and then you left // cth

chapter 5: halfheartedly

alexis

"Hey, Luke?" Gram calls. He turns around to face us but continues to walk backward. I picture him crashing into something and almost laugh out loud. Almost.

"Yeah?" he asks. Gram looks at me for a few seconds, and I see her wheels turning.

"Maybe sometime you could bring Alexis along to one of your band practices," She suggests to him innocently. I close my eyes tightly, almost in an attempt to escape the horrendously embarrassing situation; If only it were that simple.

There is really nothing worse for a seventeen-year-old like me than my own grandmother trying to make friends and fill up my social calendar for me. I don't know what to say, how to backtrack.

"Uhh...." he trails off and glances at me. It's clear I'm not welcome but Gram seems to think otherwise as she grins at us. I literally just got here, I haven't even unpacked my suitcase, or dug out my phone, and she's trying to get me a boyfriend or something.

I wonder what she would think of me dating if she knew why I was even here, living with her in the first place. For a second, just a second, I consider telling her so that this nightmare could end. But quickly I return to reality.

"You know what, Gram, thank you for proposing that idea, but I actually really should go unpack. And I should call my mom anyway. I promised her I would." I turn to Luke, who looks relieved, to say the least. I don't blame him. Why would he want to hang out with an anxious freak like me?

"Luke, it was nice meeting you. Have fun at practice. I'll see you around. Gram, I'll be in my room." And with that, I walk rather quickly downstairs and to my room, slamming the door behind me. I almost get lost on the way, and I questioned whether or not I found the correct door.

As soon as I was safely locked in my room, I begin shutting down. My body shivers uncontrollably as I unlock my phone without thinking, and open an app I try my best to avoid.

Photos.

Once used so often, an app that held all of my memories and pictures of the people and places I love, now lies as a graveyard for the proof that I was happy, at some point in my life.

I allow myself to scroll past the minimal amount of photographs I have taken in the past year, quick pictures of latte art and a few other things that every once in a while will make me smile.

I slowly tap on the very last picture I have of him, a selfie he snuck while I was in the bathroom, only a week before everything came crashing down.

I can't look at it for two seconds without breaking down.

I miss him. Not the Him that hurt me, of course. I miss having that someone. That someone who I can tell anything to, who will hold me in his arms when he knows words can't repair the hurt in my heart. That someone who I loved more than anything in the world.

Actually, I missed having someone at all. Now I have literally no one I can rely on. I can't even rely on myself, because I freak out at completely normal things. Like when Luke's phone rang, and it was a song that Calum introduced me to. Everything comes back to him. I'll never be able to escape.

I was so mad at him, for taking that selfie. Well, not just one. He literally took 342 pictures of himself in the three minutes I left him alone with my phone for. He used up almost all of the data on my phone and I remember yelling at him before he laughed and hugged me from behind. He wrapped his arms around my mouth, preventing me from speaking as he buried my face in the crooks of his elbows. And then he began tickling me, a loophole he found to avoid fighting.

I let myself think of him like that for the first time in so long, and it feels nice, in a way. It feels good to remember the good times that came before the bad.

It feels nice as my sides heave and my face reddens more with each tear that slides down my cheek.

And that that exact moment, my phone rings from somewhere in my suitcase, and I'm captured as a flashback takes over my mind.

. . .

I was laying in bed, crying silently, when he called. I didn't answer the first time. Or the second. I knew it was him though, I could see his face flashing across the screen, a photo I took of him when we watched the sunset together after a hike the previous year. But I didn't want to talk to him, or anyone, for that matter. I just wanted to drown myself in my thoughts, block everything else out. Sure, it wasn't healthy, but nothing I did was, at this point.

By the third time, I knew that if I didn't answer, he would come over, worried that things were getting Bad again.

So I tried to take deep breaths, just like the overpaid doctors told me to do in times like this, and answered the call.

"Hello?" My voice cracked, and I instantly regretted picking up.

"Lex? Oh my God, you're crying. I'm on my way over. What's wrong, babe?" he asked. I heard keys jingling in the background. This was the exact opposite of what I wanted.

"No, Cal. Please don't come over. I'm fine. I just want to be alone." I pleaded. I really didn't want him to see me like this. He'd seen me this way once previously, and he hadn't looked at me the same since.

"No, Lex. I know how this goes. You're going to lock yourself in your room and trap yourself in your mind that is full of bad things. Bad things that aren't even true. You're going to cry out all of the tears you've been holding in and get dehydrated and one way or another you're going to end up in the hospital or worse and I'm going to hate myself because I didn't go to your house and let your cry on my shoulder and hold you and I let you suffer silently. I know how this goes, Alexis. And I'm not going to let it get that far. I'll be there in eight minutes. I love you." and then the line clicked dead. He used my full name. He only did that in times like these.

And I cried, God, did I cry. I sobbed because I'd allowed this boy to get to know me too well, and now he knew everything and would try to help me. I didn't want help though. Not really. I wanted his company and love and hugs but not right now.

I eventually stopped crying and instead laid down on my bed and stared at the ceiling, lost in thought.

Before I knew it, I heard the front door open (Why did I give him a key?) and then felt a breeze of cold air hit my skin as he opened the door to my bedroom.

"Oh, baby," I heard him say softly. I didn't look at him. He crawled into bed beside me, my back pressed into his chest, and wrapped his strong arms around me, resting his chin on top of my head.

With his body engulfing mine like this, I felt safe. Protected. Protected from the devil that was known as this life that I desperately wanted an escape from.

A light sob escaped my lips before I spoke. "I said I wanted to be alone, Calum." I told him, halfheartedly. I knew he wouldn't leave my side until he knew I was better.

"And I said I was coming over," he replied quietly, his soft voice almost a whisper. I flipped my body so I faced him. He looked so sad. It hit me then how much this hurt him, how much it broke him to see me like this.

"Goddammit, Calum. I just want to be alone." My voice projected at him, and before he could react, I ran into my bathroom, locking the door behind me and collapsing on the floor.

Through the wood of the door, I heard him shuffle over and sit near the door. He didn't try to open the door. He knew I wouldn't try anything with him right outside the door. But he also knew I wanted to be alone.

I stayed there, in that 6-foot square closet of a bathroom, for no less than sixteen hours. And not for one second, did Calum leave his spot. When I came out, he was still there, waiting for me.

He told me, later that week, that he would always wait for me.

Always.

And then he broke my heart four months later.

. . .

aw cal

i love him oops