A/N: I'm new to FanFiction, so it's my first story, but don't hold back. Constructive criticism is wholeheartedly welcomed. This is also my first attempt at second person, so if it's bad, let me know.
On a different note, I love Pretty Little Liars and Haleb (but not as much as Tencer/Spoby/Soby/whatever you'd like to call them) and I think it sucks that the writers made Caleb have such a HUGE role in Hanna's life, only for him to royally screw up and leave. But at least Lucas is bringing him back. I can only hope she forgives him and then finds out that Mona tore up the letter and intercepted his call. If that happens, I hope she slaps her like she did to Jenna. Anyway… enough of my rambling, on with the story!
Disclaimer: I only own the notebook and computer this is written in/on and the pen and keyboard it was written with.
You look in the mirror once you wake up, a habit of yours. Your blue eyes are lifeless, puffy, and red-rimmed and your hair is a rats-nest. But it's nothing an hour in the bathroom can't fix. And to your relief it does. Not as well as you had hoped it would, but it was enough to fool people. You drag the brush through your hair, fixing it. You wash your face until it's almost red and put on enough make-up to hide the fact that you've been crying. A lot.
When you emerge, you're a new woman, because that's what you are, a new, broken women. On the outside, though, you look fine. To almost everyone, you look fine. And as hard as you try, you can't fool everyone. No matter how badly you want to, you can't.
But it's only a mask until you can get into the confines of your room and cry yourself to sleep again. And then to repeat the whole process in the morning. And you absolutely hate it. You want to get over it, but you can't. It hurts and so many things remind you of the whole thing. Especially seeing Jenna Cava- Marshall (you won't insult Spencer and Toby by referring to her as a Cavanaugh) strut around like she had not a problem in the world. You just want to slap her again, but after the first time, when she seems to sense your presence, her smugness goes down three notches.
Mona, you supposed best friend, isn't worried. She thinks you'll recover soon. Your mom's worried about you, though. So are Emily, Aria, and Spencer. Lucas, too, is worried, even though you'd been so absolutely horrible to him. Hell, even you're worried about you. And though you don't know it, he's worried about you.
When you get to school, the girls are nowhere in sight, since they probably figured you'd take another mental health day, which you strongly considered, deciding to come to school when your mom told you to. But you're glad. Other than your mom, they're the only ones who can see past the mask you've created for their sake, the one created of under the pretense of being fine. And you know if they mention him or look at you with sympathy one more time, you'd break. Badly.
You catch up with Mona, who you haven't really spoken to since she tried to give you a pity party at lunch with the other four, who, thankfully, knew that was the last thing you wanted. Again you question her about the letter he allegedly gave you. With a faraway look in her eyes, and completely avoiding your dull eyes, she denies it. That's when you know she's lying. You question her relentlessly until, finally, she sighs and cracks.
She tells you everything. "He came by the booth because he wanted to give you a letter," she says, "But since you were hiding, he gave it to me and told me to give it to you. But, being the friend I am, I read it first, to, you know, make sure it wouldn't hurt you more."
"What did it say?" You ask, trying to keep your cool.
She nonchalantly shrugged. "Some crap about leaving and that you should call him. Oh, and that he loves you."
At first you're angry. She was supposed to be your best friend. But then again, you should have realized she was lying. Then you're angry at yourself. When you realize why, you feel horrible.
He probably poured his heart out in that letter (probably, since you never really got to read it). You could've, should've, talked to him. Tell him you've forgiven him. You know you have, you've just never admitted it out loud. You should've told him you feel the same. You inwardly groan. Now he thinks you read the letter and don't feel the same. You could've given him a reason to stay, not a reason to leave faster than he planned, if he planned to leave at all before this whole fiasco.
"And you didn't tell me because..?"
"Hans, you know how upset you'd be if he left after he told you that. Oh, and while I'm 'confessing,' he called but I told him to leave you alone." You don't respond, just walk away, with her calling after you. But you want her to know what it feels like to be ignored, like Caleb had probably felt. And you feel that familiar burn when you think his name.
You know what you have to do, but you wait until after school to do so. When the bell finally, finally, rings, you rush out, rush into your car, and rush home. You go as fast as legally possible, for a ticket would only cause more problems, and you have enough of those.
You lock yourself in your room, completely ignoring your mom's attempts to ask about how your day was and how you are, and grip your phone so tightly your knuckles are white. You're at battle with yourself after you type the all-too-familiar number. You're trying to talk yourself out of hitting the 'call' button as much as you are trying to talk yourself in.
You're Hanna Marin, and you're fabulous, but not without him. Never without him. And you hate to admit it, even to yourself, but you can't deny it anymore. You need him more than you're willing to ever tell him. With that thought, you hit the little green phone, your mind screaming 'no' and your heart screaming 'yes' in triumph, and put it up to your ear.
And you wait. It takes three rings for him to answer. "Hello?" Comes his groggy, all-too-familiar voice. He sounds like he just woke up, but at the moment you just don't care. What you two need to talk about is far more important than sleep, at least you think so. And you hope to God and back he does too.
Drawing in a breath, you prepare yourself. This is the make it or break it point. You speak, just one sentence, but you know it will get his attention. "We need to talk."
A/N: Eh, it could've been better. Oh well. I just realized that with that one line, 'past the mask' that it rhymed…... Ignore me. My mom and some of my friends think I'm ADHD, which I quite possibly am. Anyway (I say that a lot, don't I?) I might make another chapter for this, but I'm not sure yet.