Kun denied, his voice low and flat. He gathered some papers on his desk and shuffled them. He busied himself, so as not to get lost within Renjun’s dark energy again. If he were to pass out here, completely alone in the classroom, he had no idea what would become of him.

Renjun continued his sad little boy pretense, flashing dark puppy-dog eyes up at Kun. “I didn’t do anything to you,” he cooed. “I’m just a kid, right?”

Kun was certain that Renjun was playing games with him now. He knew that Kun knew. “You’re not just a kid,” Kun snapped, snarling at the boy in front of him. He threw the papers back down on his desk, rolling backwards in his chair to put distance between himself and the child. The sky opened up all of a sudden, rain pouring from the heavens.

“C’mon, don’t be mean,” Renjun drawled. “Play along, Kun. I’m just a kid… Right?”

“I’m going home,” Kun stated abruptly, standing up and preparing to remove himself from the situation. Renjun began to cackle, but Kun did everything he could to shut the boy out. He picked up his briefcase and slung his coat over his arm. A dash of thunder cracked through the sky, and Kun jumped.

“I left you a surprise there,” Renjun spoke, his voice playful.

Kun turned, running out of his classroom and sprinting down corridors. What the fuck had that bastard done to his house? He was barely even aware of the rain once he reached the school’s exit, though it drenched him in a matter of seconds. In the mad dash to his car, his hair fell flat with the rain, sticking to his forehead, and his shirt clung to his body, turning see-through. He rifled through his coat pockets, hunting for his car keys.

To the stray students that lingered after school hours, Kun probably looked deranged. But others’ perceptions of him were the least of his worries at that moment. He had no idea what Renjun was capable of - he had no idea what Renjun even was. A ghost? A demon? Something else? He truly didn’t know. He had to get home, and fast.

Kun was panting when he reached his house, worked up into a complete frenzy of anxiety and agitation. He swung into his driveway hastily, not wanting to lose any precious time perfecting his parking. Half on the driveway and half on his lawn, he stepped out of his car, staggering.

His front door had been completely torn off its hinges. Kun’s hands met his hair, tugging in helplessness. The door itself was laying haphazardly inside the doorway - if you could even call it a door any more. It was in two pieces, ripped apart. Shards of glass and wood were discarded all around. What the fuck had the monster done?

Kun dreaded to think what this looked like to his neighbours. The elderly couple to the left of him must have been terrified to see that beast rip through his house like a hurricane - how had the police not been called yet?

Kun gritted his teeth as he entered his house. He knew he had drawn the curtains that morning, but they had been pulled shut since. He squinted, eyes adjusting to the darkness as he fumbled for the light switch with shaky hands. He almost whimpered when the light flickered on. His armchair had been flipped, and his couch was torn, littered with slash marks, made by a knife or even a pair of claws. Kun looked around the room in horror - this was his home. He felt so attacked, so violated.

His eyes fell upon the mirror that hung above his fireplace, and he was forced to hold onto his ruined couch to save his buckling knees. Scrawled across it, in burning crimson, was his brother’s name, “SICHENG.”

Kun couldn’t breathe. He looked through the letters to his reflection. He looked every bit as distraught as he felt. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, which he supposed he hadn’t, not properly. He looked like a man whose life was falling apart.

His home wasn't a safe place for him any more. Physically nor emotionally. Kun darted around his house, grabbing an old duffle bag and filling it with essentials - a change of clothes, his toothbrush, phone charger. He supposed he didn't need his keys, not when any old stranger could wander inside from the streets. After a moment of deliberation, he threw in his largest kitchen knife too.

Fifteen minutes later, Kun pulled up at a dying establishment, parking his car a little more neatly this time. Elliot Motel read the faded sign, desperately in need of a paint job. The place was deserted - Kun wouldn’t have been surprised to see a tumbleweed rolling past. But it was remote, and it was a place away from his home where he could lay low and hide out until he figured out what to do.

The bored receptionist hadn’t spared Kun a second glance, for which he was grateful. Once in his allocated room, he double-locked the door and pulled the curtains tightly shut. He didn’t even dare turn on the light, for fear of the yellow glow being visible through the curtains. Although it would come as a shock to him if the place even had working electrics. The dark was better; it gave him a sense of anonymity, and it kept the cockroaches hidden from his view.

Kun perched on the end of the bed, resting his head in his hands. He could hear his heart hammering, the pulsating sound rattled around his head and he could feel it. He couldn’t think straight - his only emotion was blind panic. He leapt up from the bed, too much energy to stay seated. He paced back and forth in the dark, almost tearing out his hair in terror.

Hours passed but Kun couldn’t settle. His brain was going a mile a minute, darting from one place to the next. He was frazzled, and he had no idea what the fuck he was supposed to do. He was angry, enraged that this demon would fuck up his life and his home like this. He was terrified, and he felt as though he may be ambushed or attacked any minute. He couldn’t think straight. And exactly as the clock struck midnight, the phone in his dingy motel room began to ring.

Kun yelped, the harsh trilling ring boring into his soul and making him jump. He scrambled to the old rotary phone, tightly gripping the handle and pulling it close to his ear. He heard nothing at the other end, other than very faint static.

“Hello?” Kun spoke. His own voice shocked him - he sounded so unstable, like a scared little boy. The same scared little boy who would wake up from nightmares of losing his brother all those years ago.

A rattling noise came out of the receiver. After a few seconds, Kun realised it was the sound of somebody breathing. Even yet ragged breaths, loud and crackly through the ancient telephone. Kun knew exactly who it was.

“I know it’s you, bastard,” he hissed into the phone. He was met with more silence. Kun was furious. This monster was ruining him - look at what he’d turned him into. A grown man, a man who was esteemed and well-respected. Crouched on the floor of a dingy motel, clutching a telephone, his once neat shirt and trousers now rumpled and sticky with sweat. This couldn’t go on any longer, Kun decided.

“Meet me at the school. 3am. We’re ending this.”

Thursday, 2:34am.

Kun was ready. It hadn't been easy - he'd been through hell and back - but he was prepared. He knew what had to be done, and he was willing to do it.

In the hours since the dreadful phone call which had riled him up immensely, Kun had darted all over town.

To the library, where he had left a broken window in his wake (and he could only hope that his makeshift mask would be enough to save him from breaking and entering charges). He had encountered a dusty section he had never noticed before, which was strange in itself. Being a teacher of literature, the library was a place he frequented, though this section he had never happened upon. He was convinced it only bore itself to those in need, but that fact was neither here nor there. He had rifled through the section, leaving pages torn and books scattered, something he never would have done in his normal life. But he did the research he needed to do, and got the exact knowledge he required.

He had driven back to his house, which no longer felt like a home, to pick up one of the few precious belongings of Sicheng's he had left - necessary for the sacrifice. He had paroled the streets, searching for a stray animal. He never would've harmed an animal but the blood of an innocent creature was needed. He pulled though, apologising deeply to the stray dog which yelped and bit at him.

And there he stood, in the middle of his classroom, clutching his duffle bag which was filled with the most mismatched assortment of offerings. Raising Demons, the book which had proven most informative, Sicheng's red woollen scarf, a vial full of dog's blood, the butcher knife from his kitchen. He looked like a hot mess and he knew it; his shirt was untucked, most of the buttons now undone, and he had lost his tie long ago. He was panting, and he couldn't seem to find his breath no matter how long he stood still.

He looked around his classroom. It was empty, but soon that would change - and that wasn't a comforting thought by far. God, he was wasting time, he thought as he stood there dumbly. But where the fuck did he start?

He ran to action, shoving away the desks that surrounded him, creating a clearing in the centre of the room. He threw open the cupboard at the back of the room and pulled out the old stereo that lay dormant in there. He messed with the dials, twiddling them back and forth until static blared out. He flinched at the sound, but it was no louder than the blaring panic that had been reverberating around his skull lately.

Not wanting to waste another minute, Kun sprinted to the front of the room, grabbing a marker pen and setting to work on the floor. As meticulously as he could with his shaking hands, Kun drew a pentagram, tainting the floor of his beloved classroom. He yanked open his duffle bag, trembling as he placed the items around the pentagram. He picked up the stolen novel, Raising Demons, and jumped to the page he had dog-eared.

Well, Kun thought to himself, No time like the present.

He recited the passage, focusing heavily - he couldn’t get a single word wrong. “Dark Father, hear me for my soul’s sake. I am one who promises sacrifice. I am one who seeks vengeance of the left hand. I bring blood in promise of sacrifice.”

A wind picked up in the classroom, dark clouds materialising and flying around the pentagram in a tight circle, a tornado of evil.

Kun had thought he’d witnessed true darkness in the presence of Huang Renjun; he thought he had seen what evil really was. He had been wrong. True darkness, true overwhelming power, true and pure evil, was what he had summoned before him. Renjun was nothing in comparison to this beast. Kun felt sick.

A voice spoke to him, hissing and spitting, from deep within the clouds. It was deep, grating, abnormal. “What do you ask of me?”

Kun looked down towards the ground. He didn’t want to peer too deeply into this void that had materialised - he knew that anything he saw would scar him deeply. Its energy was horrific enough. This wasn’t a sight he wanted to see. He spoke as clearly as he could, raising his voice to the demon. “Rid me of the spirit that plagues me.”

“Then give me what is mine,” the voice rumbled back.

Kun nodded, trembling. He kneeled on the floor, picked up the butcher’s knife. He placed his hand on the floor, all fingers curled under his fist apart from his pinky finger. He closed his eyes, whimpering as he braced himself. Kun raised the knife and brought it down fast. He yelped; the pain was immense, but he knew he hadn’t yet severed the bone. He took a second hit. A third. A fourth. Again, and again. As Kun screamed, the appendage finally detached.

He reopened his eyes, recognising the blood splattered across the floor as his own. He used the knife to nudge the detached appendage into the pentagram, his nausea intensifying. Blood was spurting from his hand at an alarming rate, and he clutched it close to his chest.

The voice spoke again. “It will be done.”

Kun looked to the clock in his classroom, just as it turned 3. Renjun appeared in the doorway with that now-familiar evil smile on his face. Kun’s vision was spotty, but he could still see Renjun’s grin fall instantly. He couldn’t read the expression on the thing’s face. It could have been rage. It could even have been fear.

“No,” Renjun roared. “What have you done?”

The tornado picked up, and Kun flew flat on his back with the intensity of the wind. A pinprick of light spawned in its centre and Kun had to shield his eyes from it, hiding in the crook of his elbow while his other hand was still clamped close to his chest.

“No! No! Fuck you, Qian Kun!” Huang Renjun shrieked, until… silence. Everything was still. Kun sat up, dizziness wracking his senses. For the first time since the whole ordeal began, he felt something similar to calm. The room was quiet, still, and empty, save for himself. The demon he had summoned was gone. Huang Renjun was gone. The quiet disoriented him; he felt like it had been a while since he truly experienced quiet.

Kun picked up his knife once again and cut along the bottom of his shirt, wrapping the material tightly around his stub of a finger in an attempt to slow the bleeding. He felt faint - he knew he’d lost a substantial amount of blood. He stood, staggering out of his bombsite of a classroom and stumbling into the hallway. He bent, heaving onto the floor, bile burning his throat and mouth. He probably needed to get to a hospital, but how would he explain himself?

Kun felt a pat on his back - a warm, comforting gesture. Wiping saliva from his mouth and chin, he looked up, and found himself staring into a pair of friendly brown eyes, surrounded by aged wrinkles. Something inside Kun simply knew that he was a kind figure, a peaceful figure.

“It’s gone now, son,” the old man spoke, his voice croaky. Kun merely stared at him, wide-eyed, as he talked. “I’ve had students like that one before. They feed on your energy, eat away at you. Look into your past to find the best way to torture you. But it’s gone now. It’s gone.”

Kun stood up straight, or as straight as he could manage in his current condition. He didn’t recognise the teacher standing before him. “Who are you?” he panted, squinting at the other man.

“Don’t worry about me, son, I’m long gone” the man responded with a wry smile. “I taught here long, long ago. Just listen to me - my God, son, if you take notice of one thing in your life, let it be this -” the man leaned in close to whisper in Kun’s ear. Kun closed his eyes, listening as closely as he could despite his faltering consciousness. “When you involve yourself with something like this, sometimes they come back.”

When Kun opened his eyes again, the man was gone.

Kun wobbled outside, breathing in the night air as if he’d been deprived of oxygen for weeks. It was over, the weight on his chest was gone. He could breathe. He could live. All he could do now was pick up the pieces. But the old man’s words echoed in his mind,

Sometimes they come back.

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littleoddwriter · 4 years ago

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Asking for Help | Roman Sionis x Male!Reader

Another vent fic, yay. One I didn’t expect to write and fought with myself if I even should. Did it anyway, obviously. It kinda helped, I guess. This is extremely personal and very specific, of course. I doubt anyone will truly read it, but still putting that out there, lol.

summary; A flashback of past trauma pops up and Roman later asks you why you never ask for help.

notes; TW // Past Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma; Abuse; Trauma; Flashbacks; Being yelled at by father in the past; Mentions of self-harm and intrusive thoughts. Male!Reader; hint of Daddy!Kink, but Roman doesn’t get called “Daddy” for once, it’s just the usual pet names he uses fror reader in my fics; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Cuddling; Crying; Talk about past trauma;

You sat at your desk, studying and doing homework for university, like usual. It was absolutely set in your routine and Roman knew not to disturb you, while you were trying to focus and just get everything done. So, like during your zoom calls, he was either in the living area of the loft, downstairs at the club or completely gone, doing business somewhere. That day, he was relaxing at the loft. You couldn't decide if you were happy about it or not, when you were suddenly hit by a flashback. One that hasn't haunted you in a little while. It was startling. You stopped writing, setting your pen down; and tried to calm your breathing that had picked up due to the flashback. Faintly, you noticed tears burning your eyes. You quickly blinked them away and swallowed thickly. Think of something else. Think of something else. Think of something else. You repeated these words in your head, over and over again. This was long past. It happened. It was over. It's almost been a decade since it had happened. Taking a deep breath, you balled your hands into fists, clenching and unclenching them repeatedly. Thinking of anything else didn't help, the flashback fought its way through to the forefront. You could practically hear him yell. Your father. You cried so much that one evening when it had happened. The way he was yelling at you so familiar and yet so shocking. The words he was shouting cut deeply, leaving scars that just wouldn't heal. Deep down, you had known it would happen. You had known he would yell at you. Yet, your sister insisted to talk to your parents. You wished you hadn't. It would have been one scar less. Your father had left so many emotional wounds on you, none of them healed properly, if at all. Often times, you found yourself conflicted in regards to your feelings towards him. You loved him. You knew he loved you. But all the yelling, the rough handling when you were a little kid, the nasty words he would throw at you; it all made you stop and question everything so often. The mixed signals he had sent you all your life made it a blurry line, a conflict within yourself. Knowing that you wouldn't be able to focus on your work for a little while anyway, you got up from your desk and thought about going to Roman. You hesitated. You didn't want to bother him. You didn't want to let him see you struggling. You didn't want him to leave you, realising how broken you were. Eventually, you went to your bedroom, taking your smartphone from the bedside table instead. You sat down on the edge of the bed and opened various social media apps, trying to focus on that instead. Funny posts, things about your favourite characters and films, anything that would make you smile and feel better. It worked temporarily. Then it all came back. Frustrated, you threw your phone beside you on the bed and buried your face in your hands. Your ears twitched, when you heard Roman walk around the loft. You lifted your head and put your hands down. All too suddenly, he was standing just a few feet away from you, tiltling his head with a concerned face. "Are you just taking a break or is something wrong?" He asked after a few beats of silence in which you just looked each other. You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting with yourself. "Just taking a break," you rasped eventually. Roman hummed thoughtfully, obviously not believing you, but didn't push you into talking. He came closer, sitting down beside you. "Do you want some tea?" You shook your head. He sighed, kissing your forehead before getting back up. "You know where to find me if you change your mind," he said before leaving you alone again. If he was talking about the tea or opening up to him was up to you to decide. You felt awful. Guilty. He shouldn't have to put up with you like that. You knew how frustrating it was to not get any answers to the many questions that would form, when someone you loved was suffering and not opening up. After a short while, you got back up and went back to your desk to continue doing your work for university. It would be rather pointless as you wouldn't be able to recount much of it the next day, but you didn't care anymore. You just wanted to get it done and you wanted to stop the flashback from popping up over and over again. At night, when you finally went to bed, Roman was lying on his back and you were cuddled into his side, your head resting on his chest. It was your favourite position. Hearing his heart beat was calming. He was stroking your hair with one hand and rubbing a thumb over the arm you laid over his stomach with his other. "Why do you never ask for help?" He whispered. You tensed up. "It's a mean question, isn't it? I don't mean to hurt you, baby. I just want to know why. Do you not trust me?" "That's not it," you replied softly, tightly gripping onto his silk pajama shirt. "What is it then?" The flashback came back to you all over again, your breathing picking up, tears welling up in your eyes. Ironically, it had to do with just that. That was one of the reasons why you never dared to ask for help. That was why you never dared to let the people around you know when you suffered. That was why you hesitated to answer when you were directly asked about it. "It's not easy for me," you settled on. "Could you stop being so fucking vague for once?" He sounded frustrated. Angry. "Fuck. I didn't mean it like that. I want to know what's going on with you, baby. That's all," he sighed. A tear escaped your eyes, travelling over the bridge of your nose and dropping on Roman's shirt. "I'm sorry, Roman, I'm sorry. I just- it's hard, okay? It's really fucking hard! I- I want to ask for help. I do. So often. But I just can't. I'm fucking scared every fucking time. So scared-" It all shot right out of you and you had to catch yourself in the end, a broken sob tearing itself from your throat. Roman shushed you softly, squeezing your arm on top of his stomach rhythmically, reassuringly. "Ssh, it's okay, sweetheart," he cooed. "Why are you scared? What are you scared of?" He seemed to latch onto the opening he'd found. "I'm scared you'll leave me. I'm scared you'll be angry. I'm scared you'll yell at me, like- like- Fuck!" You were full on crying by now, tears flowed, sobs escaped you and your entire body was quaking with the force of it all. "I wouldn't do any of those things, sweet boy, I promise. I know I get angry quickly, but never at you, right? Right, baby?" "I know. I'm sorry. I know." Neither of you spoke for a moment. Your sobs died down, silent tears falling and soaking the silk shirt some more. "It's just that my dad would get so angry with me for these things. He- he would always yell at me for things I had no control over. When I was a little kid. When I got older. When I was almost twenty even. One time, in my early teens, I struggled with self-destructive intrusive thoughts. The urge to harm myself was so fucking big. I didn't want to do it. I didn't! M-my sister found out and sat me down with my parents to tell them and then- then my dad just exploded. He was shouting at me, telling me I was crazy, telling me I was stupid, telling me I was sick. I was so shocked. I knew he would be angry with me, but I didn't expect him to explode like that. I just don't want people to be mad at me anymore for these things. I'm sorry. I know you're not him." After you had explained yourself, your heart was racing, anxiety digging its claws into you. "Oh, baby, no... No. He was so wrong for doing that. Aw, my sweet boy," Roman cooed, shifting so he could look at you and be face to face with you. He brushed the tears from your cheeks and kissed them both, shushing you all the while. "My mom tried to justify him by saying that he was just worried and didn't know how to react. I guess she was right. I know he loves me, but it hurt, Roman, it hurt so much. It still does," you continued after a couple of minutes in which you tried to gather yourself. "It doesn't excuse what he's done and you know it," Roman replied gently. You nodded. You knew that. But you felt so guilty for practically badmouthing your father. One of his hands travelled down the expanse of your chest and stomach, crawling under your soft cotton shirt and stroking over your happy trail. It wasn't meant to be seductive or anything likewise. It was reassuring. Soft. Gentle. Conveying things he had a hard time saying out loud. Roman kissed your cheeks again, then your forehead and then he finally pressed his lips against yours. With the kiss, he was thanking you. You knew he was. You knew he wouldn't say it. "Thank you," you said when you broke the kiss. He smiled at you, brushing your hair back with the hand that wasn't busy stroking over your abdomen. "I've got you, baby boy. I promise," he whispered to you, making your lips stretch into a soft, small smile. You nodded. Words weren't needed. He knew you were grateful. He knew you loved him. The two of you settled into more comfortable positions again, ready to go to sleep after the emotional turn the night had taken. "Fuck family," Roman murmured before you fell asleep.

