This Love ✔️

This Heartbreak

Heartbreak.

It sucks.

That's as simple as I can put it.

It feel likes the person who you were head over heels with mercilessly stepped on your heart. It feels like your heart is being cut up by a laughing child, only to be thrown into the trash later, left to rot. It doesn't just hurt emotionally but physically too. Your stomach feels as though it's being turned inside out, your heart is shattered, and you head hurts so much but you can't stop it.

I cry and cry and cry and wish I could go back in time and change it. Change anything at all so I wouldn't feel this way. I keep hoping it's just a bad nightmare but the sad truth?

It's not. Its reality and I'm going to have to accept it, pain and tears and all.

But that doesn't mean that the pain will just wash away like the sand on a beach. I have to get up and do something in order for my heart to start beating again and for my eyes to stop spilling tears.

And if there's one person that can help me forget, it's Bash.

...

When I was younger, like any little kid, I wanted to be a bird. I wanted to be able to spread my wings and fly anywhere in the world at any time. To just escape and go somewhere new.

But I'm not a bird. And I'm not a rebellious teenager who can run away. However, I do have the next best thing to running away, which is getting lost in someone else. I have Bash.

As soon as he opens the door his hard eyes and menacing scowl erode into a soft expression.

"What happened Blondie?"

The worst type of crying is the one where you have to hold it in, you blink back the tears, you swallow the lump in your throat and it hurts your whole body. The one where you can't breathe, the one where you have to hold your stomach and will yourself to take clam down.

That's what I'm dealing with right now as I'm standing on Bash's front porch as he looks at me like a wounded animal.

"Can I come in?" I ask softly. My vision is blurry, my throat is aching, but I refuse to break down like a little girl in front of him.

He hesitates for a second before sympathetically nodding his head and holding the door open for me to walk through.

This is the Bash I like, this is the Bash I wish I found years earlier. When I'm with this Bash it's hard to believe that he could ever be the same Bash as the one who was dying on his front porch.

"Do you want water?" He softly asks.

I nod my head and follow him into the kitchen. All of the appliances are stainless steel, the counters are granite, and the room is impeccable compared to the small run down house I dropped Bash off at that one night.

"You didn't live in that small house did you?"

Bash turns from the refrigerator, taking out a water pitcher, and sets it in front of me where I'm sitting at the counter.

"That small town home? Nah, I just didn't want you to see where I really lived." He turns away to reach for a cup from the top shelf of the cabinet. His forearms flex while he stretches and his plain black t-shirt rises up in the back, showing off a few inches of drool worthy skin.

"Why not?"

He pours the water into the cup, filling it almost to the brim and sliding it over to me. As he begins talking he leans against the counter top with his elbows resting against the cool granite. "I didn't want you to think I was a spoiled rich boy who was rebelling against his parents."