I slam my door shut. I gasp for breath, cheeks hot and sticky and lungs aching from exhaustion. I feel my heart pushing heat and anger through my veins. My eyes sting sharply with tears. My hair is windblown, tangled and matted from the run. My fists are clenched tightly, my knuckles an angry red. My legs are sore. My chest feels like I just swallowed a gallon of pool water. Hate and fear spiral up my spine in heated chills. I had forgotten that I hate running when I ran out of the school like that.

Mom is probably there right now, waiting for me to emerge from the building with a happy look on my face and a cool story to tell about my friends. She doesn't know that I'm already home, that I'm heaving with my back against the front door. She doesn't know what I was just told and she doesn't know how I never want to go back there again.

I hear a warry growl from the other room, but I ignore it. I sink to the floor, trying to catch my breath. I haven't run that far in a long time, especially without stopping. How far is the school from here? Maybe a mile and a half? May not be much compared to marathoners or those psychotic kids in gym class who sprint whole miles in six minutes flat. I'm one of those people who get winded climbing up the stairs to the apartment.

I close my eyes and try to steady my heartrate. I feel sick. Bile forms in my mouth, corrosive and bitter. The tears that had slipped down my cheeks during my run have long since dried, leaving a trail of sticky, salty liquid on my chin. I wipe it off with the back of my hand and struggle for breath. The sweat running down my forehead drips onto my chest, staining the shirt I had picked out so methodically this morning.

Before shit went crazy and my favorite person became my enemy.

I hear the pitter-patter of little paws padding their way into the room. A small brown face appears around the corner of the kitchen. Chloe saunters over, her long little body bouncing with every step. I watch the wiener dog cock her head to the side as she approaches, her way of telling me that I should prepare to be cuddled. She always knows when I'm upset (not that I'm being real subtle about it).

I swipe at my eyes and stretch my legs to allow her into my arms. She jumps onto my stomach, attempting to lick the trail of tears off of my cheeks. I gently push her down. Her big brown eyes bore into mine in a way that's a little too close in resemblance to a human's gaze. She looks too understanding to be an animal.

"Don't worry," her eyes seem to say. "You'll be alright. You're better off without him anyway."

My lip trembles and I will it to stop. I don't want to cry. I won't.

I push Chloe to the side and storm into my room. I look around, desperate for something to do to keep my mind from going to that deep, dark abyss of doubt, hurt, and anger. I notice a pile of clean clothes in a basket on my desk.

Might as well clean this up.

I grab my phone and ask Siri to shuffle my music. I pick up a towel, exhale shakily, and make a crease down the center of the fabric. I hear a few guitar strums and I immediately recognize the song. My heart leaps into my throat and I jump out of the chair. I scramble to turn it off, but trip over my empty laundry basket in the process.

I had a thought, dear,
However scary
About that night
The bugs and the dirt

I grind my teeth, ignoring the pain as I struggle to turn the music off. I reach for my phone as best I can, but it's just out of my reach.

Why were you digging?
What did you bury
Before those hands
Pulled me from the earth?

I lunge for the phone and my thumb frantically presses the "skip" button. There's no way I'm going to sit through that song. No way. Not now.

A new song comes on and I relax.

With the song changed, my attention now goes to the aching bruise blooming on my shin from the basket. The lump in my throat won't descend. It bobs like a cork, up and down, teasing the back of my throat and making my head hurt. My chest is tight.

I try not to think about him as I aggressively yank the towel's corners together. Wait, am I supposed to fold the top or the side first? And do I double-fold it or does that make it come out weird? How come I suddenly can't remember how to fold towels. I attempt to fold the fabric three more times before I finally throw it down in frustration. Maybe some other project would make me feel be better.

You watch me bleed until I can't breathe
Shaking, falling onto my knees
And now that I'm without your kisses
I'll be needing stitches

I stop the music. What is it with Siri today? It's like she knows I don't want to think about him, yet she's determined to shove it in my face. I go to my "Feel Good" playlist and click shuffle. At least this one won't make me think about…

About…

I stuff my backpack into a corner of the room and, as if on hyper-drive, throw everything into piles: dirty, clean, to be put in closet, belongs in a drawer, miscellaneous, trash, clean, closet…

I took a Louisville Slugger to both headlights
Slashed a hole in all four tires
Maybe next time he'll —

I slam my phone against the wall in anger. "Stop it! Stop playing that song!" It does stop, but not before it finishes the last line.

Think before he cheats.

I run into the hallway and grab the vacuum. If I can't listen to music anymore, maybe the roaring from the vacuum will clear my head.