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spookyboywhump · 5 years ago

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Card Game Four

tagging: @galaxywhump and @pepperonyscience, just cuz I know you were asking this morning and I am Happy to provide

This focuses on three things really, some time between Wren and Zander, some time between Zander and Vanessa, and some time between Cain and his dogs

This one is long, but it’s also the last part for this little side piece, sooo, yeah!

TW: aftermath of noncon kinda? no actual noncon featured but some time afterwards

***

“Ow ow ow- it hurts!” Wren whined, flinching away as Zander carefully pressed the alcohol soaked cloth against his back. He’d already cleaned away as much of the blood as he could, all that was left was clean the wounds and avoid any infections.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry…” He said softly, gently grabbing his shoulder and pulling him back. “If it stings that means it’s working though, it’ll be okay…”

“I’m sorry… I sh-shouldn’t be whining so much, you a-always deal with so much worse…”

“It’s not a competition, you just went through a lot, you can whine and cry as much as you want to.” He told him, frowning as he looked over the wounds, deep lash marks that were sure to scar. Scars that would always be his fault. “Besides, I should be saying sorry to you… I… more than half of this is my fault…”

“You didn’t w-want to… I know you… you just wanted to help…” He sniffed, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand while Zander had him sit up straighter, carefully wrapping bandages around his torso to try and prevent the wounds from further irritation.

“Still, I’m sorry this happened at all, I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything to help you, I’m sorry about what I had to do to you, I-”

“It’s okay.” Wren said, cutting off his rambling. “I- I’m not mad at you, I’m not scared of you and I don’t- don’t blame you. It’s okay.” He assured him. It didn’t feel okay, but he couldn’t dwell on it too much right now. He only had an hour, he needed to be sure he finished before he had to go. He moved so he was sitting in front of him, focusing on the cut on his face and the letters carved into his arm now. It made him sick to see his name on him, and since the cuts were so shallow he decided to worry about the cut she’d left on his face.

Wren watched him with big, teary eyes, he tried not to focus on his eyes because it would just make him feel worse. He was still trying not to cry, occasionally sniffling while Zander cleaned the cut. There was an almost comfortable silence between them before he finally spoke up again.

“Are… are you going to be okay…?”

“What?” He stopped for a moment, eyebrows raised as he met his eyes.

“It’s just… you… since she’s not taking me, you’re gonna have to…”

“Oh.” He scowled, turning his attention back to the wound. “Yeah, I’ll be fine, I always am. You don’t need to worry about me, I’m used to it.” He shrugged. It wasn’t even really a lie to placate him, he was used to it, even if he still hated every moment of it. Wren still seemed worried, but he didn’t push the subject further.

Once he was done he helped him to his feet, leading him back into the bedroom and sitting down on the bed with him. He still had a little bit of time, she hadn’t come back for him yet, and he certainly wasn’t eager to go back early. Wren leaned against him, which somewhat surprised him. He was surprised he could stand to even be next to him after what he did. He was handling himself pretty well after everything, but it didn’t really impress Zander. It scared him. It scared him to think he was becoming accustomed to all this, he was accepting this as everyday life. It was a process he’d gone through himself and he didn’t want to watch him accept this as his new reality, not when he’d held on to the hope of escaping for so long.

“Hm… you wanna hear something stupid…?” He said after a little while.

“Hm?”

“That’s the first time I’ve ever been kissed… pretty stupid y’know, stupid to get upset over compared to everything else, but… kinda sad that I’m twenty three and the first person to kiss me has to be forced to do it.” He laughed drily, while Zander was hit with another wave of guilt.

“I’m sorry…”

“It’s not that bad… at least it wasn’t her… I’d rather it be you… I’d rather have your name on my arm… anything’s better than her…” There was something he could agree with at least.

“Yeah… she kinda makes you miss Cain, huh?” He snickered.

“Just a little bit.” He laughed. “I… I thought he was the worst, but she’s…”

“Evil? Fucking crazy? A twisted sadistic bitch?” He shrugged. “I could go on.”

“All of the above. And you’ve dealt with her for six years?”

“We’re actually coming up on seven.” He frowned at the thought of it, he never thought it would go on this long.

“I… I don’t know how you do it…”

“Neither do I.”

“I’m going to get you out of here… hopefully before it becomes seven years… you won’t be here forever.” He told him. He was still hanging on to that hope, still believing that Zander and even himself wouldn’t die in this place.

Zander wished that were true.

***

“Zander.” He didn’t respond, eyes still focused on the ceiling. “Zander.” More forceful this time, he still didn’t respond.

It usually took awhile for him to come out of it, the past couple of hours had been a blur to him. He seemed to run on autopilot when it came to this kind of thing, he knew what to do to please her and he did it without thinking, because if he thought too much and focused on what he was doing and who he was with he would shut down completely. Instead he only shut down a little bit, did what she wanted, played along till she was satisfied, and he would come out of it later feeling disgusting and miserable. The shower she insisted they take together didn’t help, the water wasn’t hot enough, she was still on him, he could feel it, even if she wasn’t touching him he knew she was still all over him.

Right now though, she was touching him, draped over him with her head on his chest in some cruel imitation of how a real couple would lie in bed together. He had no say in the matter, when they’d returned to bed his wrists had been bound above his head again, ensuring he wouldn’t be going anywhere. It wasn’t necessary, he wouldn’t have moved an inch without her saying so. He knew better by now.

He blinked tiredly as he realized she had moved, sitting up to look down at him, long blonde hair falling over her shoulder. She really was beautiful, he’d always thought she was beautiful, it was almost disgusting that someone so beautiful could do such horrible things to people. Her hand came up to his face, gently brushing his hair off his forehead.

“There you are…” she said softly, smiling as he finally focused on her, finally seemed to acknowledge her.

“Hm…?”

“I’ve been trying to talk to you, it’s like you don’t hear a word I say.” She laughed.

“Sorry…” he murmured, glancing away from her, glancing at his collar resting on the bedside table. He wanted so badly to grab it and put it back on, he needed it back on, but right now he was hers and not Cain’s, there was no need for Cain’s collar. Right now, he sincerely wished he was Cain’s.

“I’ve been thinking about you and the pup.” She said, still playing with his hair.

“Mmhm…” He almost wanted to tune her out again, he didn’t want to think about Wren right now, didn’t want to think about what he did to him.

“It’s cute how protective you are of him.” He knew that he was protective of him, but he couldn’t help but wonder when that had come about.

“Mmhm…”

“I mean really, it was adorable how determined you were to win. You really thought that I would take him over you!” She laughed. This seemed to finally get his attention, frowning as he looked up at her.

“What… what do you mean…? You said that you would… you made me play that game because I didn’t want you to…” she just laughed though.

“I made you play the game because I knew you wouldn’t want me to. I never cared about him, I just wanted to see how far you would go, what you were willing to do to him.” She said. His eyes grew wide as it finally sunk in, his heart hammering in his chest as she smiled at him, seeming to take joy in his growing panic.

“You- you made me- you said that if I lost you would take him-“

“And I wouldn’t have. Either way I would’ve taken you, I would never pass up time spent with you.” She smiled. “Wren is adorable, really, but he’s not you.”

Zander was suddenly very aware of where he was and what was happening, of exactly what Vanessa was telling him, of the fact that he caused Wren so much pain for nothing. He instinctively tried to sit up but the red rope tying his wrists to the bed prevented that.

“You evil fucking bitch!” He snarled, jerking against the rope despite knowing it was useless. Her smile disappeared, replaced with that cold look she gave someone who pissed her off. She roughly grabbed his face, red nails digging into his skin.

“Watch. Your. Mouth.” She said, voice low and dangerous.

“You made me hurt him for no fucking reason! You could have left him out of this, you didn’t need to do that to him!”

“And you could’ve stopped at any moment, but you didn’t. I thought you would’ve given up after the whip, after you tore his back up. Cain really taught you well, huh?” She knew what she was doing, each word stabbing into him like a knife.

He hated the burning in his eyes, the tears he couldn’t blink away because he was so angry he couldn’t help but start crying. He told himself it was anger though, anger instead of overwhelming and heart wrenching despair because everything he did in the name of “protecting” Wren was pointless because she never planned to take him to begin with. He turned his head, trying to hide his face against his arm but she roughly grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her through tear filled eyes. She was grinning, of course she was, she always loved to make him cry.

“I f-fucking hate you…” he choked out, and she just laughed, using her thumb to wipe away a tear.

“Stop trying to act tough, dear.”

“I hate you…”

“I’m sure you do.” She hummed, gently running a hand through his hair. He knew that she loved this, loved to watch the tears stream down his face, the uneven rise and fall of his chest as he sobbed. He felt pathetic, he hated to break down in front of her but she seemed to be the person best at breaking him completely.

When she was satisfied with his misery, she went to sleep, head resting on his chest, one arm draped over him. He used to pretend she was someone else, pretend she was a girl he was sure he loved but could never go beyond being friends with. At some point he accepted that it was just Vanessa, and that she would be the only girl he ever got this close with, because it hurt less to accept it than keep believing he could get away from her someday.

He didn’t sleep that night. He stayed still so he wouldn’t wake her, he kept his eyes on the ceiling, trying to block out everything that had happened that night. He tried to block out what he did with Vanessa, and he tried to block out what he did to Wren. He felt so much worse knowing that he didn’t have to go through with everything, he could’ve stopped and Wren would’ve been okay. If he thought too hard about it then he would start crying again, it was best to just block everything out, the way he did when Vanessa was using him.

At some point, he had gotten very good at blocking things out.

***

Cain’s first concern when he returned home was checking on his dogs. Vanessa had left a few hours before he got back, and he’d already been hesitant to let her watch them, but he didn’t expect it to be this bad.

Wren was curled up in one corner of the room, every exposed inch of skin covered in dark bruises. There was a deep cut on his face and a clear bite mark on his neck and when the door opened he had just pushed himself further into the corner. Zander was curled up on the bed, pushed into the corner as well as if they were both trying to stay as far apart as possible. His hands rested around his neck, his go to when his collar was missing for too long, and his eyes were dull and unseeing, all the evidence Cain needed to know he was on those painkillers he liked so much.

He focused on Wren first since Zander didn’t exactly seem injured. He flinched away when Cain got near him but didn’t fight it when he helped him to his feet.

“Best to get you out of here for now, Zander gets mean when he comes off that stuff.” He sighed, helping him out of the room. He was shaking, keeping his eyes trained on the floor while Cain brought him to the living room. He had him kneel out of the way while he got his phone out, immediately calling Vanessa.

“Hello!” She said happily, as if she didn’t know he was pissed.

“What the fuck did you do to my boys?!” He snapped, but she just laughed.

“We just played a game, it was fun! That’s all!” She said. “They’re both fine.”

“Fine?! Wren looks like he got hit by a fucking car and Zander is so drugged up he can’t move! I told you to feed them and keep them alive, not fucking break them!”

“Hey, they’re both fed, and they’re both alive. They’ll be okay.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?! You know I don’t keep that stuff away from Zander just to spite him, it fucks him up completely! He gets borderline addicted to the shit and it Damn near kills him when he runs out!”

“Really? Call me when he gets to that point, I wanna see!” He rolled his eyes. “Oh! I have pictures from the game, if you wanna see.”

“I really don’t.” He said bluntly, but his phone buzzed as she sent them anyway. He decided to ignore that. “Look, I’m not leaving you alone with both of them again, okay? Fuck, the least you could’ve done was ask me before playing with them, I’d at least like to know what’s going on!”

“Okay, okay.” She sighed. “I won’t leave you out next time, happy?”

“Sure.” He wasn't happy at all, he was still pissed both his dogs were out of commission, still pissed that she broke one of the only rules he had. His dogs would be hurt when he wanted it, when he decided it, he was in control of that. He didn’t like having that control taken away, he didn’t like someone doing whatever they wanted knowing he wasn’t there to control it, even if it was Vanessa, she didn’t own them, he did.

When he eventually hung up with her he looked at Wren, kneeling on the floor. He looked exhausted, and it was clear he was in a lot of pain. He sighed and sat down on the couch, leaning forward to look at him.

“Alright pup, what’d she do to you?” He asked. The cut on his face and the bite mark was obvious, and now that he was closer to him the letters carved into his arm were more noticeable. Wren didn’t answer at first, glancing away from him. “Speak.” He ordered, hoping that would get it out of him.

“She uh… they played a game…” He murmured.

“Card game?” He asked, and Wren nodded.

“They took turns, there’s um… more than this…” He held out one hand to him, showing the broken finger. “And- on my back, he whipped me… seventeen times? I think… It was a lot… and…”

“I can see the bruises, who did the bite mark?” He asked him.

“Vanessa… the cut, and uh, the hickey too, and… on the back of my neck, she burned me with a cigarette.” He made a face just remembering it, he looked like he was starting to get anxious and worked up again, using his uninjured hand to pick at the skin around his fingers on the other hand. “Don’t… um… please don’t get mad at Zander, sir, he didn’t- he didn’t want to, he was just t-trying to help me, and- and if you’re going to punish him then please j-just punish me instead, he… he’s already gone through a lot…” He said, voice cracking.

Cain couldn’t deny it, it really was cute how they insisted on protecting each other, Wren in particular, small and new to this as he was. Right now though, both his dogs had suffered enough, more than enough really since he hadn’t even been there to okay this suffering.

“No, no he’s not in trouble, Wren, and neither are you.” He sighed, placing his hands on either side of his face, one thumb running along the edge of the cut. “Normally, you would be. You and Zander belong to me, understand?”

“Yes sir…”

“And you’re supposed to follow my rules, right?”

“Yes sir…

“One of those rules is that if either of you are going to be hurt, then I need to be doing it or I need to be watching. You broke that rule, both of you did, but… Vanessa is a bit of an exception. Sometimes.” He sighed. He didn’t like letting her have full control of his dogs but he also knew how hard it was to say no to her, especially to either of them. Even if he felt they deserved to be punished this time he probably wouldn’t have, they’d both gone through enough while he’d been gone. “This time at least, she’s an exception, you two aren’t in trouble.”

“Th-thank you…” He said softly, his whole body seeming to finally relax.

“You probably need some sort of treatment though, at least for that finger.” He sighed, reaching a hand out to comb it through the boy’s hair, brushing his bangs back from his face. He wondered if he should re-dye his hair, he could see the brown growing out again but he kind of liked the vivid red color. He figured he’d worry about that later, if he wanted either of his dogs functioning again sometime soon then he would need to actually take care of them, for a little while at least.

