Girl With the Heart of Stone

Abrelle Louise

Feel free to point out any spelling, grammar, or spacing errors. I would really appreciate it and will fix them right away :)

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Ch11: Abrelle Louise

Day 69

Today I wake up to the worst day of the year. The day I dread the most.

Luis Vasquez.

Three years ago today he was murdered.

A cold blooded murder and I'm mourning in the only way I can.

I'm currently sitting in my small shower allowing the cold water to hit my naked back.

"Lydia," Elliot exclaims "you've been showering for more than an hour."

I don't answer. He's been pressuring me for about ten minutes now.

"Lydia," he knocks harshly "I have to pee."

Rolling my eyes I decide maybe he's right. Maybe I should get out now.

"Fine," I turn the water off and wrap a towel around myself. I look at my reflection for a couple of seconds.

"It never should have been you Luis," I whisper "I'm so sorry."

Taking a deep breath I open the door and face Elliot who I've been avoiding lately.

"Finally," he growls and I roll my eyes at him before making my way to my room.

I hear Elliot slam the restroom door and I contain the urge to yell at him.

He's been keeping up with his famous bad boy reputation lately. Ever since I told him he was a sad pathetic excuse of a person.

Maybe I went overboard. No, he has to be mad at me. Its the only thing that stops him from being nice and it keeps my emotions at bay.

I change into some light blue jeans, a simple black lose tank top, some black sunglasses, a sun hat and some vans. I proceed to brush my hair and put on some light natrual makeup.

Today is going to be tough day.

I walk out of my room and make my way towards the fridge. Grabbing some left overs from last nights dinner I put them into the microwave.

"Just do it," I hear Elliot growl and I turn around and see him talking on the phone. He's wearing an angry smug look on his face as well as some dark jeans and a royal blue blazer over a plain v-neck shirt.

He looks good.

"I don't care," he hangs up and storms towards the fridge pulling out a beer.

He bought beer yesterday morning and has been drinking non-stop.

Rolling my eyes, again, I take my food out of the microwave and serve myself some water before sitting down on the table.

"Do we have anything other than left overs?" Elliot asks clearly annoyed.

"No," I answer.

"Great," he slams the fridge door "being poor is amazing."

I'm not going to fight him. Not today.

"I'm coming home late," I say as he sits down in front of me "I would appreciate it if you weren't drunk tonight."

Last night he came home so drunk I had to put him to bed and it's not something I'd like to do again.