I plug it into the outlet and feel a sense of relief as the machine chugs to life. The loud whirring and rumbling pacifies my thoughts as I push it around my room, making sure every nook and cranny is spotless. I violently yank it back and forth. I'm scared to have the noise stop and leave me alone with my thoughts.

I reluctantly unplug it and wait for the silence to creep in. It does, eerie and menacing. Even Chloe, usually the loudest animal on the planet, isn't making a sound. I quickly wrap the chord up and shove the vacuum back into the hallway. My eyes frantically scan the room for something to do, but instead my mind goes numb and my only thought is about how lonely I am, and betrayed, and hurt…

I feel the tears burning and the queasiness in my chest bubble up back into my throat and into my mouth. I feel like I'm going to puke. I need to act quickly. I need something. Anything.

My knees suddenly can't support me and I collapse onto my bed. The tears I've been holding back flood onto my pillow. Moans and sobs leak through the fabric as the emotions crash over me like a tidal wave that I can't escape. I see everything playing out in my head.

He's going to be kissing her. He's going to be holding her hand. The jerk who said he loved me, the douchebag who I thought was the sweetest guy on the planet, the lowest bastard I've ever met or loved… he had not only moved on, but he moved on to one of my childhood best friends.

How dare he?! I dug my fingers into the pillow. How dare she even?! How could they do this? It was obvious something was happening between them before, but I never thought… and all that time… and… they never told me and…

I rest my cheek on the cool side of my pillow, my throat sore from sobbing and holding back bile. They had kissed. More than once actually. Those two. Their lips together. While he was telling me he loved me. The same girl who had looked at him when we were dating and said "Ew, why?" was kissing him. And he was letting her.

He likes her. Maybe loves her. And if he loves her, she must know. So how long was he lying to her? Or how long had he cared before he started calling me pet names and saying that he wanted to preserve a future? Was he just lonely because she was busy with school and he thought I'd be an easy way to forget her absence? Is she the reason he said he wasn't ready for a relationship? Is she the reason he told me to wait?

Puzzle pieces begin flying around my head. Snip-bits of conversation. Flashes of dialogue. Late night texts. Hugs. Tears. All piecing together. Perfectly aligned in hindsight. Forming a hideous picture.

The reality strikes me hard and I find myself unable to move. I can't think. Can't see. Can't hear. All I am aware of is my chest rising and falling in an unsettlingly steady rhythm. The high-pitched silence crushing against my ears. The feel of my heart breaking in half.

It's an actual physical feeling. A tangible pain. There's nothing poetic or romantic about it. It's breaking, shattering into pieces along with my self-assurance and trust in both of them. I can feel it. And it's awful.

When you crack a mirror, you can still see your reflection despite missing a few shards. It's just really aggravating that the picture is messed up and it will take a long time to fix.

But when you shatter a mirror? When the pieces are no more than bits of powder scattered on the floor? You're past the point of hope. It's irreversible. No glue can fix it. It's completely ruined, broken in the most extreme sense of the word.

That's what this feels like.

I stare at my ceiling. It feels like I'm seeing colors that aren't there. Spirals of emotion waft over my eyes. I can't see any specific thing, just blobs of meaninglessness passing in my line of vision. I can't imagine moving again. I don't want to move again. My own stupidity, my own gullibility, has rendered me paralyzed.

My phone buzzes and I numbly reach for it. One message is from Mom. She's asking where I am. In my rage I had forgotten that she was waiting for me. I blindly type what I think says "I'm at home".

The other message is from Sandy, a friend of mine in music class. It's a link to something on YouTube.

I lie on my bed, not feeling anything in particular. My face still feels red and my palms are sweaty, but I don't feel any specific emotion. It's scary how blank I feel. I decide that I have nothing else to do but sit and contemplate my own heinous existence, so I humor her.

The first word I see when the link loads is "UNDERTALE". I blink. I do love that game. Sandy had introduced me to it a while ago and we had jumped into the fandom like college students into a pool during spring break. The past few months have been a sea of memes and fanart, some of which was drawn by us, mainly consisting of awful skeleton puns.

The second word I see is the YouTuber's username: Jacksepticeye.

I raise an eyebrow and wipe at the stickiness of my eyes. That's… unusual.

I put my earbuds in to block out the almost cryptic silence of the apartment and click on the play button. The screen loads for a moment and I see a young man, looking in his early to mid-twenties, sitting in the corner of the screen. Headphones cover his ears and a beanie rests on his head. He's nerdy and, admittedly, very nice looking.