“Um… about Zander…” Wren started hesitantly. “He never got his collar back and he seems… or seemed pretty upset about it… can I give it back to him, I think it’s still in that room…?”

“I’ll get it for him.” He sighed, getting to his feet. “I need to check on him anyway, you just stay here.” He told him. He knew which room Vanessa usually preferred when she stayed there, and he found his collar lying on the bedside table. He never really understood his attachment to it, especially since he’d been so against the original collar he had. It was weird, but not bad, he didn’t even have to lock the collar to ensure he wouldn’t take it off.

When he went back to his room he hadn’t moved from how he left him, he probably wouldn’t move anytime soon. He hardly reacted when Cain knelt down on the edge of the bed, carefully pulling his hands away from his throat. He didn’t resist him, just stared tiredly. He didn’t really expect much out of him, he already knew he wouldn’t be saying much.

“She really fucked up both of you, huh…?” He murmured, adjusting the collar around his throat, making sure it wasn’t too tight. When he let go of him he at least wasn’t holding his throat anymore, arms pulled in close to his chest.

Before leaving the room he got down on his knees, searching under the bed for the box he knew Zander kept there. Typically, he wouldn’t take something from here, those were the few things that he allowed Zander to have and even if he threatened it, he wouldn’t take them away from him. This was a special circumstance though, sure enough he found the pill bottle in there. He wasn’t sure how many pills had been inside to start with but he knew Zander had already taken a few, a new one as soon as the last dose wore off. It was better to get him off it early than let him go through the whole bottle, better to let the effects hit him now and be done with it.

He couldn’t help but feel somewhat guilty when he left him alone, going back to Wren. He knew that he hurt his dogs, often, but he didn’t expect this to happen when he left them with Vanessa, at least, not to this extent. He thought it would actually be a break for them since he would be gone the whole weekend, but instead Vanessa just made it hell, when neither of them had deserved it. She hadn’t been retaliating or punishing them, it was all for fun and there was nothing any of them could’ve done about it, and he couldn’t help but feel bad that they had suffered when he didn’t intend it.

There was nothing that could be done now though, it had already passed. They were both already hurt, they both already suffered, and for once, he didn’t need to add on to it. All he could really do was make sure that Vanessa never had a chance alone with them again.

#whump #my writing #my oc's #Zander #Wren #Cain #Vanessa #aftermath of whump #some caretaking #aftermath of noncon #Cain actually Cares for his dogs

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shittyfandomimagines · 5 years ago

Text

Time- SM

Based off of bits and pieces of NF- “Time” ... song is a bop!

Gif creds to owner

Chord progression for a new song, that’s all you have to do tonight, Shawn. Just finish this and you’ll sleep for at least 8 hours, more than you’ve gotten in a week. — that’s all I’ve been saying to myself for a hot minute now.

I had one version of a progression, but it didn’t feel right, so for the last hour, I’ve been playing different cord combinations to feel something about this song. Nothing felt right with this night, this song, and probably this whole fucking month.

“I made you some supper if you want any, if not I’ll put it away.” Y/n’s head popped inside of the music room, my eyes drifted towards her sullen appearance. I thought I felt sleep-deprived, but she looked it.

“I’ll come down there now, I’m starving.” I saw a quick smile reach her eyes, I could tell she was worrying herself sick about me, I get so entrapped in music that I forget I’m a human with basic needs, like eating.

I followed her down the stairs, she grabbed plates out of the cabinet for us and started to assemble each one.

Baked chicken, Mac n cheese, and scalloped potatoes? A blessing.

She handed my plate over and she took hers too as we made our way to the table.

“What’s your big plan for tomorrow?” She asks while taking a bite of the potatoes. “I have to be up around 4 am, go to the studio with the team for a while, and then a press session with the radio at 1:30,” I tell her and I see some more happiness leave her body, the sullen look was back.

“That’s exciting! New song coming along well?” She even sounded uninterested in the conversation. “Kinda in a rut, I don’t hear or feel the sounds that need to encapsulate the lyrics of my new song,” I explain, even though she probably doesn’t care.

“Maybe you need to stop trying to find it and let it find you. You’ve been working so hard that you’ve burned yourself out this week. Try playing without a reason besides what your heart says instead of your head.” Well damn, maybe she does care. I don’t know why she would, all I do is work and don’t show her the right way that I love her.

“That’s true, you’ve alwa-“ I was cut off by my phone blaring Andrew’s designated ringtone, she knew it too because I could see the disappointment.

“What now?” I ask as soon as I answered, I heard Andrews grunt.

“We need you to come to the studio, we need a meeting with all of the crew about tomorrow’s session with the radio station.”

“That doesn’t make sense? We’re all meeting tomorrow beforehand!”

“I understand, but 2 of the guys won’t be able to make it tomorrow morning, but they can come tonight, so let’s just get this over with so you can go back to being grumpy at home.”

“Whatever, bye.”

I look up to see her disapproval, but she doesn’t say a word as she gets up with the plate in her hand.

“I’m sorry that I can’t finish dinner, if you put it away, I’ll eat it as soon as I get home.” I was nervous to even talk to her, I knew she was pissed; I could tell in the way her left eye was starting to twitch in the slightest way, it mostly happened when pissed or stressed... now it’s both.

“I live to serve.” She mumbles as she grabbed a few ziplock bags, I knew she was pissed, but all it did was make me angry too. I wanted to stay at home and eat a nice meal with my girl.

“I don’t know what you want me to do, I can’t say no to the team.” I snapped and she just looked up, no words left her lips but the look on her face did. It was probably telling me to shut the fuck up.

“Plus, I don’t have to stay in this house 24/7 like you do. Does it not get boring being in this house all day, every day?” I was being bitter and I just continued to dig a bigger hole.

My existence felt like word vomit, I was just spewing out hateful shit and I didn’t even know why. My heart quaked when I saw a tear fall down her cheek, just one though, and she wiped it off hastily before it had the chance to fall onto the counter.

“It does get boring since you asked. It gets boring waiting for a guy to love me, show that he has a heart. To feel like I have to be ready to pick you up at any chance because the work stress is too much, but I know damn well I won’t get any love in return. It gets boring being at the end of the fucking road with your bullshit! So please, by all means, Shawn, leave before you get bored too.” She yelled, I haven’t heard that type of voice since we had our big fight while on tour, so that alone made me anxious.

Then she called my biggest bluff in my attitude, she pointed out my work stress. The stress that had lead to so much anxiety. I felt bad that she knew I was bound to break any day, I could see it causing her just as much anxiety for my wellbeing. I cause her more pain than I ever wanted to.

“Maybe I’d be better off alone,” I said it before I even thought of the consequences of my words.

A string of 6 words and 23 letters that had no absolute truth caused such a look of disdain on her face. I saw a few more tears drop and her lip trembled slightly, I felt my heart shatter.

“I fucking hate you, please fucking go.”

I never felt such a heaviness in my heart until she said that, as I’ve always known our arguments hurt; but that literally broke me. She had so much conviction in her voice that I could tell a part of her meant it. I think?

I walk to my car, chest hurting and mentally debilitating.

——

After a pointless 2 hour meeting and side advice from Teddy, who could tell I fucked up somehow, I was ready to be home to my girl. To apologize all night and to hopefully come home to her still living there.

I walk into the big apartment, the smell of lavender and eucalyptus roaming through the halls. I smiled to myself because I knew she probably had like 4 different diffusers on.

I made my way through the halls, no hot girl in sight.

“Baby?” I call out and there still wasn’t any movement, so my anxiety automatically started filling negative thoughts in my head.

I rushed to our room, hoping to find her asleep, but I didn’t- so more panic set in. I searched everywhere with no luck, until the last spot (where I thought she would not be because we never used this room), the guest room. I chuckled to myself when I saw the eucalyptus oil beside the bedside table.

I could tell she was fucking pissed when she fell asleep, her forehead had creases in it and her face was still scowled.

“Baby, c’mon, wake up. You hate this bed and you need to sleep properly.” I shake her body slightly, she grunted lowly before I started to lift her. She was in my arms and halfway down the hall before she actually woke up, her body jumping with anxiety.

“What the fuck!” She jumped up quickly, I suppressed my laugh as I waited for her to stop trying to leap out of my arms.

“You hate the guest bed so I’m taking you to ours. I’ll sleep on the guest bed or whatever.” I say and she just finally gives up the fight, but I knew I’d probably be up all night with my thoughts and half-assed writing.

“Whatever, just walk faster before I jump.”

—

The pain of my words hit a little harder around 1 am, I couldn’t believe I was even saying half of the shit that I did.

I wouldn’t even know how to react if she would’ve said the words I said to her, let alone know that she thinks I don’t love her or care about her. That’s what hurts the worst, is knowing she expects better but I just haven’t been up to her standards.

“You can’t stay up sulking all night, it’s bad for you.” Her voice cut through the dark music room.

“Can you see sulking in the dark or is it just obvious?” I ask and she chuckles, turning the light on in the room.

Her eyes were puffy and her frame curled inwards for warmth. She moved to sit on the edge of the plastic chair by the door. It stayed silent for at least three minutes.

“I don’t hate you, Shawn. I really don’t. I wish I did though, so every time you left for a new radio tour, press conference, or plain tour, it wouldn’t be so hard on me. So hard on me to watch you leave so effortlessly, as I sit here waiting for you to love me just as much. I’m not saying that you choose between the two because you don’t, I wouldn’t let you anyways. It’s just that,-“ she took a really deep breath in, her voice started to waver slightly,

“It’s just that I can tell you’re about to break. Every day I see you look more stressed out and I can’t help you. You don’t speak but a few words to me, so I know I can’t help you. And I know we both say stupid things when it’s a heated argument, but you were right. Maybe you’re better off alone because I can’t catch you and when I do, I’m no good.”

That was it, the tears started to fall down my cheeks rapidly. I knew I hurt her, but goddamn Shawn, you broke her.

“No one in this world knows me better than you do, inside and out. I’m sorry that I make it hard to love me, I build walls up to ensure I don’t break down and I built those walls without you inside them. I’m sorry. There’s no way I could be alone, I couldn’t do it without you. I just need time, I know it’s all you’ve been giving me, but I promise there is a change coming soon. I know we’re mad and on a tightrope, but you know me. Please, I’ll always need you; you know the real me is a weak mess inside.” I let the words flow out of my mouth as fast as the tears fell.

“You need time?” She asks and I nod, I could tell her heart was still just as broken.

“Not away or solely with you, I’m still making progress with my anxiety, and even if it’s hard to admit; I need more help. I’ve got to talk to the team and make changes to my mental health for once. I know waiting is hard and if you can’t do it, I understand, but baby no one has loved me as you do, and the same from me to you. So baby please, give me just a little time .” I felt like I was coming off as some desperate kid, but her face softened so gently, she waltzed to kneel in front of me.

“Okay, time it is.” She kissed my hand softly, the easiest and most loving gesture I needed. And for a second, I felt safe again. No one understood me like her.

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fank0ne · 5 years ago

Text

ONE CHICAGO FINALES

MED:

The Marchexton (yeah, I did that) triangle. I'm so sad for April, I kinda felt it coming. It seems like she doesn't even wanna find an alternative method and that's totally understandable.

I didn't like Ethan reaction at the whole "I don't know if I want to have a baby". I mean, I personally don't think you can find a compromise on that topic, but what the hell Ethan, are you with her because you love her or because you want her to give you a bunch of little Chexton? And you give her an ultimatum? Fuck you, dawg! It's difficult to rationalize and I know it's not black or white, I get that, but still... I understand him, but I didn't like how he acted.

And if I side with April on that, I totally have to disagree for what she did later. I hate cheating, physically, mentally, whatever you got, I hate when people are dishonest about their feelings. I know she was trying to process the bad news and she feels like Ethan was not being supportive, I know Dr. Marcel is charming and all that, but these were not valid reasons for her to kiss Crockett. I'm sorry. You come clean, you tell your partner how you feel, you talk to him/her about what to do next, then you get to do whatever the fuck you want.

Daniel and Cece. Damn, seeing Dr. Charles cry broke my heart. His relationship with Cece is so adorable, though I have a feeling is not gonna last any longer. Cece is really sick, unfortunately. Oh, hi Robin! I'm now used to seeing Mekia on The Rookie, didn't think she would made an appearance on Med anymore.

Maggie and Ben. Ben wasn't actually dying! I wanna see their relationship improve, but I don't wanna see Maggie acting like a dumb fool who doesn't have a functioning brain. She needs to get it together and stop being unreasonable.

Manstead is over. Is it, though? I wanna make sure we're done with this nightmare of a relationship for good, I don't don't wanna be surprised at the end of this season.

"I have been so unfair to Will" well, I'm glad you realized that, Nat! It's funny to me that she was saying those things while Elsa was next to her and, you know, Elsa has a crush on Will (though she's still the gayest character on Med to me), allegedly.

"We aren't good for one another, all we do is hurt each other. (...) I feel free" wow William, took you long enough to understand that, but I guess we made it. I'm so glad he's the one who said those words and I'm pretty sure he really means them. He looked so at peace with this realisation, it really made me happy. My cute baby!

FIRE:

Stella. She had to make an accident to admit that she needed to slow down a little bit. I swear to God, seeing her all agitated at doing multitasking almost triggered my anxiety, I'm not even kidding.

Aw, Boden apologized to her. I love that he told her that he respects her and her potential and that he himself should've done better than this. It was cute.

Dawsey. Why the fuck did Gabby come back for? I still don't get it. I don't wanna be mean or anything, but that visit was totally uncalled for and pointless. What kind of closure is that? Just say you wanted to fuck one last time, don't try to come up with fake deep excuses. I don't know, it was good to see Monica again (God, that woman is so gorgeous, it's unfair), but Gabby could've stayed in Puerto Rico.

Ouch, I saw Sylvie's bummed face and god do I know that feeling! I'm still not 100% sure about Brettsey (mostly because Matt doesn't seem to know what he really wants yet), but we'll see.

Thank you Matt for mentioning Antonio! It seems like he's the only one who hasn't forgot about him. Yes, I'm being super petty.

Gallo and Ritter. Unless they show me who tf Ritter's boyfriend is, I'm still going to believe it's/ship him with Blake.

Crotis forever! I'm so glad they're still talking about Brian and not acting like he wasn't an important part of 51. His friendship with Joe is one of the best things on the show.

Severide. That lady at OFI... sis has taste, that's all I can say. I wish Kelly would explicitly mention that he has a girlfriend so that woman (I'm sorry, I didn't get her name) would know what boundaries she shouldn't overstep.

The last scene... can you give this man a break? Just when he has a little taste of tranquility in his life, boom!, something happens. I love drama, though, so I'm digging whatever is coming, for sure.

PD:

That Buzerk convo... what tf was that? Awkward, almost cringe-worthy. Yikes.

Jay's undercover name has changed. Goodbye Ryan, say hello to Jim!

"Jay's going through a few things" when isn't he, though? Drama is his second name.

I know he wasn't thinking straight and he wanted to come clean for whatever reason, but, damn, he's so stupid sometimes. Of course Angela was gonna rat him out/want him dead if he told her he's a cop - the one who basiclly got his husband killed.

Hailey. I loved her. I absolutely adore how she's got Jay's back no matter what and, damn, the fact that he was kidnapped really got to her. She was pissed, worried, angry... we've never seen her like this, at least not to this extents! I actually liked to see Adam comfort her. I totally ship Upstead (like, I would literally die for them), but I like the fact that Adam is still somebody she can rely on.

I swear to god, when she broke that cup a shard went into her eye, I SAW IT. How come she's not blind?!

I kinda missed seeing Voight beat the shit outta people in that cage. It was nice to witness it again. LOL

Angela, I swear to god, if Voight or Hailey don't kill you, I Will (Halstead - get it? It's fun, leave me alone).

Guys, I honestly thought it was gonna be like when Kev got kidnapped and nothing extreme happened, apart from his injured leg, but that bitch really shot my son Jay! I thought he was gonna trick her somehow into giving up that gun, but it didn't happened... which is fine by me, because yeah I love my man, but I wanna see him suffer too. Sounds fucked up? Hell yeah, it does. Do I care? No, I don't. Give me my whump!Jay/Upstead content and I'll be happy.

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longinglook · 5 years ago

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I’m answering a bunch of asks about this episode under a read more to avoid spoilers/spamming everyone’s dash with a ton of posts, so if you’ve sent me an ask and I haven’t answered it yet, it’s probably down here!!!!

angry fighter looks hot af but at what cost 😔

they could have kept it. i’m ready to give up angry fighter and naked showering fighter if they take back what they did

not at how i'm more invested in fighter and tutor's relationship than my own but to be fair me and my boyfriend have been together for like 6 years lol and thankfully we know how to communicate

goals omg... where do i get a long lasting relationship with someone who can communicate and is okay with me caring more about a fictional couple than anything else please tell me your secrets

"i don't love you anymore" hurt us more please

I felt so numb at that point I didn’t even register the pain...

