Chapter 2

I'm just...standing there. Watching him walk away from me, from our relationship and from my whole world. But I'm just letting him go, I'm not following him. Why?

The numbness returns, As well as a sense of disbelief as my brain begins to function again. Like, A switch is flicked, as if my mind can finally comprehend the truth and reality of the situation. He doesn't want to be together. He doesn't want me and him. He doesn't want me. And I have to respect his decision. I keep my eyes on him until he's out of my vision, until he's completely faded into the distance.

My eyes are stinging, my chest aching, cheeks burning. I take in a long drag of the cold air, trying to control my breathing - to get a hold of myself. I shiver, an icy chill running down my spine. I can't feel it, really. I can't feel much of anything right now. But it does give me a kick into gear.

It's freezing, and my jacket is still soaked from a spontaneous down pour of rain from earlier today - If I don't move quickly I'll end up sick, and that's the last thing I need right now. I look down at my hands, (which are still numb and shaking) and they're extremely pale. I can't help but think of him. I groan, bringing my hands to my face, my skin tingling under the cold of my palms. I run my hands through my un-gelled, untamed hair with a sigh mixed with another groan. Once again, I feel hot tears staining my face. Again.My eyes just won't stop streaming. I'm a mess.

That's when I turn on my heels, and begin to walk. I don't know where I'm going. Just, away. Away from here. It slowly dawns on me that I should go home, I've been out all day and I haven't eaten anything at all. I can hear my stomach now, an aggressive growling. Home sounds perfect.

At this thought I realize how fortunate it was for me that he came to Westerville to end things between us. As cruel as this break up feels, he was considerate enough to travel here for my benefit. To make it easier on me.

I begin to quickly pace down the street that I know my way to my house from. I squeeze through a gap in a fence, that goes into a lane that acts as a short cut which leads to the street my house is on. I try my best to ignore and push back all of my feelings, emotions. The pain. It still lingers heavily on my chest and in my head, but I put up with it for now. I'll deal with it properly later.

It begins to rain again just as I make it to the front door of my house, tugging my keys out my pockets, unlocking and then forcing the door to open. No one's home - Big suprise. I peel off my jacket, hang it up.

Where should I even start? I'm standing in the hallway of my own home, feeling like an idiot having to plan out the simpliest of tasks.

My eyes, they're stinging like crazy - I ball my fists up and rub them as I drag myself up the stairs, and into the bathroom.

As I stumble over to the sink and turn on the tap, my mind goes back to thoughts of him. I wonder what's he's doing, how he is. He's on his way back home, I'm guessing. But Is he okay? Is he a complete wreck, like me? Or is he completely fine? Probably fine.

I splash my face with warm water. I need to stop thinking about anything other than the task at hand, I'm too easily distracted.

I can tell that I'm on edge and I'm going to breakdown at some point. Sooner rather than later, hopefully. I just want this over with.

My wet clothes cling to my skin, and It's uncomfortable. I pat my face dry with a soft, lavender towel as I mope into my bedroom. I throw the towel to the floor, yank my shirt off of my shoulders, stripping down and then changing into some sweatpants and an old shirt. I still feel frozen.

My eyes begin to sting again, my head dizzy, whatever appetite I had, diminished.

I don't even know what time it is. I can't remember what time I had left, when I had met up with him. I can't remember what words had actually come out of his mouth, and I don't want too. Yet. I know that he had called me on my cell, and his usual angelic voice was quiet, laced with intensity. He said that we needed to talk.

That's never a good thing to hear, those four words. 'We need to talk.' I could tell from his unusual tone that something was wrong.

I knew, though. I don't know how, but I just knew. I had a hitch as to what was about to happen, that he was going to break up with me, but I couldn't really believe it until he was actually saying these things, these words. He really made it clear that is was over this time. For good.

I've had petty arguements with him, stupid fights about stupid things. But that's part of any relationship, right? We've had the odd jealous moment here and there, resulting in a break up lasting no more than two days. We'd always kiss and make up. This time, things were different, though. He'd had enough. He'd had enough of me.

I'm weak, exhausted and heartbroken. I'd go drink or eat something but my legs just don't want to work, so I shut the curtains of my bedroom, shut the door and I fall on to my bed.

I crawl underneath the sheets, then I lie on my back. I begin turning and twisting, changing position and trying to get comfortable. I can't.

With a defeated sigh, I turn to the left, facing the picture frame on the nightstand beside my bed. The frame, the one with the picture of me andhimat Prom in it. I force myself to ignore it for the moment, looking at the electronic clock beside it. 8:25pm. My Dad won't be home for a few hours yet. Good. My eyes find their own way back to the photograph, locking my gaze on it.

I stare at it. Just, stare. There's no emotion. Nothing. The pang of whatever sadness or pain I should feel just isn't there.

I focus my vision onhim. Hissmile. His outfit. Hiseverything. The kilt he wore draping down his legs, the crown on his head perfectly positioned. I'm glaring at the picture, Absorbing just how amazing he looks.

I remember how proud I was of him that night, for standing up for himself, for us. How proud I was knowing thathewas myboyfriend. How everyone else knew that he was mine.

He looks like a prince. My prince. His crown blending in with his hair like it's meant to be there, His heroic smile lighting up the whole image. He's my hero. Well. Hewasmy hero.

A sudden irritation overwhelmed me. Annoyance, at myself. Why didn't I ever tell him how beautiful he was that night? Why didn't I tell him just how proud I was of him, how ecstatic I was to be able to be there with him, just how much I loved him? No, How much I love him. Because I still love him, obviously.

