A/N: Melodramatic moody teen angst ahead.
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~Love is the hardest drug to quit, but it is even harder when it is taken away~
It's been a week that I haven't seen Edward, and it's the fucking most brutal thing I've ever had to do in my life — and I've done some pretty messed up things.
The first few days, he blew up my phone with text messages, voicemails, and phone calls. It took every single inch of willpower in me to not respond. Whenever I would consider responding to his sweet, apologetic messages begging for my forgiveness and claiming his love for me — he would fuck it all up when his texts became callous as the night went on, all the anger and hurt coming out. I'm guessing the pleasant messages were the sober ones, and the others were a result of him under the influence of something — I just don't know what.
Baby, please, I'm fucking dying without you.
I'm so sorry, I'm a fuck up, and I know I don't deserve you, but I need you.
What do you want, for me to beg on my hands and knees? I'll do it — for you.
How the fuck can you leave me? Do you know what you're putting me through?
I fucking warned you when I met you, and you said you didn't care, now it's too much for you?
I swear to God, if you're with another guy...
That's what kept me from running back into his arms; the mood swings, the heaven and the hell, the light, and the dark.
At first, I thought I loved the contrast, I didn't want the good without the bad, but I guess it's catching up with me now. Maybe I'm finally maturing out of my toxic personality — or trying to, at least.
We can't be madly in love, over the moon with each other one moment and then the next, hate one another's guts and want to inflict pain — that's not what love is, or should be.
We needed to heal from our damage and improve for each other - both of us. I know I'm not perfect, far from it, and I'm not trying to be perfect. I have my flaws too, but his darkness feeds mine, enhances all my faults, and makes me bask in the damaged, hopeless person I'm trying so hard to fight against.
It makes me romanticize our toxic love and black hearts.
I missed the first couple days of school, but when I went back, he wasn't there. It's now Friday, and he hasn't made an appearance all week. If he weren't still calling and texting me every night, I would be terrified that something happened.
Last night was the first time I answered, but I didn't say anything. I just listened. I needed to hear the husky, deep timbre of his voice; I was starting to forget what it sounded like and that scared the shit out of me.
At first, he spoke, telling me how sorry he was, how much he missed me. Then we were both silent, listening to each other's deep breaths. If I closed my eyes hard enough, I could imagine that he was here, sleeping next to me — but it wasn't the same; I needed his touch, his warmth. I fell asleep like that.
I know he deserved to hear an apology from me as well, but the words just wouldn't come out.
It's lunch, and I still haven't seen him. If I don't see him for the rest of the day, I'm going over to his house tonight to make sure he's ok. I know it's a bad idea, but I didn't leave so he would fall apart more.
I need to talk to his family, maybe they can help him; they seemed to care so much.
Right when that thought enters my mind as I'm walking down the hallway, Edward appears. He's walking slowly, dragging his feet while his head is down, staring at the floor. An oversized, black hoodie is shielding his face, hands shoved in his pockets.
He looks defeated, broken — not like his usual intimidating, frightening persona.
He looks up and catches my eyes with his.
At first, I believe it's an illusion I created in my mind, but I know it's real when I see his eyes; in my dreams, they don't compare to how they look in reality — they consume me in real life.
They look so grief-stricken but still as striking as ever; his eyes swollen, bloodshot, shadowed by dark circles — as if he hasn't been getting any sleep. I can barely make out the green that usually shines from his eyes. His bruises and cuts are mostly healed. His scruff growing in the thickest I've seen it. He looks like he's shed a few pounds too — definitely worse for wear.
He looks how I feel; I'm sure I don't look much better. I don't even remember the last time I ate a full meal or brushed my hair.
He haunts my dreams. I wake up in the middle of the night, disorientated, thinking that he's there with me; his strong body molded with mine as one, hands all over me, our tongues tangled, his cock that was made for me — until it sinks in that he's not there and I start crying like a baby.
Desperate to feel his touch, his warmth, his heartbeat, but it's all a fucking dream.
Seeing him in the flesh for the first time in a week — the longest I've been without him since we met. The wound in my chest just rips open all over again, piercing me. I lose all the breath in my lungs.
I'm tempted to run into his arms, and it takes everything in me to not do it. It was hard to resist him before, but it's so much harder now that he's standing right in front of me. The energy and electricity between us, calling me, stronger than ever. It's like I'm missing a piece of me.
It makes me feel empty, numb, dead on the inside, nothing like when I'm with him; he makes me feel alive. So how is being apart better then? I'm still trying to convince myself, but I don't even know the right thing to do. Is there any chance of hope, or is this all useless?
Before I met Edward, my life was unfulfilled; I was just waiting for something but had no idea what it was. I tried to fill my loneliness by chasing danger, but nothing fulfilled me the way Edward did. Life was a blur of meaningless memories — until I met him.
I know he warned me from the first moment we met, he tried so hard to keep me away, but I wouldn't listen. Maybe he predicted this, that we would have an explosive ending. Everything he said in the beginning, made sense now, but I was the stubborn girl that was even more determined and wanted him so bad.
I didn't care about the warning; I wanted the temptation, the desire, the forbidden — and I got it, and now it's too much for me? I thought I was stronger than this, that nothing would scare me away, but I guess I was wrong.
Here we are, so close together now but have never been further apart. Should I have listened to him when we first met to avoid all of this? No — I don't regret that at all because then I would've never known how it felt to be with him, our passion, our desire, and that alone was worth all the pain. Reality fucking sucks.
I miss his smile — the one reserved only for me. I miss seeing a side of him that no one else got to see. I miss him opening his heart up to me.
Although I'm trying to be strong, it's breaking me knowing that he's alone after everything he's been through; days after he confided in me about his ex-girlfriend, mainly because it was the most challenging thing for him to tell me, and he did. He showed signs that he was trying to get better. Ugh, I don't know how I should feel; why is this so hard?
A few nosy kids stand around watching us, waiting to see what happens - like we're a fucking performance. Edward notices, gives them a spine-chilling glare, and they run off.
We just stare at each other, waiting for the other person to make a move first. I don't know if I want him to or not — battling with my conflicting thoughts. I want him, but I want things to be different between us, we can't continue this toxic pattern, and honestly, I just don't see anything changing — right now at least. We're not ready for that.
The tension in the air between us is stifling. We're stuck in this staring match before he gives up first, looking back down and walking past me. It feels like someone stabbed me deep in my chest. Tears prickle my eyes.
He walked away; all week, he's been doing everything in his power to talk to me, and the one chance he finally gets, he walks away?
The other half of me fading away as I feel hollow inside again, the most agonizing pain I've felt.