The LineTV version will be worse but we saw how it will end so I can finally breathe a sigh of relief I knew Tutor would push him away at least they got that right and his response hurts so much but after what Fighter did in that scene it makes sense "If you ask me rn I don't love you anymore"

Yup the linetv version was indeed worse. I found it interesting how Fighter stopped because of Tutor’s words and not because he was pushed away. Apart from the whole bed scene which I hated and I will talk about it more in a different post, I also disliked A LOT how Fighter doesn’t apologize. He cries sure, but he’s crying about the breakup, he doesn’t seem to regret or realize how bad what he just did is.

tutor gave him the necklace back but he still has the nametag and string maybe it was a mistake to watch the episode after all

honestly nothing of this episode made sense from a narrative standpoint

electric chair for fight's dad i don't even care at this point just k word him

agreed, it’s all his fault he deserves to rot but also make sure he hasn’t disowned Fighter yet before he d words

Right, I'm sitting down with a large, very strong margarita (which my girlfriend made me, rolling her eyes and saying "what the hell is it with you and these Thai boys"?) and opening the LineTV subbed link. See you on the other side!!

[adele voice] hello from the other side! I wish I had alcohol or a girlfriend to keep me company thoughout this mess

now that deleted scene makes more sense, it explains a bit more why fighter would completely lose it when tutor uses that kid to make him jealous. tutor's plan and the whole scene following it was bullshit but series add some random shit for drama all the time so why am i even surprised. at least he stopped, they talked and tutor told him off. still don't get why it was necessary. him just breaking down in front of tutor would have been enough.

IT WAS COMPLETELY UNNECESSARY!!!!!!!! THIS IS WHAT MAKES ME MAD THE MOST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IT WAS CLEARLY JUST AN EXCUSE TO CREATE MORE DRAMA IN A CHEAP TASTELESS WAY! oh my god you guys I am so upset, I will write more in another post but. I can’t believe they thought this would be a good idea. It completely ruined the rest of the episode for me. The conversation they have right after could have worked just fine without the ab*se, it was a good conversation, Fighter telling Tutor that he has liked him since day one, that it took him a lot to take down his walls and come to terms with his feelings. ALL THAT SHIT BEFORE WAS NOT NECESSARY. NOT GOOD.

let's be real zee deserves a fuckin' oscar for his performance in the last episodes and todays saint too i was crying like a baby

zee was incredible. last week saint was mvp for me, but this week zee was insane. the scene with his father was so well done. I dodn’t cry because I was extremely upset, and still am, and I didn’t enjoy the episode at all. But I can recognize the amazing performances that Saint and Zee gave us today

the author said she talked to the director and he wants to re-shoot many scenes because he want to emphasize on more pain for both couples??? sir i think we had enough pain thank you very much

the only thing that I want them to shoot is a fucking apology video for thinking this was a good idea

fighter telling his father he sucks at love and that his wife literally ran away from him to be with another man made my day lol like why are you trying to judge someone's else love life when you suck at your own dude

that was amazing! while I was watching the unsubbed broadcast I was praying he’d come out or use the word gay. This wasn’t exactly it, but it still was a very very good conversation that I would have enjoyed more if part 1 hadn’t happened.

zee's acting was so good but i still hate they took that route for fighter like i'm super glad it wasn't romanticized and tutor did kiss him back at some point but that scene could have had the same impact if they just talked istg

yup! zee you’re doing amazing sweetie i’m sure it’s not your fault they made fighter do this. the scene was so incredibly pointless. no words

I know many people are talking about Part 1 as they should for obvious reasons but let's also talk about Part 2 because that was FighterTutor I know and love. Plus Saint was acting so cute like a cat it was adorable and all the little touches between them I just want them to be happy.

I... hated that scene I’m so sorry to disappoint. It felt so out of place after part 1, it made zero sense to have Tutor act that way after what he had said to Fighter and what had just happened. I’ve noticed that fevers tend to be used a lot in bls to show the sick character that this other person is sweet and caring and it’s just so out of the blue and a clear plot device to get Tutor to rethink... It honestly was so unnecessary considering that Zon talks to him after and I’d like to believe that’s what convinces Tutor to maybe fight some more for his happiness. Idk I found the whole chest rub insanely uncomfortable after everything that happened, Tutor was sick and feverish, idk. Also the joke at the start of that scene about Fighter taking advantage of him was AWFUL. WHAT THE FUCK.

no you are right the part with zon was kinda weirdly translated plus the whole text conversation which fighter was reading on part 2 (or was part 3?) isn't translated

the texts say something along the lines of “How are you? I saw you were very sick. I thought about P’Fight’s father. Can I suggest something? I say talk to Fight about his father. There should be a better soultion” (provided by google translate)

fighter reminds me of that one friend i had in college he would just suddenly disappear for days and then come back just to disappear again

I was that friend in college... you can’t just be emotionally available all the time, sometimes you gotta bounce

whyru season 2 with dew and his boyfriend but this time dew will run off all the time leaving fighter on his own

I agree with this

#ask #anonymous #text #meta

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she-is-tim · 6 years ago

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I love hating you | Elu enemies to lovers AU | Ch. 2

Previous Chapters: 1

Lucas is an angry, closeted and frustrated gay teenager, while Eliott is the handsome, smart and popular guy in school. They hate each other… but not forever.

You are surprising

Lucas woke up with a terrible headache, feeling sick. He walked to the bathroom, taking in a painkiller and brushing his teeth. He could feel the smell of sweat and alcohol on himself. His face looked like a car accident with some horseshit on top of it. He walked back to the couch where he was sleeping, he hoped that Mika has to work today, so he won’t be bothering him. Lisa usually spent the weekends in her room anyways. Manon was still upset because of her breaking up with Charles, so she didn’t really came out of her room during weekends either.

He laid down, trying to ignore the terrible sound of his “bed”. It wasn’t really uncomfortable and considering that he barely could pay the rent, it was more than he could have asked for. He pulled the blanket over his head. His legs felt numb now, his stomach was tiny, his chest hurt. He knew it was just his anxiety trying to take over, but it still freaked him out. Feeling so empty was just the worst.

As he was struggling with his apathy, flashes of last night started to hunt his brain. He barely remembered anything after the first joint he smoke with Arthur. He could feel a touch of warm hands on his shoulder, a nice smell coming into his nose, stormy blue eyes appearing in his mind. Lucas pulled up his knees to his chest, still staying under the blanket. He wanted to stop thinking about it, but flashes of Eliott just kept coming.

His happy smile, the way he looked at Lucas when they were in the bus stop, the feeling of his arms around him. His warm and strong chest, his messy hair and oh, those damn blue eyes. Lucas wanted to scream, rip out his brain and just throw it away. He was feeling everything and nothing at the same time. He hated this.

It was a real struggle going to school on monday, especially since he spend his sunday arguing with Mika. He was telling Lucas how lazy and useless he was around the house, that he was supposed to take care of the dishes on saturday and clean the bathroom, but he didn’t do it. Lucas was far beyond the point where he tried to explain things to his flatmate, because it was pointless. And Mika was also done with Lucas’ bullshit. They both knew that Lucas wasn’t being honest, but since the younger one refused to talk about his problems, Mika couldn’t do anything for him.

He walked to his locker, taking out the books he needed and putting in the ones he doesn’t need until afternoon. He was so busy with packing, he didn’t notice the person appearing by his side, leaning to the lockers, arms crossed in front of his chest. When he closed the door of his locker, he jumped back, looking like a deer caught in headlight. Eliott smirked at him, eyes sparkling like the summer sky.

“Morning.” He said on a soft tone, looking excited. Lucas had no idea why he was acting like this and he didn’t even wanted to know. “Are you okay?”

“Someone definitely overdosed you this morning, Demaury.” he said with a suspicious look on his face.

“I think it was you who got a bit too overdosed on friday.” he said, still with that annoying smile on his face.

“Thank you for reminding me of that.” he said, rolling his eyes. He was hugging his backpack to his chest, hoping that Eliott will finally leave, so he can breathe a little.

“You didn’t even let me get you a taxi. But I can see you got home safe.” he said, reaching his hand out to put a stray lock of hair behind Lucas’ ear. The smaller boy jumped a little, taking a step back. Eliott seemed to be amused by that. Fuck you, Demaury.

“Don’t touch me.” he said angrily.

Eliott was ready to answer when someone walked to them, punching his shoulder gently. It was Alex, smiling brightly, ruffling his friends hair, which made Eliott’s smile to turn into a grumpy expression.

“Morning, Eliott.” he said happily and then looked at Lucas, giving him a fistbump. “Morning, Lulu.”

“Good morning, Alex.” Lucas said with a soft smile, it always cheered him up how this guy was acting like Lucas was his younger brother.

“What do you want, dude?” Eliott asked a bit annoyed, Lucas was surprised how his enthusiasm were gone now. He seemed to be annoyingly happy just a couple minutes ago.

“I am not here because of you.” Alex said and handed Lucas the scarf he left at his place on friday. “Here, I guess this one is yours, Lulu.” He said smiling, ignoring the piercing stare he got from Eliott. Lucas smiled happily, he totally forgot about his scarf, and it was kinda cold today, so he will need it for sure. He grabbed it and stuffed into his bag.

“Thanks, Alex. I thought I lost it forever.”

“Next time make sure you don’t leave it behind.” he said softly, ruffling Lucas’ hair. The short one chuckled, he really felt like the younger brother of Alex, it made his day a bit less shitty.

“I will, thank you.”

“No worries.” Alex said and walked away with a big smile on his face. Lucas was still smiling, looking back at Eliott, who seemed to be really upset now. He tilted his head, looking into those stormy eyes. He’s so fucking handsome.

“What’s wro...”

“Whatever, I’m going to class.” Eliott said, walking away just as quickly as he appeared. Lucas was watching him a bit shocked and confused. He is just as weird as good looking.

Days passed and Lucas haven’t see Eliott much, only on their literature class, but he was strangely quiet, barely even said hi to Lucas. The small boy was a bit concerned about his behavior, not admitting to himself that he was actually worried.

On wednesday he got a message from his mother, a short verse from the bible, including the fires of hell and some other shit like that. Lucas tried to forget about it. He had to text his father to remind him that he needed to pay the rent. His parents were just the worst, even though his mother wasn’t like this on purpose, it felt like he had no one to rely on.

He was already very frustrated, so after his classes he decided to go to the common room. He had no patience to listen to Mika’s bullshit and he had no chores to do today anyways. He walked in, but the girls weren’t there. He was surprised, but also glad. It was nice to be finally alone, letting go of himself and forgetting the lies he was building each day.

He looked at the piano in the corner, right in front of that terrible mural. Daphné was planning to repaint it, she had a lot of ideas to redecorate the common room, maybe that’s why they weren’t here. He could remember Emma saying that they wanted to get some stuff for Daphné’s plans this week.

His steps were unsure a bit, but then he decided to fuck it and walked to the piano, sitting down on the little bench in front of it. He opened the key lid, looking at the black and white keyboard. He haven’t played in a long time now, since they didn’t have a piano at the flat, but he loved to learn playing the piano, making his mom smile with some silly or happy music.

He was searching for melodies in his head, he remembered a complicated piece from a couple years ago. He was supposed to go to a competition with it, but his mom snapped just a day before, so he had to take care of her. He put his fingers on the keys, they were cold, but made him feel warm in his chest. A bit of nostalgia crawled its way up inside him and this time he let it to take over. He took a deep breath and started to play.

His mind got lost into the song, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the freedom he felt spreading in his chest. He forgot about his pain, his worries, his lies, he was just living with the music his fingers created on the instrument. It was really magical and he felt sad when the song ended. He wished it could go on forever, to just sit here and keep playing the piano until the end of the world.

He stopped playing, opening his eyes when he heard slow clapping, he jumped, turning around quickly to see Eliott Demaury himself standing in the door of the common room. He was standing there a while now, cause his bag was in front of his legs, not on his back. He was wearing dark jeans that were ripped at the knee parts, a black shirt and his usual hoodie jacket combo. But the thing that catched Lucas’ attention was his stunning smile and those piercing eyes. They were filled with so much emotion, focusing on Lucas like he was the only person on the whole world.

“That was awesome.” Eliott said after a minute of clapping.

Lucas didn’t know what to say, just watched as Eliott grabbed the straps of his bag, walking inside and closing the door behind him. He felt his heart beating faster as the boy got closer and closer. Finally he was standing in front of Lucas, looking down at him, still with that weird expression on his face. He couldn’t decide what he saw in those eyes, they looked like the sea on a really windy day, filled with waves of emotions.

“You are surprising.” he said, looking into Lucas’ eyes.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone to hear it.” He mumbled, finally able to find his voice, but that was basically all he could push out. He was just in total panic thanks to the tall boy, stading so close to him. His neck was hurting because of looking up at him, but he didn’t wanted to break eyecontact.

“Didn’t know you can play piano. I wonder if there’s anything else you keep in secret.” he said with a soft, teasing smile.

“Not like you don’t know it already.” Lucas said, pointing out how Eliott knows about his sexuality.

“That was more of a guess. And you made my suspicions turn out to be right with how you reacted to me.” he said smiling. Lucas could punch him in the face. How dare he be so stunningly sweet? That was illegal.

“I hate you so much.” Lucas mumbled, blaming his own stupidity for letting Eliott indirectly know that he is gay. The tall boy chuckled, running his fingers through his own hair, looking at Lucas happily.

“I know that.” he said smiling.

“Why are you here?” Lucas couldn’t find a better question to ask, his brain was fucking him up so bad. Eliott’s smell was crawling into his nose, the flashes from friday night started to haunt him again. He remembered Eliott’s arms around his body, holding him so carefully, but still strongly. He remembered the warmth of his body and his breath on his neck. He got goosebumps just thinking about it.

“I was on my way going home, then I heard the music. When I saw you sitting here, playing the piano... I just couldn’t leave.” he explained.

Lucas felt his heart skipping a beat, he couldn’t tell why, but it made him happy that Eliott wanted to stay and listen to his music. They were staring at each other for long minutes, he had no idea who took the first move, but their face was so close now that he felt Eliott’s breath on his lips. He closed his eyes, lips opening a little. He was just following the moment, not thinking about what he was about to do. Their lips almost touched, when they heard a loud banging.

Eliott pulled back, putting his bag on his shoulder, looking really lost and avoiding to look into the other boy’s eyes. The girls walked into the common room, bringing lots of special stuff with them, chatting and laughing loudly. They were already inside when they noticed the boys. Lucas quickly closed the lid of the piano. Manon and Emma were too busy talking, but Daphné smiled at them softly.

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting of you guys to be here.” she said softly. “We got some supplies to redecorate the common room.”

“That’s amazing, Daphy.” Lucas said softly, trying to forget about that moment with Eliott, which was hard considering that said boy was standing just a few meters away from him.

“I was just... I heard you wanna repaint that shit.” Eliott said, pointing at the mural. “If you need help with it, I can try to make something better to cover it.” he offered with a little smile now. He looked at Lucas, who was staring at him in awe. Eliott repainting the mural? How can he be so fucking perfect?

“Oh really?” Daphné asked with that bright smile of her. “That is so generous of you! I would love that.” she said excitedly. “I was actually worried, since I didn’t wanted to just repaint it to a certain color, but none of us is really the artistic type, y’know.” she said looking at the girls. They were packing stuff out of bags and boxes, discussing where to put all those, how to start the decoration.

“I’ll let you know when I have free time to do it.” Eliott said. “I gotta go now. See you.” he said, but when he said the last two words, he was looking at Lucas only, which made the boy gasp. Then Eliott disappeared behind the door and he stayed there with the girls. He joined them in the packing, trying to get into the conversation, so he wouldn’t be thinking about that he almost kissed Eliott fucking Demaury.

It was really late, Lucas was staring at his phone, more specifically a picture of Eliott on instagram. It was just a simple selfie, he looked into the camera, his hair was messy, he had dark circles around his eyes like always. He wasn’t smiling, well not the way he smiled at Lucas. It was just a half-smirk playing on his lips. The caption said: “Missing you”.

He posted it like 6 hours ago, not much after he left the common room. People in the comments were freaking out, mostly girls. They were guessing who the caption could be about, asking questions, but Eliott didn’t reply to any of those. Lucas didn’t know what to think about all this. He had a weird feeling that the caption was about him, but he didn’t wanted to think about that. He can’t have feelings for Eliott, not a good idea. What if I already feel something?

Lucas showed his phone under his pillow, closing his eyes, but all he could see was Eliott’s face. His eyes while he was clapping, smiling at Lucas. His face before they leant close to each other. The smell of Eliott kept haunting him, it was infuriating.

He spent long hours, suffering from his own thoughts. This caused him to sleep only 3 or 4 hours. He drank two mugs of black coffee in the morning before going to school. It wasn’t the best idea, but he had to stay awake and function in school somehow.

Literature was his third class, but Lucas still looked like a walking dog poop. His eyelids tried to close every fifth minute, his limbs felt heavy, he sat down to his place, totally not noticing that Eliott is there. His mind could only process one thing at a time, and that was him trying not to fall asleep.

He jumped a little when a warm hand touched his shoulder, looking to his left and seeing Eliott made his face feel suddenly really hot. First he thought it was embarrassment, but then he felt dizzy, not understanding what Eliott was saying to him. His eyes closed, his body was falling, ending up in strong arms. They everything ceased to exist and Lucas enjoyed the nothing surrounding him.

Quiet noises made him open his eyes, he wasn’t sure where he was, but he laid in a bed, having a blanket on him, but still wearing his indoor outfit, so he was definitely not home. His eyelids felt heavy, his head was spinning, but he slowly opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was a pair of blue eyes. His heart was fluttering of the thought that Eliott was there with him.

