n i n e t e e n

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"Cause you are the piece of me, I wish I didn't need."

-back to present-[unedited]

Delilah Warner:

I watch as he sinks down on the floor, sitting on his knees, his face in his hands. The pieces of the broken vase lied near to his body, but he didn't seem to care. For a second, I thought he was crying but I could be wrong.

Why am I even looking at him?

It's been one day and I am already getting tired of his fucking presence.

It's like he ignites this fire in me that completely drowns me in him. I find myself watching his every fucking move, in pure hatred.

His presence suffocates me and it's like I can't breathe when he is around, which is not a good thing considering I have to spend 3 full fucking years with him.

I don't have time for this bullshit.

I don't have time for him.

I find myself wishing he was dead, atleast fifty times a day.

Atleast that would hurt less than his betrayal.

I might seem a tad bit dramatic but trust me when I say, it would definitely hurt less.

After the oh-so-wonderful encounter that night with Maxwell, I was admitted to the hospital for 2 fucking weeks because I kept having panic attacks and my heart rate was going low every other hour.

I wished I could have died to stop the pain.

Luckily I got saved and then I had to move away from here, to just get away with everything.

My life abroad was quite refreshing actually, I met a lot of new people and got to see a better reality of this world.

It would have been better if I didn't have this crippling self-hatred and the urge to call Maxwell back for almost 2 fucking years.

Everything else was okay, and there's an unexplainable feeling of being just a speck in a world that is unaffected by you.

When you're angry, everything else seems angry too, because your vision has a filter over it from your emotions. But to anyone else, it's a normal scene, just an average day because they aren't affected by your anger, they don't feel it.

And hell, I was so angry if anyone from here came to me, I would have definitely shot them in the head.

For that sole reason, I couldn't talk to Grayson for almost 2 years.

I felt bad, I knew he was nowhere involved in this and had no idea just like me but seeing him reminded me of that place.

But when I finally gathered the courage to call him after 2 years, I was almost in tears when I heard his happy voice.

He told me to meet him in one of our favorite cafes, where we always got the chocolate milkshakes.

Chocolate milkshakes were always our thing.

As soon as I reached the cafe, I felt myself getting pulled into a warm embrace by non-other than Grayson.

I looked at him, still in his arms, and saw that he was looking at me with a big grin on his face that showed his dimples but there were tears in his eyes.

Long gone were any traces of a young boy on his face now, he was looking like a man.

His hair that was originally black was now dyed in light brown color, much longer than how it was when we were eighteen.

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