Did you think that I was gonna give it up to you, this time?
Did you think that it was something I was gonna do and cry?
Don't try to tell me what to do,
Don't try to tell me what to say,
You're better off that way
Better off that way
I'm better off alone anyway
000
"I'm sorry. I just can't," she mumbles, staring down at the ground and refusing to meet his eyes. She doesn't want to say it, but she has a thing for clichés. "It's not you, it's me."
She can practically feel him glare at her, and she keeps her eyes away from his face.
"That's all? You're not going to break down into tears? You're not going to cry?" he demands, and her face flushes. Whether it's from embarrassment or anger, she can't tell. He's not worth crying over, and she itches to tell him that, but she swore to herself that she would be nice about this. She actually wanted to break up with him over the phone, but that just went so fucking well last time.
"You're better off without me," she tries, hoping that he'll buy that.
"And why would that be?"
"Because… because I'm not over him." Why does he feel the need to make her say that? "And I'm better off alone, too."
"No you're not," he practically growls. "Clare, don't you dare walk away from me!"
"I'm sorry, Jake." She apologizes one last time and walks away.
She never looks back.
He can't tell her what to do anymore.
000
"I'm Clare Edwards," she says, and he stares at her, his eyes wide.
"No you're not," he replies stupidly. Of course she's not Clare Edwards. She's Imogen.
"Pretend I am," she insists.
"Imogen…"
"Clare," she corrects.
She is officially freaking the shit out of him, and he's Eli Goldsworthy, so that's quite a feat.
"I… I can't."
"Just go along with it," you order. "Just say-"
"Imogen, stop."
"Clare," she repeats. "Look, do you want to get over her or not?"
"Stop," he repeats, but the fact is that he does. He wants to get over Clare… but he doesn't want to at the same time.
What the actual fuck is wrong with him?
But the real question right now is what's wrong with her.
"Stop it, Imogen," he says forcefully. "I can't. I'm sorry." Of course, he shouldn't be apologizing to her, but he does anyways.
She shrugs, like this hasn't affected her at all. "All right, then. Your loss." She turns to walk away, only turning once to say, "You know what? You're better off alone."
Yeah, he realizes. Yeah, he is.
He's better off alone, because he fucks up everything he touches. He fucks up everyone he touches.
He's better off alone, and he knows it.
But he doesn't care.
He fishes the nearly full bottle of pills out of his backpack and stares at it. At her insistence, he'd stopped taking them, and he'd almost broken down. He still feels a little frayed at the edges, his thoughts a little scrambled, his mind a little off.
He unscrews the cap and places a single pill in his mouth.
Don't tell me what to do, he thinks, and he swallows.
However juvenile it might be, no one's going to tell him what to do anymore.
000
A/N: This is what happens when I try to write at two in the morning.
…I really have nothing to say about this.
The lyrics at the beginning are Don't Tell Me by Avril Lavigne. She fucking rocks.
I hope you guys liked it…