“Hey, how are you?” he asked softly, he looked relieved now that Lucas was conscious again.

“I feel dizzy.” he said honestly, struggling to put his body into sitting position. He could see that Eliott wasn’t happy that he moved so much, but didn’t do anything to stop him. “What happened?”

“You fainted in class.” he said simply. His eyes were dark, filled with worry which made Lucas smile a little.

“Yeah, that makes sense.” he mumbled and laid back on the soft pillows. It felt good to finally get some rest in a real bed and not on a goddamn couch. “Sorry that you had to take care of me.” he said now, hugging the blanket on his body, looking at every little expression the other one makes.

“Yeah, I had to carry you here, it wasn’t easy.” he said with a soft smile. “You owe me a lot, Lallemant.” the way he said Lucas’ name gave him goosebumps.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, you can make it up with...”

“Lulu!” Arthur, Yann and Basile stormed into the nursing room loudly, running to the bed, surrounding Lucas, asking questions, talking to fast for him to understand.

“Hey! Hey! Guys, I am fine, but calm down! I can’t understand shit.” he said, raising his hand to stop his friends talking. From the corner of his eyes he saw Eliott leaving, using that the boys were focused on Lucas. Of course he didn’t wanted to stay. Why would he wanna stay with such a loser as you, Lucas?

He told his friends what happened, trying to avoid mentioning Eliott. Luckily they were focused on the fact that Lucas fainted and asked if he was sick. He told them that he has some trouble sleeping, but other than that he was fine. Well, they were asking about his physical health, so he actually wasn’t lying to them this time.

He spent the rest of the day in the nursing room, resting and thinking about Eliott. He went home around 16:20, the school doctor made sure he got food, enough water and anything else. She was really nice to Lucas, which was a fresh thing after all the things he had to endure at the flat and from his parents.

He was laying on the couch, the others were either not home or working, he had no idea, but he enjoyed the silence. He looked at his phone and noticed that he got a message, it was a DM on instagram, from Eliott himself. He swallowed before he opened the app to see the message.

srodulv You still owe me Did you get home safe?

Lucas smirked like an idiot, seeing those messages and just enjoying the fact that this asshole at least a little bit cared for him. It was such a good feeling, his heart was beating faster, his palms were sweaty. He had to wipe them before typing a reply to Eliott.

lucallemant I’ll make it up to you, don’t worry I’m home now, laying on the couch

srodulv You should be in bed, not on the couch

lucallemant The couch is my bed

He wasn’t really thinking before sending that message. That was just so pathetic and lame. He ruined the mood totally and after long minutes without any sign from Eliott, he knew that it was a stupid idea telling the truth.

srodulv You don’t have a bed?

lucallemant there’s only three room in the flat and we’re four I am the one who got the couch

srodulv Isn’t that a little unfair?

lucallemant It sucks, but I barely can pay the rent, so it’s more than what I deserve

srodulv You deserve so much more

lucallemant Are you sure this is Eliott Demaury? I’m starting to think someone hacked your insta

srodulv Very funny Go to sleep, Lallemant

lucallemant Sure, see you

srodulv See you

Lucas put down his phone next to his pillow, but then picked it up again, reading their conversation over and over. He just couldn’t believe his eyes, but it was true. And maybe... just maybe he was right about that insta post. His heart started racing again, making it impossible for him to fall asleep, so instead he just went to Eliott’s profile, liking that last post. He closed his eyes, putting his phone down now. He haven’t feel so happy in a long time now.

Writers note: We’ll this got together fast, thanks to an idea of my best mec. I hope you guys liked it. I appreciate all the messages and asks I recieved! Feel free to do so after this chapter, I wanna hear your opinion about it. What do you like in it, what you don’t like? It would help me a lot! Bisou

#Elu enemies to lovers AU #Skam France #Elu #Eliott Demaury #Lucas Lallemant #Eliott x Lucas #I love hating you

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ashphoenix06 · 6 years ago

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Sweet Dreams Part 2

Schneep had been standing outside of room 209 for ten minutes now, unable to find the courage to face whoever came by this time. He has swiftly wiped away his tears before exiting the elevator but that didn’t stop his eyes from feeling the drain that crying causes pile onto his fatigue. Whoever was in there, he knew, would be able to see that something was wrong with him. His friends were observant that way. And he wasn’t too fond of their perception. They would insist that he take it easy or take some time off, which he absolutely refused to do. After all, a doctor’s work was never done.

He gripped the handle with a trembling hand but instead of opening the door, he rested his forehead against the cold door. Squeezing his eyes shut, he fought back the tears that threatened to spill out again. This was stupid, he thought. Sure, he has carried the guilt of that night for two years now but he had never broken down over it. He was the strong one in the group, the rock for the others to lean on. Schneep never had the need to cry with the others coming to him for guidance. That didn’t mean that he was a completely heartless drone, far from it. He grieved in his own way, in silence and alone. That’s how he worked… that was Henrick Schneeplestein… so why was is walls coming down now?

Gulping a few jagged breaths to calm his nerves, he straightened up and pushed on the handle. He had to do it now or otherwise he wouldn’t have the nerve to go in. This feeling made Schneep confused and angry with himself. What was going on today?

Stepping into the room, he took in the scene in front of him. The bland white walls with generic pictures framed on them. The bathroom off to the side that was just completely pointless to have. The TV that hung on the wall but was never turned on. There was no life in this room; it was just an empty space… except for the patient who had occupied it for the last two years.

Schneep first looked at the heart monitor next to the single hospital bed. The green line on the screen showed a slow, normal pulse. Same as always, Schneep though. It’s monotonous beeps were usually the only sound to emanate in the normally quiet room. The IV bag right next to it was half full, it’s contents dripping into the tube in an consistent rhythm. Schneep made a mental note to alert a nurse that the bag would need changing soon.

Finally having nothing else to look at, Schneep turned his eyes to the bed and his heart dropped to his stomach; which was the normal reaction whenever he first looked at his sleeping friend after a while. There, on the hospital bed, laid his dear friend Jack. For the last two years, after that terrible Halloween night, Jack had been the sole occupant of room 209. Schneep was just thankful at times that he was able to save Jack in time before he died from blood loss and lack of oxygen. At other times, as much as it pained him to think it, Schneep wished that Jack had died that night. If he hadn’t of made it, then at least the rest of them wouldn’t of had to endure this torturous hell for the last two years. And Jack wouldn’t of had to been stuck in this room, his life dependent on the machines that were whirling next to him.

Above all, Schneep regretted not listening to Jack weeks before that glitchy demon attacked. Jack had come to him personally, complaining of random blackouts when he recorded his videos and a constant feeling that someone was watching him, just waiting for the right moment. Schneep had written it off as jitters due to the horror games he was playing and also to the coming holiday. He told Jack to take it easy and maybe lay off the horror games for a while. And then on Halloween, he got a panicked text from Jackie, stressing that something was wrong and he need to get over to Jack’s place right away. Schneep had hurried as fast as he could to Jack’s house and the scene he walked in on still haunted him to this day.

Shaking the memory from his thoughts, he looked at Jack one more time. His friends face looked so peaceful in his slumber, his eyes fluttering every now and then under his eyelids. That was the reason Schneep hadn’t pulled the plug on his friend months after that horrible night. A brain scan had proven that Jack hadn’t suffer any brain damage or wasn’t brain dead; he was still there. He just refused to wake up… or couldn’t. That thought alone made Schneep shiver. What in the fuck did Anti do to Jack? It had to of been something very traumatic to make his dear friend hide deep inside his own mind.

There was a ping from the other side of the room that pulled Schneep from his thoughts. He turned to the source of the noise and felt his heart drop even farther. Sitting cross legged in the chair next to Jack was Chase, tapping away at his phone. He hadn’t even noticed Schneep entering the room, but the good doctor expected as much after Chase decided to take on the role of Jack in order to keep the channel safe from Anti. He had kinda hoped that it was Jackie that had come this time. He hadn’t seen his bouncy, optimistic friend in the last three days and Schneep found himself fretting over the boy hero.

Not that he wasn’t happy to see Chase. Chase was another one of his friends that he had managed to save from death’s black claws but his odds to survive when Schneep had removed the bullet from his right temple were slim if not near impossible. That had crushed Schneep, who considered Chase like a brother. But somehow, against all the odds, Chase had managed to not only survive from his attempt at suicide but also to not suffer from any permanent brain damage. Schneep remembered the day Chase woke up fondly. Jackie had practically sprung from his chair and nearly suffocated the groggy Chase in a bear hug. Schneep just watched in the background with a small smile as the rest of the group surrounded him. Everything seemed like it was going to be okay after that… but then Anti appeared and made Jack slit his own throat….

Chase stopped tapping on his phone and looked around the room, his eyes coming to a complete stop when they spotted Schneep. Chase gave him a bittersweet smirk and Schneep felt a chill run down his spine. His dear friend had completely transformed into a different version of himself after he stepped in Jack’s shoes. The once heart sick, depressed man now showed more confidence in himself as well as a more positive outlook on the world. This change should of made Schneep swell with pride, which he normally did… but he couldn’t help but feel a bit fearful. He didn’t want to lose the real Chase, which he knew was a silly thing to worry over… but still…

“It’s good to see you again, Henrick,” Chase said, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward in the chair. Schneep quickly dashed the dark thoughts out of his head and smiled back.

“It’s good to see you too, my friend. How is the channel holding up? Any plans for the new year?”

Chase shrugged as he leaned back into the chair. He could never stay still, Schneep thought to himself. He and Jackie were similar in that way except Jackie was more bouncy.

“Oh, you know, same old thing just in a new year. I think I’m going to work more on the channel this time around instead of traveling around like on the tour… but I’m still going to go back to LA for a while….”

Schneep nodded as Chase went on about his ideas for the channel. It warmed his heart to see his friend so passionate about something. He hadn’t had this drive in a long while.

He noticed the room starting to go in and out around him. What the hell, he thought to himself. Chase had stopped talking and was giving him a quizzical look. The small round scar on his right temple was revealed from the light seeping through the blinds, the only reminder left from when he shot himself.

Schneep tried to hide his sudden infliction by opening the red chart and practically cowering behind it. He cleared his throat as sweat began to form on his brow. Keep it together, he ordered himself. You’re stronger than this.

Something began scratching in the back of his mind but he ignored it as he read the charts from Jack’s file.

“So… so nothing has changed since the last time, I’m afraid… There is still brain activity going on but he just won’t w….”

“Henrick? Are you okay? You look like shit…”

Schneep dared a glance from over the file to see his friend leaning forward in the chair again, looking concerned. His whole body began to shake and he felt his balance waver a bit. His head felt hot as the scratching in his head intensified. What… the… hell….

Chase was on his feet and leaning over the bed. “Henrick, when is the last time you’ve actually rested? You look like you’re about to keel over…”

“I’m fine, my friend,” Schneep lied, “I don’t have time to rest… you know how it is… a doctors work is nev….”

“Bullshit,” Chase said, starting to walk towards him. Schneep felt himself taking a step back, grabbing the bed in order to keep himself up. He was fine, dammit… he was…

“...fine… I’m fine, Chase. Probably a twenty four hour thing but nothing I can’t handle.”

“Come on, Henrick. You know you can’t lie to me… you need to take a break and rest,” Chase pointed to Jack’s still form. “You’re not going to help anyone, Jack specifically, if you managed to run yourself ragged. I came here to check on you as well as Jack. You know, Jackie’s been blowing up my phone worried about you.”

“I saw Jackie three days ago, my friend, and he’s… he’s...” Schneep stammered. There was a quick flash of Jackie looking at him, tears streaming down his face. Schneep lost his grip on the bed and fell to one knee, his head pounding from the consistent scratching. He couldn’t get Jackie’s broken look our of him mind. He grabbed the sides of his head, his breathing coming out rapidly. He could barely hear someone calling his name, but it wasn’t anyone in the room. A memory? Jackie? Marvin?

“Henrick!”

Chase ran over to the good doctor and bent over to help him up. “Come on, man! Something’s definitely wrong! Let me get you into the chair and I’ll call for a nurse. Dammit, doc! You should start listening to us when we tell you….”

Doc? Did Chase just call him… doc?

He felt his friends hand grab his shoulder and proceed to try to lift him up. But Schneep was temporarily frozen. The minute Chase touched him, a flash of mismatched memories flooded his mind.

Marvin staring at him with pure hatred… Jackie yelling out to him, face all covered in blood…. Two eyes looking up at him with fear and horror, pleading at him to… to…

Wake up, Henrick!!!!

A flash of glitching…..

Those eyes fading to dull emptiness…..

“GET OFF ME!”

Schneep thrusted with all his might, pushing Chase away from him. Chase was caught off guard, losing his bearings and falling flat onto the floor. As he lifted himself from the floor, Schneep crawled over to the opposite wall, panting and sweating from the strain it was putting on him. He stared at Chase as he managed to get on his knees and turn to him, trembling from the flood of memories crashing down on him.

Chase look at him with a mixture of shock and sadness.

“Henrick… what the fuck is wro…”

“Stay away from me,” Schneep spatted, raising a shaking finger, “You… you just stay away!”

“Come on, Henrick… you’re not making any sense,” Chase tried to lean forward, his hand outstretched, “you’re obviously sick from overworking… let me help you…”

“NO,” Schneep screeched, kicking at Chase in order to keep him as far away as possible. Chase retreated back in order to avoid being kicked, hurt spreading over his features.

“Henrick…”

“What… What did you make me do?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Schneep used the wall to help himself get to his feet, though the task took a lot of energy to do. With half his body pressed against the cold surface, he looked Chase dead in the eyes.

“I remember…. I remember… Jackie… Oh, god! What did you make me do to him!”

Chase just stared in disbelief as Schneep pointed at him once again.

“What did you make me do? WHAT DID YOU MAKE ME DO?”

Here is part 2 of the writing prompt requested by @glitchbicth. It may have taken me all day and I may not have gotten the chance to proofread it through, but I was excited about writing this part! Part 3 will be out tomorrow. Enjoy!

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticegos #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticeye fandom #jacksepticeye community #dr henrik von schneeplestein #chase brody #jackieboy man #marvin the magnificent #fanfic #writing prompt

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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 6 years ago

Text

Part V - The Untimely Downfall of Strangers

THEN - Day 1228

Being home from rehab was like when you faked sick as a kid. Your parents would let you stay home, but soon you realized that you were so bored, school sounded fun.

There were days where I didn’t leave the house--maybe Sinead would bring me a smoothie or I’d sit on the deck. I did a lot of swimming, I spent time in the waves and I spent time just watching them crash.

When I first got back I immediately bought an easel. I bought paint brushes and paint and canvases and paper and I even bought an apron to wear--it made it feel more authentic.

I probably painted a hundred different ocean scenes. Some were stormy, some were calm, some were blue and some were gray. I’d drink coffee and watch netflix and I read 27 books.

I went through my clothes and organized my bathroom. I googled recipes and cooked enough food for six people, even though it was just me. Maya would come over after school some days--she’d have coffee or we’d maybe go to Geoffrey’s.

I wasn’t afraid to leave the house--I just knew that it was safer inside. I knew that if I went somewhere big and loud I’d get recognized, I’d get mobbed, even, and I just wanted a break.

I took naps and I’d drive to my mom’s house for dinner sometimes. I’d watch movies with her and Pete and Maya would get home late from being out with friends. I’d play with my mom’s dog and I’d play basketball in the driveway with Ben when he came home. Sara would have a glass of wine with me if she came, too.

At times I felt lonely, but it wasn’t the same lonely I felt before I went. It wasn’t the empty, hollow, aching feeling that lurked behind every corner and every forced smile. It was a lonely that came and went--sometimes it would be worse and I’d cry myself to sleep. Other times it would be short lived, tolerable, and even normal. Those nights I normally called Sinead and ordered take out.

I didn’t have a plan--I didn’t know what I’d do next and for the first time, that felt okay. I didn’t know what I wanted and no one else did, either. All I knew was that I loved to swim and I could make a mean stir fry.

NOW - Day 1706

I stood behind Nathan, listening to another mix of the song in my headphones. He was sat at the board, his fingers on the different levels to adjust them manually. The rest of the band had long gone home--Nathan and I were mixing the pieces we’d done.

“Lower,” I said, my eyes on the soundwave that crawled on the computer screen. Nathan adjusted the level of the bass, his fingers pulled the level down a tiny bit. “More,” I laughed, giving him a soft punch on the shoulder.

“You’re literally so anti-bass lately,” he paused the song and turned around, a smile on his face as he teased. “Rehab really changed you,” he said dramatically.

“Fuck off,” I laughed. I wasn’t anti-bass, I just didn’t think that the level needed to be that loud at that part of the song. The piano in the background was barely audible, I wanted to find the right mix.

I told Nathan earlier that I’d been seeing Harry. I told him about the burgers and the release party and the day we had lunch. He seemed intrigued and curious but he didn’t press.

We’d left things kind of ambiguous the night before--I told him I’d tell him if I got any questions about the album and I told him I’d run my statement by him before making it. Claire was planning on doing it soon.

He asked me to have lunch again and I agreed, but we hadn’t set a date.

Nathan had turned back to the board and started the song again. My voice came through my headphones and I listened to the words.

There’s always silence in the void and I kinda miss the noise of having you around.

I’d written the song at the one year mark. One year since I’d left and one year since I’d seen him, yet I still thought about him every day and I still felt like our story followed me around.

