Camping (Lashton)

Chapter 8

Luke's P.O.V

...

"Hey, dinner's ready," Calum said as he came and plopped down onto my bed.

"I'm not hungry," I whispered and fiddled with the hem of my shirt, remembering how Ashton loved to play with my shirt.

How his fingers caressed my skin softly, goosebumps flittering across my skin at the contact. How he would whisper my name in my ear, kissing and biting at the lobe. How he held me so tight, but not too tight.

A choked sob escaped my lips and I closed my eyes tight.

"I want to forget, Calum. I want to forget how he held me and the way he said my name; I want to forget how his touch felt and I want to forget his voice. I want to forget how much I loved him and what it felt like to make love; I want to forget how to love," I sobbed into his chest.

"But I can't because, fuck, he meant the world to me. He is the world to me. But of course he had to up and leave and forget me," I forced the last two words out because the words only made me want to die.

The only thing Calum knew to do was to stroke my hair and trace circles on my back.

Just like Ashton.

...

I sat with my back against the headboard of my bed, my knees to my chest and my arms wrapped around my legs.

I bit my lip to keep it from quivering as Green Day played softly in the background.

I hate my life.

I hate my life without Ashton.

I never want to see the light of day without the boy. I would rather just rot in hell than to sit here and suffer.

He's killing me and he doesn't even know it.

I dug my nails into my calf's; needing to feel something other than sadness.

I'm just so lost without Ashton. I need some sort of sign to know he's okay and doing fine.

Doing fine without me.

My throat hurts and burns from not talking for at least a week and all the screaming and crying I've done.

Nobody has come to check on me and I don't know whether to be grateful or to feel like everyone has given up on me.

Even my own mother has given up.

But what hurts worse is that Ashton has given up on me.

...

It was one of those days where I would suddenly get angry at anything and everything and start thrashing around my room.

Throwing things and smashing things; screaming and shouting profanities while crying for my love at the same time.

Some would say I'm overreacting about the situation.

I've known Ashton for 4 months now, two filled with love.

A love you would never have thought existed.

Yes, I could be overreacting a little, but why would I give a fuck?

I just wanna die and when everyone soon gives up you start to think that no one would care if you just slit your throat and bleed to death.

Or maybe tie a noose to your fan and kick back the chair.

Or take a bullet to the head.

Cut deep enough to stop the pain and cut a vein.

"Accidentally" overdose.

I stood in the middle of my room, thinking if I could really just end it all right now.

So, I called Ashton.