shawn mendes imagines

stitches

stitches: two out of fifteen

lyric based around: and now that im without your kisses, ill be needing stitches

word count: 896

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Shawn was never late. Never. Sure, he had a day full of press and interviews, but he always made sure he could be home in time to spend at least a few minutes with me, always. So when I had made plans this morning to have dinner together and watch 'Poltergeist' afterwards, I was less than pleased when he stumbled home at midnight, the smell of alcohol reeking from his entire presence.

"You're drunk," I muttered as he fell lazily onto the couch next to me. His usually soft brown eyes were bloodshot, full of darkness and hate almost as he stared at me from just a few inches away.

"I went out with the guys for half an hour after the interviews," he shrugged, reaching for my hand, but I snatched it away quickly, standing up with such force so that my feet made a loud 'thud' on the wooden flooring of our living room.

"Half an hour, really?"

"We were late getting out, the paparazzi and fans mobbed us, sorry," he apologized, but I could hear the tone of amusement under his slurred words as he followed me into the kitchen.

"You're such an asshole, Shawn, you know that?" I scoffed, angrily clearing the dishes from the dining room table and throwing them into the sink, "You were three hours late getting out, so then you went to the bar to get drunk? God knows what else you did there!"

"Y/N, what the fuck are you implying?! I'm not drunk, I'm far from drunk! Why are you being such a little bitch?!" he shouted, throwing his arms into the air, leaving me to stare at him in shock.

I dropped the plate in my hands and clenched my jaw. "I'm a little bitch? My boyfriend shows up five hours late to dinner, and I'm the little bitch?"

"You're making a huge deal out of nothing. It's been a long day, and you're just making it worse," he scowled. As he rolled his head back, the kitchen lights illuminated the pale skin of his neck, revealing what looked like the print of someone's red lipstick. My lips slightly parted, "Shawn, what's on your neck?"

His fingers rose towards his neck, gently prodding around to find out what I was talking about, finally reaching the print as the substance left a red stain on the tips of his hands. I didn't think it was possible, but his eyes seemed to get even darker as he stared down at me with a shadow of a smirk.

"I fucked Lauren."

My eyes widened at his bluntness. The sly look on his face didn't fall once, even when my eyes welled with tears, the skin of my cheeks turning a deep shade of red.

"What?" I croaked, bottom lip trembling as I slowly backed away from his towering figure.

"You heard me. Let's just say she screwed me ten times better than you ever have."

"Y-You don't mean that, you're j-just, you're just drunk," I stuttered, breathing out a light chuckle, but he shook his head slowly, fingers curling into a tight fist, the sick look in his eyes not dropping once.

"How many times do I need to say it, Y/N, I'm not drunk!" he shouted, banging his hand onto the surface of the island, causing the bottle of wine I'd set there earlier, one he'd gotten me for our one year anniversary, to tip over and spill along the clean white tile. His fist was still shaking as he leaned over the trashcan and belched whatever he had left inside him, coughing hard afterwards.

"Baby, are you alright?" I fretted, beginning to quickly walk over to where he was hunched over as if were instinct, freezing when he roughly held his palm out to stop my steps.

"I'm staying with Lauren for a couple of weeks. Don't know when I'll come back, so don't waste your time worrying about it," he said, wiping his mouth with he back of his hand, walking past me and towards the front door.

"Shawn, stop, you don't mean that, you don't mean any of this," I mumbled, clinging onto him like a lost puppy, praying for the Shawn that I fell in love with to come back.

"Yes, I do, now let go of me stop being a clingy bitch," he hissed, throwing me against the wall of the main hall, slamming the door as his body disappeared out of our house and into Lauren's car.

I felt like someone had stabbed me right in the middle of my chest, making it unable for me to take a full breath of air or even process an entire thought correctly. All that I could feel was pain, and it was consuming me more and more every single second. The only thing I wanted right then and there was to be touched by him again, to feel his lips against mine once more, to simply have him near me, because just knowing he was mine kept me at rest.

But now he wasn't, he wasn't here, he wasn't mine. He'd left me with a cut so deep, I knew I'd be needing some kind of relief, some kind of stitch to help me make it out alive.

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i tried lmao

ill most likely be updating again later today :-)

next imagine: never be alone