I was angry--I had been, at least. I was mad that he left and mad that I left and I missed him even though I didn’t want to. I was alone and okay with it for the first time, but I was still learning how to live with the loneliness.

There might as well be space right outside my window, is there anybody out there? Is there anybody out there?

I’m followed by your ghost, I’m stepping on your shadow, is there anybody out there? Anybody out there? I need you now.

We listened to the end of it--Nathan stopped the track and turned around. “Have you told him that you’re recording stuff?”

I shook my head, removing the headphones and walking to sit on the couch behind him. “It’s not serious yet,” I shrugged.

Nathan looked thoughtful as he swiveled in his chair to face me. “When will it be?”

I laughed--Nathan was my biggest fan. He loved every second of writing and recording and rewriting and rerecording. He loved when I found a weird noise by slamming a book to add to a track or when we came up with the right harmony.

“I don’t know, I can’t even think about that until the dust settles from his album.”

The first thing Nathan brought up when I walked in earlier was the article someone retweeted about it--the headline said something about my cold and heartless escape and Harry’s painful recounting of the break up.

Sinead had texted me about meeting with Claire tonight--Nick was eager to release something. My instagram had been bombarded to the point that I turned off comments--I figured it was best to just keep quiet for now.

“You seem pretty chill even though you’re getting the shit end of the stick,” he remarked, turning back around to click away at the computer.

I didn’t really feel like I had any control over the situation, and for once, that didn’t bother me. Harry’s album was done and written, and whether or not I liked how he portrayed me, it gave me insight to how he felt, what he thought, and what he wanted. At the end of our relationship it felt like we were totally disconnected--like we’d lost all communication and there was no way to fix it.

I felt more on the same page with him now than I ever had.

“It’s hard to be mad when there’s so much history,” I said honestly.

At this, Nathan turned around and eyed me skeptically. “Are you still in love with him?”

I rolled my eyes, leaning my head against the back of the couch as I let out a laugh. Nathan was always blunt and honest and I liked him that way.

“I don’t think I ever stopped.”

THEN - Day 1154

I was sat in my hotel room, a cup of coffee on the table in front of me. I was sure there was a piano somewhere in the hotel I could get my hands on, but I didn’t want to leave the room. For some reason, the walls surrounding me felt safe and comfortable.

It was almost midnight, I’d given up any hopes of sleeping when I laid in bed--staring at the ceiling for 45 minutes--without the slightest bit of fatigue.

Harry hadn’t questioned my request for separate rooms lately--sometimes I wondered if he felt the same way I did, but mostly I thought he just didn’t have the energy to fight.

I was hung up on the idea that I couldn’t talk to him--I couldn’t tell him how I felt, I couldn’t ask him what he thought was going on. He was someone I’d previously felt so connected to, someone who knew me so well and who could break through a lot of my walls.

I don’t think anything changed in him, really, I think I just started building them taller and thicker and stronger. The worse my feelings got, the more risky it was to tell him. The more I had to lose.

I strummed at the guitar in my lap, frustrated with the fact that I couldn’t articulate the flood of thoughts I was having. It felt confusing, like loving him was stupid and problematic and like it was time to give up.

It was rare that I wanted to write--most nights I went to sleep and ignored the guitar that was never too far away. At points this summer I’d gone weeks without writing, the thought of sitting at the piano and plunking out some chords felt draining and wasteful and pointless.

“I wish I was sleeping, black coffee in the evening,” I sang quietly, laughing a bit at the words. I strummed again, staring at my phone that sat open to a blank note.

“You know I’m not sleeping,” I sang again, tweaking the words a bit. “Black coffee in the evening, hands ticking past midnight.”

I reached for the phone, thumbing out the words to remember them before singing through it again. “I even miss the fighting.”

I kept playing, finding the logical progression for the chorus, but still unsure of the words. I knew I wanted to convey the idea that I was stuck--stuck in a spot of confusion and uncertainty.

“It’s a fool’s love, such a cruel love, loving you.”

NOW - Day 1706

Sinead was already at my house when I got back--she’d brought dinner and wine, and Claire and Nick both arrived shortly after I did.

We were sat at the dining table now, Nick finished stacking his plate with sushi before he came to sit. “So, where do we want to start?”

I looked to Claire--unsure of her plan. I mean, this was her job.

“I think we want to be honest, right?” She looked to me for confirmation before turning back to Nick. When I nodded, she continued. “We want to address the release and wish him luck--that kind of thing--but also address that songwriting is an honest thing. Some of those emotions might involve Margot.”

Sinead looked from Claire to me, waiting for my input. Nick nodded slowly, popping a piece of sushi into his mouth as sipped my wine and set it down.

“Margot is thrilled for Harry and the release of his album, but she wants you all to know that she’s not a complete asshole,” I spoke, earning a laugh from Nick as he rolled his eyes.

“Maybe not that blunt,” Claire shrugged. “More like, Margot wishes Harry the best of luck with the release of his debut album. While she realizes that songwriting is an honest expression of emotion,” she paused for a second, closing her eyes to think. “She asks for privacy and respect in relation to her previous relationship with Harry.”

I ran over it again in my head--it was honest, it was straightforward, it set a limit. I was sold. “Sounds good to me.”

“I can send it to People and Us Weekly,” she said. “I’ll tweet it too from the headquarters account.”

“Your comments are still disabled on instagram, right?” Nick asked, speaking around the sushi in his mouth.

“Yeah,” I nodded, poking some sushi on my own plate. “I think I’ll leave it for a while.”

Sinead ran a hand through her hair, “I think that’s a good plan.”

Claire pulled out a laptop and set it on the table, clearly ready to type up and release what we’d just come up with. Nick adjusted in his seat across the table, smirking at me over the vase of fresh tulips that sat in the center of the table.

“What?” I narrowed my eyes at him, unsure what he had on his mind.

He shrugged his shoulders, looking at his phone when it lit up on the table. He clicked it shut and then looked to Sinead. He smiled, looking to me once more before speaking. “You just seem in a good mood--you’re handling this well.”

I knew what he was implying, the smirk on Sinead’s face confirmed it. It wasn’t a secret that I’d seen Harry--I mean, Nick and Sinead watched me run off with him the night before to sit in a drive through parking lot.

Sinead--and her sometimes overbearing but in a good way nature--had asked me to text her when I got home, just to be safe.

“Alright, well, who knows where it’ll go--let’s just relax.”

Nick continued to smirk, still eyeing me and Sinead and Claire typed away at her computer. She looked up suddenly, intrigued by the silence, but just as amused as Nick.

“Are you going to tell him you’re making the statement?”

“Oh,” I said. “Yeah, I forgot. I can text him.” I reached for my phone on the table in front of me, pulling up the message thread with Harry and typing out my message while Sinead eyed me curiously.

“How’s the studio been?”

“Good,” I smiled and looked up at her. “It feels good to be in there--the songs are sounding really different.” I looked to Nick as the words left my mouth, wondering if he’d have a problem with a change in sound.

Nick had been my manager for five years--there was a woman named Nicole that I worked with for the first two years, but when I started writing more of my own music and breaking away (as much as possible) from the TV show, my label suggested Nick.

I didn’t think he’d necessarily have a problem with my music feeling a little different, but I knew he’d have questions.

“Different as in?” He crossed his arms, still peering at me over the vase that sat on top of the glass between us.

“A little edgier--I mean, it kind of reflects the last two years,” I laughed, earning a smile from him. I knew he didn’t expect the album to be all love songs and rainbows--that was the farthest thing from my experience over the last 24 months.

“It’s good,” Sinead nodded, reassuring Nick. “It’s kind of more alternative, still pretty pop, though.”

I nodded, agreeing with her description. “You’ll hear something soon, we can talk about plans.”

“Plans?” He raised his eyebrows, clearly excited at the mention of it. I guess I’d yet to really say if I had any plans, or if I even wanted any plans.

I rolled my eyes, not really that annoyed, but more amused by how supportive and eager he was. “We’ll see--I’m going slow.”

“Alright,” he held his hands up. “Slow it is.”

THEN - Day 1292

The water was cold and the sky was gray. It took a minute to get used to--at first. The waves were big for late March, the one piece I had on didn’t do much to keep me warm. I’d been staring at the ocean since I moved in at the beginning of February, but I hadn’t yet made the plunge--literally.

I’d never been much of a swimmer--in fact, the fact that you couldn’t always see the bottom kind of freaked me out. I had no idea what was there, what would happen. I wasn’t in control and I didn’t know how to fix that.

I guess I was kind of bored. I’d been painting and painting and reading books and watching movies. I was sick of sitting in the house, I felt the anxiety bubble up in me when my feet hit the floor, and I stared at the waves while I sipped at my coffee and ate my breakfast, I knew today was the day.

But here I was, floating in the same spot as different waves carried me closer to shore. I couldn’t touch, but I could see the spot on the beach where I’d dropped my sweatshirt and towel.

I felt alone, maybe more than I did before all of this--before leaving him, before rehab, before the summer, even. The sky was quiet and the beach was quiet and my mind was quiet.

I looked out to the horizon, there was nothing as far as I could see. The water met the sky in a transition of gray-blues, I wondered where he was.

If I closed my eyes it felt like I was just floating--maybe in space, maybe among the stars and hundreds of thousands of miles away from anyone I knew.

He didn’t love me--he couldn’t. If he had, he would have called, he would have asked, he would have done something.

He would have done something.

NOW - Day 1707

“You’ve got to stop doing this,” I said as I opened the door. I couldn’t help but smile, he had a baseball cap on backwards, sunglasses over his eyes as he strolled up the driveway. I’d heard the alert, I was making a smoothie in the kitchen when he pulled up.

“Right, sorry. You’re a planner, how could I forget?”

I rolled my eyes, stepping aside to let him in. My stomach felt nervous--not the bad kind, really--as he lifted his sunglasses to look down at me. “How are you?”

“Good,” I nodded. “I was making a smoothie. Is everything okay?”

He laughed, dropping his keys on the console table behind us. “Yes, Margot, I just came to see you.”

I smiled slightly--it felt strange, it felt like we were starting all over, and it felt scary a little, too. I headed towards the kitchen, happy that he followed behind me. “How’s everything going? You had more promo yesterday, right?”

“Yep,” he said, watching as I opened the lid of the blender to peak inside. The pink liquid seemed good enough, I popped it off the base. “Radio stuff, another talk show, the usual.”

I reached for two glasses--I knew he wanted some based on how he looked at it. He was quiet for a second, watching as I poured it into two cups and then let the blender rest in the sink. I slid a glass across the island to him and sat at a stool.

He came for something, he had a reason--but I didn’t know what it was.

I sipped at my smoothie, feeling more awkward as the seconds ticked by. He tasted it, raised his eyebrows in a compliment to my smoothie skills, and then set it back down.

“What’s up?” I asked quietly. “What is it?”

He watched me for a second, almost as if he were contemplating telling me what was on his mind. I knew him too well, I knew just by the look on his face that he had something to say but was nervous to say it. He did this when he was worried I’d be mad, upset, anxious.

He sucked in a breath and cleared his throat. “Well--I was finalizing tour plans with Jeff the other day, y’know, just looking over all of them.”

I nodded, my hand around the cold glass, my fingers almost felt tingly from the temperature. I knew that was coming--I knew he’d go on tour. I knew he’d have to leave, it’s not like his time in L.A. was endless.

“Okay,” I said slowly. “Is that all?”

He nodded, keeping his eyes locked on mine for a second. It was sunny outside--the morning clouds had given way to the 10am sun. “Yeah, I just--I hadn’t mentioned that I was leaving.”

“I knew you would be,” I said quickly. I didn’t want him to feel bad--I mean, it was expected, really. I knew the business like I knew the back of my hand, I knew that was his next step. “Why were you so nervous to tell me?”

I think my bluntness surprised him, he pulled his head back and blinked a few times, but then shook his head. “I just didn’t want to like--stress you out. I’m glad that we got to talk the other night. I guess I was worried that me leaving would--ruin this.”

This. I knew what he meant--this new thing we were doing. Talking like friends, him showing up at my house. Acknowledging the fact that the other exists and not pretending like the last four and a half years hadn’t happened.

I was annoyed, really, by the fact that he didn’t want to stress me out. There wasn’t much he could do about that. I also suddenly felt like if that were true, he wouldn’t have written an entire album about how much of an asshole I was.

Sure, maybe he had his own feelings about my anxiety and our relationship, but I knew that this wouldn’t go well if he was still tiptoeing around me.

My silence was telling, he let out a breath and met my eyes when I looked up. “You don’t have to be so afraid of me, you know.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Margot.”

“Well, then why would you come over here to tell me that? I know you have to go on tour. Why were you so weird about that?”

It felt strange to voice all of my questions for him out loud--this would have been the type of thing that I would be angry about but wouldn’t bring up. Harry and I--for as long as we were together--didn’t talk much about our feelings, no matter how much I think he wanted to.

Sure, we’d talk about things and sometimes those things would be stuff that pissed us off, but it was never very deep.

He seemed annoyed--he looked away from me for a second and took another deep breath. “Margot--I don’t know if you know this, but stressing you out or making you nervous isn’t fun.”

I rolled my eyes--it’s not like I thought it was fun for him. It’s not like being stressed or nervous or in that state of paralyzed uncertainty was fun for me. “I’m aware. And believe it or not you’re not the only person who actually has had to deal with that.”

He watched me for a second, his eyes narrowing as he got more annoyed by my anger.

“I know you wrote a whole album making yourself the victim--but have you ever stopped to think about how terrible it was to be me throughout all of that? I know I hurt you--I know you were in pain, and I’m sorry for that,” I nodded at him, pausing for a second to see if he’d try to cut me off. When he didn’t, I continued.

“But I was hurt too. I didn’t know how to deal with the fact that I felt like I was suffocating. Feeling that way wasn’t fun and not hearing from you wasn’t fun.”

I stared at him for a minute--the emotion so raw in me that I needed a second to catch my breath. It was exhilarating, really--I’d never been so honest and I’d never been so blunt about it. Despite the fact that he looked upset, it felt good.

“I know it wasn’t fun for you,” he said, his hand still around the half drank smoothie in a glass. “I was always trying to figure out how you felt, Margot, but you never told me. What was I supposed to do? Not feel my feelings because you couldn’t feel yours?”

“Do you see what you’re doing?! You’re making this my fault!”

This made him pause for a second, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if he desperately wanted to reroute the conversation. “I thought we were on the same page, Margot. What do you want me to do? You broke my heart and now you’re upset because you have to face the music--literally.”

I rolled my eyes at his words--of course I was upset, of course I was angry that I was being painted as the villain in a story where I was out of control. Of course that bothered me.

Whether or not I felt bad for Harry--whether or not I was sorry that I hurt him, I was hurt too. He walked away and didn’t look back--he let eighteen months pass without even a text to say happy birthday or to ask how I was doing. Maybe I started it, but he didn’t stop it.

“We’ve never been on the same page, Harry.” My voice was quiet, almost emotionless, just like before we’d broken up. I think this scared him--the words seemed to make him raise his eyebrows, he looked confused.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you should go.”

THEN - Day 1521

I was spending a lot of time at my mom’s. Maya was happy to have me around--when she wasn’t taking part in junior-year activities and hanging out with her friends, she was suffering as an only child with my mom and Pete. Me and Ben being out of the house meant they focused all of their attention on her.

I sat on the floor in the living room--I was painting my toenails on top of a magazine with my face on it. My mom had a habit of keeping those types of things, even though I didn’t want her to.

They were out for dinner, my mom and Pete, and when Maya had told me that she’d be home alone, it sounded like a good time for a sister’s night. She stared up at the TV, we’d had on the news, but it had just changed over to Entertainment Tonight.

The woman who spoke into the camera was someone I recognized--I was sure I’d met her somewhere, but I didn’t know her name.

I looked back down to my feet, making sure I was doing a good enough job.

“New tonight in One Direction news--Harry Styles is single and ready to mingle. The former One Direction pop star was seen out in London over the weekend, with a mystery blonde on his arm.”

I stared up at the TV while Maya stared down at me. “I can change it,” she said quickly, the nervousness clear in her voice.

“No,” I shook my head, my eyes glued to picture on the screen. His hair was short--I hadn’t known he’d cut it. He was with a woman in a short blue dress. She looked familiar, maybe someone he knew through the label.

“Some sources report that the blonde is just a friend, but it’s been almost a year since Harry and Margot Jones called their famous romance quits after nearly three and a half years.”

The picture of Harry and the girl disappeared, the shot went back to the woman with her male co-anchor. He smiled at her as if she’d said something hilarious.

“Probably time to move on, right? A year’s a while to pine after someone.”

“I agree, you can only be broken hearted for so long,” the woman said, her white teeth almost blinding on the screen.

It was then that Maya changed it--she flipped only a channel up, which was in the middle of some action movie. I turned to look at her, anger clear on my face as suspenseful music played in the background.

“Why did you change it? I wanted to hear what they said.”

“You don’t need to hear what they said,” she rolled her eyes. Maya’s hair was much curlier than mine--in fact, mine was almost flat and straight unless someone pumped hairspray into and worked at it with a curling iron. She tugged at the bottom of her ponytail and kept her gaze on me. “Is torturing yourself thinking about him your new past time?”

“No,” I said quickly. “Is it so wrong to want to know what he’s up to? I haven’t spoken to him in a whole year.”