I groan, twisting again to look away from the picture, the memory, other regrets seeping into my thoughts.

Then there it is. Suddenly that ache, that terrible feeling in my chest and stomach returns. I feel my eyes brim over with tears, and I turn back to peer over at the picture again. I'm just torturing myself. I glance at the shorter boy standing right there beside him, his face plastered with a ridiculous grin. Me.

I remember it without fault, that moment. During that moment, when the picture was taken, I was so happy. He was, too. In this photograph, We look so normal. Naturally fitted for each other. And so happy.

The next thing I know I'm sobbing. The floodgates have burst wide open. There's no stopping it, I'm just crying and crying and crying. And I don't want it to stop, I'd been itching to get this out of system ever since he said all of those things to me. I'm trying to breathe, one deep breath at a time, not bothering to wipe the tears away anymore. There's no point, there's simply too many. So I just keep crying until I doze off.

I wake up, my eyelids fluttering open. For a few seconds there's a warm feeling inside, it's nice. Familiar. Lovely. I smile warmly to myself, almost questioning why I had cried so hard last night that I had ending up crying myself to sleep.

And that's when it hit me, the all too familiar ache in my chest.

For a few seconds then, Just a few seconds, everything was fine. It was like nothing had even happened. It feltnormal. No pain had been inflicted, no damage done. Normality, the simplicity of pure normality...

But then, it hits you. You remember why you're in so much pain. You remember why you're hurt, who you've lost and it all comes rushing back to you and it hits you so hard. That, that really hurts.

I sigh, peer over at the clock. 6:00am. Huh. Why am I awake so early? That's crazy.

There's no school today, it's summer. Well it's supposed to be, but this week's weather has been unpredictable, really cold and cloudy. Raining. I force myself to sit up, I rub my face. I want to get up, I'm in desperate need of food now. A shower. I literally roll out of bed, clambering up to my feet and stumbling out of my room and into the bathroom just like last night.

I shower, washing away my worries, the hot water running them down the drain for fifteen minutes. I don't sing. I usually do, but for the first time in years I'm not in the mood to sing.

Then I'm out, in a towel and back in my room. I make my bed, draw the curtains. I peer outside, and my Dad's car isn't there. Either he didn't come home, or he's gone to work early.

Not that I care anyway.

I dress myself. Jeans. A shirt. I don't pay much attention, not as much I normally would have.

I go downstairs, into the kitchen. Make and drink some coffee. Eat something, cereal. I'm quite astonished I've actually done this, honestly. I expected to be cooped up in my room all day, crying and moping around in deep depression. Not up at 6am, eating cereal fully dressed. Huh.

When I'm done I toss the bowl aside, stepping out into the hall. My jacket's hanging up neatly on wall where I left it last night. It catches my eye, the pocket in particular. Where my cell phone is.

Maybe. I raise a brow, pursing my lips. Could he have tried to call me? Would he? No. But maybe a text, or a message. Maybe. Why not?

I stand there like a complete moron, staring at my jacket pocket. I can't shake the feeling that he may not of been serious about this, maybe - maybe it wasn't over after all? Another petty argument. Silly. But...he seemed so sure.

But, Now I can't shake the thought.

I run over, reaching into the pocket and pulling out my cell. I glance at the screen. No missed calls, no messages. I sigh and lean against the wall.

Maybe he wants me to call him? No, no I can't.

But I can, and I do. Before I can stop myself I'm ringing him. Holding on to this pathetic strand of hope, that maybe he's not serious about this. I just want to hear his voice, one last time. His voice. Just once. It will help me understand everything.

I'm desperate.

I keep the phone clutched to my ear, listening intently as it rings. What do I say to him if he does answer? What can I say, what is there too say? Then, no answer. I groan, slumping down to the floor. I try again, I call him. No answer. Again. No answer. I try three more times. No answer.

I look at the ceiling, wrapping my arms around my knees. I sigh. I pick up my phone, I try to call him again. Even if he doesn't answer at least he might get the gist of how much I miss him, how much I care for him by the numerous amount of times I've tried to call him.

Then I hear it. A voice. His voice.

"...Hello?"

I'm breathless, my heart races, a smile curving at my lips. This isn't over, I was being delousinal! I'm fine, we'refine! We were both just being drama queens, making a big deal out of absolutely nothing! Turning such a small problem into something huge and unnecessary.

I'm about to speak, to announce just how much I love him and how we can work through this together, when I'm cut off by a soft voice on the other end of the phone. His voice.

"Blaine, It's over. Stop trying to call me. I made it pretty clear, did I not? We aren't getting back together. Understand that."

My heart shatters, hearing him say my name in such a stern and angry tone. I stutter, about to speak, apologise, beg him to take me back but then...

Click.

He hung up on me. But I was right. I heard his voice, I get it. Now I understand.

Whatever I do, Whatever I say, I can't get him back.Period. I recall his tone of voice, how serious he was. I try to relive as much of what he said to me in my mind. I remember how harsh his voice was, how he was so firm and so...sure. After all, He just pushed me away after I so desperately tried to hold on to him (literally). I don't even want to think about it, but, It all adds up.

He's just done with me. He's done with all of it. And even though it's close to impossible to accept and agonising to take in - he's made his mind up. I've got to walk away now.

I can't believe I was stupid enough to think otherwise.

So, I'm sat there in my hallway. Alone and speechless. I'm clueless as to how I can cope with this, and completely defeated as it finally and fully sinks in - What I thought, but obviously didn't understand before.

It's over.

Thank you for reading.