A load slapping sound fills me ears, followed by a voice screeching "TOP OF THE MORNIN' TO YA, LADDIES!"

I yank my earbuds out, my ear aching by the sudden burst of sound. My heart is beating a little faster now. What the hell was that?! Was that supposed to be a jumpscare?! Dammit, Sandy, she knows how I hate those! I quickly minimize my phone's volume and warily press play again, this time from the beginning, prepared for another aural assault.

My initial gut reaction is that this guy is loud, REALLY loud. What I'm not prepared for is that he's Irish. I feel my lips twitch. I love accents, especially Irish and British.

The second most apparent thing I notice about this guy is that he has green hair. Bright, freshly-cut-lime green. Interesting choice. I don't think I've ever seen anyone with green hair before, and I surprisingly find it extremely satisfying.

The third most apparent thing? Whoever this dude is, he's got some beautiful eyes.

I listen to the guy on the screen, Jack, talk about how he's excited about starting the Undertale series and that he is excited by his new follower count. My initial shock and wariness starts to melt. This "Jack" seems pretty nice. And I do love Undertale.

Thirty minutes into the episode, I decide that this guy is awesome.

Jack navigates through the Underground, giving each character a special voice and throwing in funny side comments. I had already played the game, but now the characters have a whole new dimension to them. I find myself laughing, my chest still achy from the exercise earlier. I cough from time to time to clear my throat.

I ignore the text from Mom saying that she's coming home but is caught in traffic and keep my eyes glued to green-haired Irishman. There's something charming about him that totally disarms me. Maybe it's the accent. Or the dick jokes. Those are nice.

When the episode ends, I look up at the clock and realize a whole hour has gone by. I hadn't noticed. I scroll through his channel and find thousands of videos, including two complete series on Undertale! I have never played the genocide route before, mainly because I'm a scared wimp and Chara fanart is creepy as hell.

I prop myself up in my bed, my teddy bear Mocha tucked under my arm, and choose the next video. I laugh from the gut, a happiness bubbling in me that just two hours ago I never thought I'd feel again.

My mind doesn't wander when I have this Irishman screeching hilarious little jokes and quips into my ear. My heart doesn't pound in anger when he attempts to solve Papyrus' puzzles or shakes his head at Sans' awful puns. My stomach isn't churning or flipping in loneliness when he finally finishes the fight with Undyne.

For some reason, I feel good about myself.

When Mom finally arrives, worried sick, she asks me what had happened after school. Strangely, I'm at peace. What happened feels like a distant memory. I try not to think about it much as I explain how the events of the heartbreaking conversation ensued, but I don't feel the crippling isolation I had felt earlier. The tears that roll down my cheeks when Mom holds me are real enough, but this time they're in relief. I don't feel like I need to punch a wall or go to the girl's house to jack up her face (pun not originally intended but now very much intended). I don't feel like drowning my sorrows in angsty, romantic music or Ben and Jerry's Caramel Delights.

I don't feel lonely.

Later that night, I receive a text from the boy who had me thinking eight hours ago that my life had gone to shit, asking if I am okay. I don't respond. Not because I want to be rude.

But because I'm too busy watching Jackaboy miserably fail at solving Mettaton's color-tile puzzle.

But because I'm too distracted by the green-haired guy who just flipped my day—and ultimately my month—around.

But because I'm too happy to even think about being sad.

Dear Reader,
This story is about 95% true. I met Jack through a friend during a really hard time in my life. Usually, I'm a pretty optimistic person, but shit gets real when I think I've been taken advantage of. I had felt so wronged and betrayed. I didn't feel like talking to anyone about it, and they wouldn't give me what I needed if I did anyway.
Jack gave it to me. He gave me laughter and light-hearted simplicity. He gave me an escape from the life I thought was falling apart. He gave, and continues to give, me a friendly voice to listen to so I won't worry about my problems. That's what I needed.
I don't feel sick about that boy anymore. In fact, I feel platonically towards him in a way that I didn't think I could get back to. Jack told me that being with someone who makes you unhappy isn't worth it, and he's right. I'm strong now thanks to him.
If you don't know the green-haired, blue-eyed Irishman, you should.
Follow jacksepticeye on YouTube for instant life improvement.

Please excuse my other fanfic hiatus. It's been a long, hard year, as you can tell from this story, so please be patient. Updates are coming soon.
Until then, be your own person, LIKE A BOSS.
See all you dudes… IN THE NEXT FANFIC!

~JasmineDragon818~