Maya never wanted me to break up with Harry--and not because I was her ticket into every One Direction concert on the planet. Once Harry and I started dating, the band kind of lost their shock value to her--they became a mainstay in our life and in our house, really.

Maya used to spend her summers on tour with me and my crew--sometimes she’d tag along to see Harry, and she loved bringing her friends backstage at his shows. Now, however, at 17, Maya was the age I was when I’d first met him. She was mature and smart and she wanted to go to school for psychology.

“If you really want to know what he’s up to you should just call him.” She put the remote down and picked up her phone, obnoxiously making it clear that our conversation was over.

I felt the familiar feeling in my chest--the feeling like I’d soon be glued to the floor without any hopes of moving. I stood quickly, leaving her alone in the living room as I made my way towards the kitchen. I hadn’t seen much about him in the last year--I’d pretty much made a point to avoid that.

I didn’t look at the magazine racks in stores, I didn’t google him, I didn’t read things about him on the internet.

“Margot,” I heard Maya’s voice call after me, but I didn’t want to hear what she had to say. I could still hear the movie playing in the background, I went to the kitchen and hoisted myself onto the counter.

It was in this very kitchen that Harry had stood the day we met--the counter where Maya did her homework and through the window, I could see Ben’s basketball hoop.

“Margot,” Maya said again, she now stood in the doorway, clad in her favorite baggy sweatshirt and leggings. “I didn’t mean to be a dick, I just don’t want you to obsess over him.”

I felt the tears on my cheeks, and for some reason, I didn’t feel too embarrassed to be crying in front of her.

I didn’t have words to respond--I was too sad. I was sad for the fact that I lost him, sad because it had been a year, sad because he still hadn’t called, sad because I was still alone.

Maya walked over and rested her head in my lap. She didn’t say anything, she just let me sit there, and for a while, I just cried.

NOW - Day 1708

I was sat at the piano in the studio, playing over the bridge of a song to make sure it was right. Nathan was in the other room with Nick, I wasn’t really sure what they were talking about, but I knew it was about me.

Sinead had stopped by to see us--but now it was just me alone with the piano.

I was angry, angrier than I’d been with him before, mostly because this time, I was feeling everything. It bothered me that he didn’t understand--it bothered me that he couldn’t see things from my point of view. I knew he worked hard on is album and he knew I was happy for him, but he had to understand that I didn’t like being painted as the bad guy.

That had always been the consensus. That had been what the media decided when I went away and when Harry said something in an interview that he “wasn’t pleased with my choice” to end the relationship.

I wasn’t around to defend myself.

Now--this music, these songs, the potential album that I could make--I could defend myself with my version of the same story. My experiences and my feelings that people hadn’t heard.

Harry had every right to experience--he had the right to be upset that I left, he had the right to be hurt. But I had the right to mine--I had the right to feel left and to regret things and to be mad that I was the one who’d been deemed guilty.

The door to the board room opened, Nick came in with Nathan behind him. “How’s it coming?” Nathan asked, his hands on his hips as he stepped around Nick.

“Good,” I nodded--even though I’d yet to really finalize anything. “I have a question, though, Nick.” Nick looked up from his phone, almost surprised, but nodded for me to go ahead. “Can I do an interview about his album? Can I talk to someone about it?”

“An interview?” He asked--he seemed to be confused and unsure of my request. “What do you mean?”

I shrugged my shoulders, kind of processing my own request out loud. “I don’t want to be a silent bystander--I don’t want to sit here as if his side of the story is the only one.”

“You want to tell your side?”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing with the songs?” Nathan chimed in, his fingers tugged at his strawberry blonde beard.

“The songs are my side, and those will come out when I’m ready--but for now, I want to say something.”

Nick let out a sigh as he thought over my request. Nathan looked from me to Nick and then back. I sat on the piano bench, my eyes on Nick as he seemed to scan over our options.

“If we do that--and I said if--we’d have to go with someone who will respect your limits. We’d have to do it with someone who won’t go off script and will only ask the questions we approve.”

I nodded, I completely agreed with him. I’d never given an interview about it--I hadn’t given any interview since the fall of 2015. I was sure to be a little rusty, and I knew that people would be dying to hear anything I had to say about it. Finding the right person would be key.

“What about Ryan? We could have you do a thing on the phone--he’d definitely stick with a script if we asked him.”

Ryan Seacrest was part of the same management company I worked with--we’d done plenty of events and interviews together, and I’d come to know him well enough over the last seven years. “Yeah--I could call him with you to discuss it.”

Nick let out a laugh and rubbed at the back of his neck. “You’re doing this, aren’t you?”

I smiled--he was referring to all of it. The writing, the recording, the coming out of the shadows. He’d long been waiting for the day I wanted to do something--I mean, his job kind of depended on it.

Nathan, who was excited from the first day I came in to write two weeks ago, simply clapped a hand on Nick’s back. “We’ve got work to do.”

THEN - Day 1589

Ben was mad at my mom because she wouldn’t let him drink, especially because she’d finally let him have a few beers with Pete over the holidays. We were all out to dinner--me, my mom, Maya, Ben, and Pete, for Pete’s birthday, a fancy restaurant in West Hollywood, we had the back room to ourselves.

A few of Pete’s friends were with us--along with two women that he and my mom spent time with. I’d had a glass of wine, and Ben was really just jealous that my mom used to let me drink before I was twenty-one. Ben, who would be 21 in a matter of weeks, was going the typical thing he did--making me seem like I was the favorite.

“Margot gets to do everything she wants,” he rolled his eyes. My mom--who was annoyed that Ben was putting up a fight in front of her friends--gave him a threatening look. “Princess Margot.”

“Fuck off,” I said. “Don’t drag me into it.”

Ben had long made comments about me being the golden child--he’d get annoyed that I got special treatment by people and that my mom and I had a different relationship. Despite the fact that my mom would help manage my events and tours, she was still my mom. She still told me to clean my bedroom and she wanted to go on every house tour I went on before I bought mine.

But I think Ben had a point--it must have been hard to be either him or Maya. In a way, their world revolved around me. I was their older sister who everyone knew--they had people pretend to be their friends just for perks, for tickets, or for the chance to meet me. It sounds kind of dumb--to them I was just the annoying sister that made them play dress up or was too cool to help them with homework.

Ben refused to go to school for a few days his sophomore year of high school when pictures of me and Harry first surfaced. He claimed he couldn’t handle one more question about me from his teachers or peers--I couldn’t really blame him.

“Can you both just be nice to each other?” My mom asked, holding her wine glass in her hand as Pete placed a hand on her shoulder.

“If you both behave I’ll let you have some of my cake when we get home,” Pete raised his eyebrows, using humor to lighten the mood. Ben cracked a smile and I couldn’t help but laugh--Pete’s approach to parenting his step-children was to treat us like we were little, mostly because it made us realize how immature we were being.

I stood from the table to go to the bathroom, but I added, “I dibs a piece with the most frosting,” before turning away.

Ben let out a laugh behind me, “of course you do.”

Ben wasn’t wrong--he did have a tough go of it. He was the only boy, the middle child, and he had to deal with me being his older sister. He loved it in middle school--he loved the fact that all the girls really wanted to date him just in hopes of getting concert tickets, but the novelty of that soon wore off when he realized that he’d always have that label: my fame wasn’t going anywhere.

I rounded the corner of the hallway and walked straight into someone. When I looked up, a familiar pair of brown eyes smiled down at me.

“Liam? Hi!” I hugged him. “What are you doing here?”

He was dressed up--dress pants and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing more tattoos than the last time I saw him. “I’m in town for a few days, having dinner with a friend,” he told me. “How are you, though? How’ve you been?”

I forced a smile--the translation of his question was: how was rehab? Are you still fucked up?

“I’m good,” I told him. “I’m really good!” It wasn’t necessarily false--I was doing much better than when he’d last known me. I wasn’t as nervous and I wasn’t as sad. “I heard Cheryl’s pregnant, she’s due soon, right?”

He nodded, his smile stretching from ear to ear. I knew that Liam had long had a crush on his present-day girlfriend, but when they finally got together, I figured it would be weird to text him and congratulate him.

“March,” he nodded. “Can’t believe I’ll be a father--it’s weird, really. So much has changed since 2015.”

I looked up at him, a sudden wave of emotion washing over me. Liam had known me well--we’d spend nights playing video games on the bus and he taught me how to ride a segway on tour. He was right--so much had changed since then, so much was different and so much was lost.

I smiled again, but I think he knew he’d hit a nerve.

“Have you heard from him at all?”

I swallowed and shook my head. “No--I haven’t.” He was quiet for a second, almost as if he didn’t know how to respond. “Have you talked to him much?”

He shrugged at this, laughing a little. “We text here and there--we all have, even Zayn once in a while. I saw him over the summer--he wasn’t doing too well.”

My curiosity was getting the best of me, even though I knew it probably didn’t help to focus on what he was doing, how he was doing, and how he felt. “What do you mean?”

Liam rubbed a hand at the back of his neck, the look on his face told me he was contemplating how much to divulge. “He was pretty depressed for a while, after it happened--he didn’t talk to any of us until after the new year.”

I nodded, staying quiet in hopes that he’d say more. Niall had always tried to avoid the subject--he’d gotten so used to me shooting it down that he barely bothered now. Of course, as soon as he stopped bringing Harry up, I got more curious about him.

“We spent a few days with Niall in the states in July--he said that he’d thought about reaching out a few times but he figured you didn’t want him to.”

I bit my lip at that--he couldn’t have been more wrong. My mouth felt dry--I knew that emotion was threatening to bubble over.

“Who are you here with?” He asked suddenly, I wondered if his topic change was an attempt to avoid my tears.

“My family--” I pointed to the room they were in. “Pete’s birthday--you should go say hi. I was heading to the bathroom.”

“Yeah, I will,” he smiled at me. “I’ll go say hi.”

I nodded, offering another smile as he wrapped his arms around me.

“It’s good to see you, Marg. We should get lunch.”

The truth was that I would love to--I’d love to sit and talk and hear about how he’d been. Hear about his future baby, hear about his family and his songs and just talk.

The truth was that it’d be too hard--I couldn’t handle hearing about the life of his that had existed in the span of time since I’d walked away from Harry. It’d only remind me that I chose to leave him, to leave his friends, to sequester myself away from the people I’d loved most.

Instead of saying that, though, I forced another smile and walked away.

NOW - Day 1709

My cell phone sat on the dining table in front of me--Sinead and Nick were stood in the kitchen and Claire sat beside me. I’d spoken with Ryan about the interview--he’d ask me just a few questions about the album, about our break up, about my time off.

It would be short and sweet, I’d be able to say a few things, let people know that yes, I’m alive, and most importantly, I’d get to address the untimely downfall of Harry and I for the first time.

Seda, a production assistant for Ryan’s radio show, had called and told me I had a few minutes before they’d bring me on--now, she spoke into the phone saying that I’d be live in thirty seconds.

“Margot Jones, thanks so much for taking some time to chat, how are you doing? It’s been forever since I’ve talked to you!” Ryan’s voice came through the phone, immediately bringing a smile to my face.

“I know, I’m good, I mean, it’s honestly been forever since I’ve spoken to a lot of people.”

Nick rolled his eyes at this and laughed, leaning on the counter and watching one.

“What have you been up to? You’re in L.A., right?”

“I am,” I answered. “I’ve been taking a lot of time to relax, really. When I originally went on my break I had no idea how long it’d last, but it’s been really important for me to just kind of recenter and do a lot of reflection over the last few years.”

I smiled at Claire--reflecting on the last few years had been one of the phrases she’d helped me come up with.

“I think that’s great, I really do. I think it’s so important for celebrities to take time off when they need to,” he replied.

“Right, and I kind of learned the hard way, but I’m doing really well.”

“That’s so great to hear--but listen, I hate to do this to you, but I’ve got to ask about Harry’s album--I mean, you’ve heard it, right?”

Just as planned.

Claire nodded in encouragement, Sinead watched me closely and sipped at a cup of coffee.

“I have, yeah.”

“How do you feel about it? I mean, it’s gotta be tough to hear all of that--assuming that a lot of it is about you, you know.”

“Right,” I said, hoping that I could answer the question well enough. Claire and I had gone over all of it--we trusted that Ryan wouldn’t press too hard or go too deep. The topic was still strange and hard and weird. “You know--it would be extremely hypocritical of me to be upset with someone for writing a song about an experience we’ve shared or the way I made them feel.”

“True,” Ryan laughed. “That’s fair.”

“So, you know, if there are pieces of Harry’s album that are inspired by our time together, it’s flattering that I meant enough to him for it to be something he wanted to write about.”

Nick gave me a thumbs up, Sinead smiled enthusiastically.

“Of course, I get that--I mean I’ve never had a song written about me, I don’t think, but I can imagine,” Ryan laughed.

“How does it feel to be kind of painted as the bad guy--I mean, as we said, we don’t know for sure if these songs are about you--but it’s clear that people have kind of run with the idea that you broke his heart.”

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve long known that I can’t really control the way the media portrays me or what people say--but it’s definitely weird sometimes. I guess I just want people to remember that there are two sides to every story.”

“Well, and speaking of that--what’s you side? Are we going to be hearing about that any time soon?”

I laughed, I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist asking what I was up to now musically.

“We’ll see--there’s some movement, but we’ll see how everything goes.”

“Well, Margot--thanks so much for talking with us. It’s great to hear from you. You definitely know we’ll all be excited here in the studio if you release anything in the future.”

“I do, thank you so much, good to talk to all of you.”

We said our goodbyes and Claire was quick to hit the end call button, a smile wide on her face when I let out a deep breath.

“Was that too much? About multiple sides of a story?”

“No,” she exclaimed, “I think it was great!”

“It was fine, Marg, it was honest and real but very polite and professional,” Nick reassured me. He walked around the island and came to sit with Claire and I. “Good job.”

I knew it would get back to Harry--he’d likely hear it and send me some kind of text. I was still riding high on the anger--I was suddenly feeling empowered and strong and like maybe it was time for me to tell my side of the story, even if I didn’t know how it ended.

NOW - Day 1710

My phone rang in my pocket in the middle of the song. I normally wasn’t one to have it in the booth with me, but Maya had been having a bit of crisis over her two roommates. Sister duty called sometimes, even if you were busy recording your comeback album.

Nathan cut the track when I raised my hand, pulling my phone out to see the screen--but it wasn’t Maya. Harry’s name was on the screen--the same three emojis that he’d put in his contact one night in London the our first winter together stared me in the face.

“Hello?” I answered, pulling the headphones off and bringing the phone to my ear.

“Hi--have a minute?”

I looked at Nathan through the glass--whether or not I was technically busy, his tone told me that he was going to talk regardless.

“What’s up?”

“You talked to Ryan Seacrest,” he said, his tone straight and unamused.

“I did.”

He was still in town--he had tour rehearsals for a few weeks before he left for the overseas leg. Frankly, I was surprised he didn’t show up in person and burst into the booth. That seemed to be his M.O. lately.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to talk about the album?”

I walked over to the door--trying to get away from the microphone so Nathan didn’t have to hear my call. “I didn’t know I had to run everything by you,” I was defensive, and I figured he expected it.

“You don’t have to run things by me, Margot--I just wish you’d told me. I thought we were trying to be on the same page.”

That was news to me. I told him the other day before I made him leave that we’d never been, and with the way he was acting, I wasn’t sure if we ever would be.

“I don’t understand how you’re allowed to write a whole album about me being a terrible girlfriend and now I do one stupid interview and you’re bent out of shape--”

“I’m not bent out of shape, I’m trying to communicate with you.” He cut me off, “I want to be able to talk and to actually know how you feel.”

I let out a sigh--his words and the way he said them told me he was serious. He wasn’t trying to fight, he was trying to figure this out.

I didn’t say anything, mostly because I didn’t know what to say. I felt a heat in my chest that made it clear--I wanted to figure it out, too, even if his album made me sound like a jerk. I wanted to laugh with him at the stupid things his friends said, I wanted to drag him along to a family holiday party.

“Where are you? Can we talk?”

I looked around the room suddenly--I’d yet to tell him that I was recording. Telling him that I was in the studio would likely lead to him wanting to hear some songs. That didn’t feel fair--the only warning I got about his music was an email.

“I’m at Sinead’s house,” I lied--Nathan looked up from the computer and soundboard. I offered him an ass-kissing smile.

“Can I come over?”

“No,” I said quickly.

“Where are you?” He asked again--his voice sounded suspicious, he knew I was lying.

I let out a dramatic sigh. “Harry, I’m busy, can we just talk later?”

“Well now I kind of just want to know where you really are since you’re a terrible liar,” he laughed. I almost made a comment that he’d half-believed my lie that I was ‘fine’ for six months, but I didn’t really want to open that can of worms.

“I’m in the studio.”

Silence for a second.

“With Nathan?”

I rolled my eyes, pressing a thumb up to the sound-proofed walls. “Yes, with Nathan.”

“Are you recording?”

“Harry, can we just talk later?”

“Right, yeah, okay. Can I come over tonight? I’ll bring dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah, the meal after lunch and before bed.”

Smartass. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll see you then.”

THEN - Day 1627

The driveway alert chimed--I lifted my head, so much for relaxing yoga.

I wasn’t expecting anyone, but I figured it was Sinead. She normally came unannounced--and based on the fact that it was 8:15pm and I was hungry, I was hoping she brought dinner.

“Hi,” she called from the foyer.

I stood from my mat and started to roll it up. “Hey,” I said back, looking up to see her sticking her head around the corner. “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to stop by, see what you were up to.”

I leaned the mat against my couch, walking over to greet her. She had a takeout container in her hands. “Marty’s?”

“Marty’s,” she smiled, holding it up to my face so I could smell the food.

I turned to walk towards the kitchen. “How are you on this beautiful Tuesday evening?”

“Fine,” she said, placing the takeout on the counter as I turned around. The sun was setting outside the windows that looked over the water. I put my elbows on the granite--she was doing that thing where she had something to tell me but wasn’t telling me.

“What is it, Sinead?”

She smiled, momentarily contemplating if she should actually divulge whatever secret she had. A sigh escaped her lips, and then she spoke. “I saw Harry post something on instagram about a single.”

“Like a music single?”

She nodded. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I figured--with all the time off--that’s what he’d been up to. I looked down to the granite and traced a pattern with my finger. “I guess that’s not shocking.”

Sinead shrugged, “I guess not.”

He’d been saying at the end of the band that he wanted to do more music--something more him, more deep and raw and real. Unfortunately, at this point in the game, I think deep and raw and real would probably be about me and the way our relationship crashed and burned.

“Are you nervous?” She asked me, opening the lid on one of the containers. Steam from the food wafted up into the air in my kitchen as rain pattered on the deck outside.

“I mean--I’m not excited. I guess I’m kind of expecting the worst.”

I had no idea what to expect--it’s not like I’d spoken to him at all, so I had no idea how he was feeling and what he was thinking. Liam had barely given me much last month when I’d seen him, so I felt in the dark about the coming song.

Sinead walked over to the cabinet to get us plates. “It’ll be okay--I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”

I hoped she was right, but something in my chest told me that all the feelings I’d kept at bay for so long were about to come rushing back in.

The truth was that sometimes things don’t go the way you planned. Sometimes things don’t last and sometimes things just end. I stared out the window, watching as the sun slowly slipped beneath the horizon, fading out of sight, just like I’d done to Harry.

THEN - Day 1026

I thought that winning a Grammy would be the happiest day of my life. It was something I’d dreamed of for years--something that felt so surreal and so out of reach that sometimes, I told myself I shouldn’t even bother.

If it weren’t for the most monumental meltdown this morning, I’d ask Sinead to leave me alone, but I think she thought that if she took her eyes off of me for even a minute, I’d find a building to leap from or poison to drink. I was far from suicidal, I was tired and sad and nervous and done.

I considered not even coming--I considered not getting in the car to come down here and I considered just going home to my mom’s to sit on the couch and eat cold pizza. That was the only thing that really appealed, lately.

But here I was, sat in some sort of home library in someone’s fancy house in Beverly Hills--Sinead was staring down at her phone. Harry was off somewhere, three glasses of champagne in and with his tie untied around his neck.

The three Grammy’s were mine--but the excitement didn’t belong to me at all. Harry was thrilled, my mother cried, Nick was over the moon. Sinead was proud and my dad even showed up with his girlfriend. But here I was, sitting alone in a quiet room in a big house on a hill while everyone else celebrated me.

I played a E chord with my left hand. “I feel your arms around me, I think I’m giving up,” I sang quietly enough that Sinead wouldn’t be able to make out the words. It sounded okay, but the words weren’t right. I hit the keys again.

“I feel your arms around me, you say you feel the love, but oh, I feel alone.”

Sinead didn’t even look up from her phone--she was probably scrolling over the same email, pretending to be busy so I’d feel like for a second, the world actually was paused.

“You think you understand me, but I don’t even understand me at all,” I played an A chord now, “I feel alone.”

“Hey,” Harry’s voice sounded from the door--he stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. I stopped playing, bringing my hands to my lap and offering him a small smile.

“Hi,” I said quietly.

He walked around the pool table in the middle of the room and came to stand near the piano. “What are you doing in here? Everyone out there is so excited and happy for you!”

“I know,” I said quickly. “I was just--just taking a second.” Sinead had looked up, but when I met her eyes, she looked back to her phone.

“Why don’t you come with me?” He held out a hand for me to take. I only looked at it.

“Could I just have a second, actually? You can go with him, Sinead--I’ll be out in a few.”

At this Sinead looked up--her red lipstick matched the red of her dress. Her hair was curled and pulled to one side of her head. Harry paused for a second, almost as if he debating whether or not to argue my request. After a second, he turned to Sinead, held a hand out to her, and smiled.

“At least I’ll have someone beautiful on my arm tonight,” he joked. Sinead walked to meet him and offered me a smile over her shoulder.

“Come out in a minute, okay?”

I nodded, watching them walk away and close the doors--leaving me alone again.

I let out a sigh--sometimes a minute like this felt fleeting. Sometimes a moment like this felt uneasy, like I was waiting for someone to tell me I had somewhere to be, like if I closed my eyes and opened them, I’d wake up from a dream that thirteen-year-old me was having in Raleigh.

I played an A, hoping to have something of a verse for the chorus I’d just found.

“The rain starts falling when you’re calling me, why can’t you see?”

I liked the transition from A to E, the reverse progression of the chorus.

“I’m diving under water just to breathe,” I sang in the empty room, my voice echoed off of the walls and met my ears with emotion.

I’m feeling lonely, I’m feeling blue, won’t you please give me something?

Cause I don’t believe in your sweet nothing.

THEN - Day 168

I wiped at the mascara that was wet beneath my eyes--locked inside an arena bathroom in London as I cried into my hands. He was out there somewhere, out there with all of the people smiling, laughing, as if I wasn’t angry and upset.

I knew it was a thing--I knew he had fans that loved him and cared about him and wanted to meet him and hug him and tell him how important he was. My mom had brought it up early on--I’d talked with Sinead about it a handful of times.

I just didn’t know if would make me feel like this.

He’d acted as if I was crazy, as if every girl on this planet was fine with her boyfriend flirting with other girls, kissing them on the cheek, giving them a piggy back ride in a meet and greet. The problem was that not all girls were me, and not all boyfriends were him.

It’s not like I expected him to not be nice to them--it was his job to thank them and smile and pose and act as if he were just as excited to see them as they were to see him. Trust me, I get it. I’d been doing the same thing for four and a half years.

I’d asked him to just be mindful--he didn’t have to be a jerk or be rude or anything like that. I just wanted him to put himself in my shoes, to think about how he’d feel if I was constantly taking photos with guys and kissing them on the cheek or letting them pick me up. He rolled his eyes and said it was different.

What really did it, though, was when I told him that it made me feel insecure. I was honest, I was being real with him--it made me worry that one day, maybe, he’d look out into the crowd and find someone that he liked better than me. Someone who was more available, someone who could drop her life to follow him around the world.

He said I was being stupid. He said I was annoying him. He said I was being ridiculous.

If he’d wanted to tell me that I didn’t need to worry about that, there were certainly other ways to say it. There were ways to be reassuring.

I blew my nose once more and walked out into the hallway. They’d need to be on stage soon--I didn’t even know if I’d see him now until almost midnight when he was sweaty and too tired to talk.

“Margot? Y’okay?” Niall’s voice sounded from down the hall. Harry was stood next to him--his expression unreadable as I took a few steps towards them. Niall looked to Harry as if he were waiting for him to say something to me.

“I’m fine,” I nodded at him, offering a small smile in hopes of being convincing. He looked between the two of us for a moment but then made an excuse to leave. Something about checking the battery in his mic.

“You don’t have to make a scene,” Harry’s voice was low enough so others didn’t hear him.

“Excuse me?”

He let out an annoyed sigh. “Margot--I get that you’re upset, but what am I supposed to do?” People filed past us, the pre-show energy in the halls was up, people were getting ready for the show to start. He’d soon be whisked away by their stage manager.

“I don’t know Harry--I was telling you how I feel. It’s hard, you know. I just wish you would figure out a way to balance it.”

He didn’t say anything, he just stared at me as if I were speaking another language. I loved that Harry loved his fans--I loved that he was so excited to go on stage and to be able to make people happy, but it felt like he could only make one person happy at a time. And unfortunately for me, his job depended on him making other people happy every single day. It was never my turn.

“You have nothing to say?”

“If you can’t deal with my job then maybe this won’t work,” he said with a shrug.

My stomach seemed to drop, my heart beat immediately quickened and my mouth felt dry. It’d only been a few months--could we not even manage to get this off of the ground?

“You can’t handle my feelings so you want to walk away?” I challenged him, crossing my arms.

“Five minutes, places!” someone called from behind us. His eyes darted down the hall--Liam and Zayn fell into step with each other as they made their way toward us.

“I can’t talk about this now,” he said, adjusting his hair. “I’ve got a job to do.”

“No, you’ve got people to please,” I corrected him.

NOW - Day 1710

Harry showed up at my house at 7pm--I was hesitant at first when he brought take out and wine, I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff being pulled and pulled and soon I’d be free falling towards the bottom.

It was strange for a bit--he plated dinner and opened the wine while I sat at the island and watched the sun make its way towards the horizon. I could tell he wanted to know about my time in the studio, but he did a good job of playing it cool. He asked how it felt, he asked how Nathan was, and he even joked that it was only fair for me to write about him and to return the favor.

I was waiting for him to bring it up--the fighting we’d done the last two weeks, the fighting we’d done back then, the way we desperately searched for words to wound and heal each other at different times in life.

I’d brought him into the living room to show him a painting I’d gotten from Nathan as a gift when I got home from rehab, and we soon found ourselves sat on opposite couches. I was curled into the corner, resting the glass of pinot noir on my knee as I watched him.

“I mean, that’s the thing--right? I don’t think I’ve been in a place where I didn’t know the next step for the last five years. It’s nice to feel less pressure now, at least.”

I nodded--the feeling was one I knew well, but he knew that without me saying it. It almost felt like we were pretending--living in a world of make believe where I hadn’t left and he had called.

He was quiet--and I think it was the alcohol--but he rested his chin in his hand for a minute and stared at me. He had a look on his face like he did the night we hung out in my mom’s driveway.

“What?” I asked, adjusting on the couch. I sipped at my wine, busying myself to avoid the flush that threatened to find its way to my cheeks.

He shrugged, his smile tugging at his lips more than it had before. “Nothing--I don’t know, it’s just,” he paused, pulling at a tassel on the throw pillow beside him.

He stared intently at it, hoping to find the words to finish his sentence. I took another sip of wine, the smile on my face that mirrored his slowly faded--he looked upset and angry.

“I wish we could rewind and do all of it over.”

I nodded slowly--I’d been feeling regret since the day I left, but for the longest time, I didn’t have the words to use to express it. Here I was, sitting across from him in my living room--in a house I bought and lived in alone--and now I knew I could tell him.

The idea of talking about it--talking about my feelings and the thoughts I had--didn’t seem as terrifying as it used to. It didn’t feel like they were suffocating me with every passing second, and it surely didn’t feel like I’d be met with judgment or ridicule.

“I wish we could too.”

He stood from his spot across from me and crossed over, sitting on the same couch, careful not to spill his red wine on the beige cushions. “What were you thinking that day?”

“Which day?” I asked without thinking, but I had a feeling I knew.

“The day we broke up.”

I licked at my lips--my cheeks felt warm under his gaze as I let out a sigh. What did I think?

“I thought that you deserved better than someone who couldn’t even be grateful for all that she had.”

He tugged at his lower lip, his eyes still on me as if he knew I had more to say.

“I didn’t want to feel the way I felt--I remember thinking all summer that if I just felt okay about us then maybe I’d be okay,” he nodded, the look in his eyes told me he was hanging on every word I said. “But I thought that I had to do it alone--I didn’t think you’d want to help.”

He closed his eyes and hung his head, shaking it slightly. “Margot,” he said my name quietly, as if his volume held the potential to break me. “I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could talk to me.”

I nodded--immediately feeling the tears pooling in my eyes when he looked up at me. It felt, in a matter of two seconds, like every fight we ever had was washed away, like every fear of my world imploding simply disappeared.

Maybe I needed time alone to find myself--maybe I needed days in the ocean and nights painting at my dining table to really feel the sadness and the fear and the worry.

Maybe I needed to hear his side of things in order to piece us back together.

He took my wine from me and set it next to his on the coffee table, moving forward to wrap me in his arms. As soon as my face was in his neck, I could feel the water on my cheeks, I could feel the pit in my stomach that I’d known so well.

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you help me,” I said, my words mumbled through tears and into the cotton of his t-shirt. He ran his left hand through my hair, pressing kisses to my forehead every few seconds.

“I love you,” he said quietly. “I always have and I always will.”

Hearing the words leave his mouth made me cry harder--it made me curl into him more and it made me cry like I hadn’t cried in years. It’s like all at once the floodgates opened, and for a while, we stayed like that.

He held me and we sat on the couch, our abandoned glasses of wine sat on the coffee table, the tears on my cheeks were a reminder of the emotions I’d felt and the waves that lapped at the shore outside.

And I knew that no matter how big the waves could be, that they were just a part of the ocean.

THEN - Day 1

Waking up at 6am every day was a lot like high school, at least, that’s what my friends told me. My feet would hit the floor in my bedroom and I’d have breakfast, brush my teeth, get dressed, and head out the door.

The main difference between me and my friends, though, was the fact that while they rode a bus to school, I got picked up in an SUV by a man named Ron and driven to set. Then someone would do my hair, do my makeup, I’d get dressed up like a doll, wash, rinse, repeat.

Maya was thrilled--today was finally the day. She’d asked me to text her pictures before I walked out the door to a waiting Ron, but I told her that waiting to see them in the flesh would probably be more exciting for her little 13-year-old heart.

It was louder than usual when I walked in--there were more people around. Probably theirs, I assumed--they struck me as the type of boy band that traveled with a posse. Maya had been quizzing me the night before--there was Liam, Louis, Harry, Niall, and Zayn. Niall was her favorite, I knew that. His cardboard silhouette smiled at me from the corner of her bedroom every time I walked in.

They were nowhere to be found, but it wasn’t like I looked that hard. I got whisked away to hair and makeup and had another cup of coffee while I looked over the script--we’d already done a read through the day before without the guys, but today was the first day of filming.

Life at seventeen was different than it was for most people. I had people to drive me places, a financial advisor, and someone whose sole job it was to make sure I had all of my belongings after a concert. Sometimes I felt like a normal person, and sometimes I didn’t.

This was one of those times--I had people all around me, brushing things on my face, asking me questions about a shirt I’d be wearing in scene 4. It was all part of the job--but it sometimes got to be a bit much.

Sometimes after a show or after a week of filming I’d think about what life would be like if I’d never moved here. If I never begged my mom to let me audition for some talent show and if I hadn’t gotten so far. I wondered what it would have been like to have to go back to school in Raleigh and admit that I didn’t make it through.

But that didn’t happen.

I was grateful--despite the late nights and the long days and the hate mail and the bad photos and the lack of privacy. I had fun each and every time I came to set and I had fun on stage and I had fun when I was recording and writing.

I still got to go home and help Maya with her homework or tease Ben about whatever girl he had a crush on. As long as I had that, I think I’d be fine. There were some days where I was glad it was the last season of the show. Whether or not I knew what I was doing after this chapter was closed, I was glad that the 6am wake up call would be a thing of the past.

“Margot--” I heard Dave’s voice behind me. Bonnie took the curling iron out of my hair so I could swivel around to face him. “Do you want to come with me to meet the guys from One Direction?”

I nodded, standing from the chair--if I’d seen them before I would have introduced myself. They must have been hidden away like the precious gems teen girls thought they were. “Sure,” I followed behind him as he walked back into the hall.

A few production assistants rushed by, hurrying to place props and cue cards in their spots before we started rolling. I followed Dave a few doors down to a dressing room that was usually empty--inside there was laughter. They all smiled like it was the greatest day of their lives. One of them--with the dark hair--was getting a comb brushed through his hair while someone brushed bronzer on Niall’s face. He was much more three-dimensional in person.

“Guys--this is Margot,” Dave held a hand up to me, they all smiled--the one with dark hair waved. “Margot, meet Niall, Louis, Liam, Zayn, and Harry.”

I offered a wave, looking over each one of them. I’d seen their faces in magazines and heard their songs blasting from the bathroom whenever Maya took a shower. “Nice to meet all of you.”

I wondered what they thought of me--I wondered what they’d read in magazines and what they heard on TV. They were still new--their second album was soon to be released, according to Maya, and I wondered if they were still in love with the job.

That’s how it worked--you had a honeymoon stage where the fame was exciting and exhilarating, where everything felt amazing and it felt like you were on top of the world.

My show was successful, my concerts were sold out, my albums sold millions of copies. It looked like I had it all--but what I really had was a headache and feeling in my chest that I wouldn’t last forever, at least not at this speed.

But I was fine--nothing was wrong. I think I just needed a change of scenery. I think I needed a vacation and a nap and then I’d be ready for the third world tour and life after the show.

Niall came to shake my hand--he complimented the series and thanked me for having them on. “You should thank my little sister,” I told him. “She’ll be here later. She’s been begging my mom to get out school.”

“That’s amazing,” the one with dimples spoke, his green eyes were inviting and I felt a wave of adrenaline pulse through me. He sidestepped Niall and offered me his hand. “I’m Harry, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

#UDoS #the untimely downfall of strangers #harry styles fanfic #harry styles story #harry styles writing #harry styles concept #harry styles fic #harry styles #harry fic #one direction fic

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