Spilled

Part 9

Pre-note: What's this? Grace is uploading two days in a row?! :O Actually, last night I couldn't sleep because of tooth pain, so I was up all night writing like seven parts. xD And I'm probably gonna upload almost every day until I finish Spilled, cause I'm really excited for my next chapter fic, and it takes place during the summer so I wanna upload it during the summer, ya feel? Idk I'm weird okay :P I'll just let you read now. xD

Anthony:

I woke up with a splitting headache, a sore back, and the taste of vomit lingering in my throat. Which could only mean one thing: I was ridiculously hung over.

I slowly sat up, squiting at the white late-morning light flooding in through my window, and put a hand to my face to sheild it. The covers in the empty spot of the two-person bed next to me were messed up and not tucked in like usual. Which is odd, considering no one has even touched that sacred place in a week, and I didn't move enough in my sleep to mess it up myself. I shrugged off the thought and slowly stood up, groaning at the thumping in my head.

I slipped on a pair of shorts and left on the same t-shirt I had on the previous night, because there seemed to be nothing wrong with it. I wobbled out to the living room and muttered a "morning" to Ian, who was laying on the couch, his laptop spread across his legs. He glanced up at me and said something like "it's about time you got up" but I was too focused on getting some Ibuprofen in my system to care.

I slumped down on the opposite couch and sighed, not really sure how to approach the question in my mind. While, questions, actually. I had a thousand. Were we both drunk last night? Did we do anything stupid? Did either say something we didn't mean to?

"You hungover too?" I decided on, stretching my feet across the leather.

He just shook his head, and this terrified me. If I was drunk and he was sober, who knows what I said? Probably a million things my sober-self would regret. I could picture it now: me revealing how truly unhappy I was about the whole situation, how much I missed him, how I was acting so tough but falling apart on the inside. 

I bit my lip and shut my eyes in an attempt to subside the pounding. "What happened?"

He shrugged, not turning around to look at me. "You had one beer, and then another, and I warned you to stop but you didn't, and then you got really drunk and I had to carry you to your room."

I cringed a little at the thought of Ian carrying a drunken me down the hallway. "Did I do anything like, weird?"

He shook his head. "Nah. You just got drunk and passed out."

I slumped back into the couch, relieved that I hadn't done anything too bad. Sure, having your ex-boyfriend carry your passed-out self to your room is pretty bad, but it could have been worse.

"Are we doing anything today?" I asked, rubbing my face.

"You're not. Well, I mean, it's Sunday. We're not filming or anything."

"Oh yeah." This was a huge relief. "Wait, what did you mean by 'you're not?'"

"I'm going... somewhere."

"Where?"

He sighed and shut his laptop, then stood up, but didn't really look at me. "I'm, uh, going out."

"That still doesn't answer the question."

He scratched the back of his head and finally looked over at me. "I, uh, I have a date."

I felt my heart drop, and my throat tightened so much I didn't even attempt to breathe. "Oh," was all I could muster out, and I was extremely relieved when he left after that. 

I stared down at my feet, and I could literally feel my heart shatter and fly in a million directions throughout my body. The same feeling returned, the horrifying feeling of complete bodily shut-down that took over my life for days after the initial break-up. The feeling had just started to vanish, but now, here it was again, sending me back down into tha spiraling state of downhill depression. I was a car on a parking spiral with all gas and no brakes.

And it just kept going down and down until it crashed at the bottom.

This wasn't a part of the plan. Not at all. We were just supposed to stay seperated until he apologized and we confessed our love to the world and got married and spent the rest of our lives together. He wasn't supposed to move on and go on a date with another person. He was supposed to love me, and only me, forever.

I mentally punished myself at the narccissism of that last thought, but it was true. Ian was my soulmate, and I was sure of it. I would never find anyone in the whole world more perfect than him. 

I stood up and slowly paced back to my room, the thoughts of Ian being with someone else attacking my very few good thoughts. I stopped briefly by his door and listened, but didn't hear anything. He must have just been sitting on his bed on his phone or laptop.

I closed my door and slumped down on my bed. Even though it was uncomfortably hot in here, I pulled the covers up to my neck and breathed in as hard as I could. I hadn't washed the sheets since Ian had slept in here with me, and as stupid as it seems, I told myself that once his smell had completely vanished, I would know there was no hope for us anymore.

Yesterday, the smell was nearly gone. I had to take in a whole entire lungfull of stale oxygen just to get the tiniest whiff of his majestic scent. But, not today. Today, I breathed in deep, expecting to pick up next to nothing, but the smell surprised me.

It was there.

And a lot of it, too.

It was like my Ian scent had been replenished just when I needed it.

I'm not sure how it got there, whether it was just my imagination or something happened last night he won't tell me, but that one smell gave me hope.

And that hope stayed there for an hour or so, until I heard Ian's car backing out of the driveway, off to his date.

A/N: Yeah, I basically said everything I wanted in the pre-note :P So yes, just be expecting a lot of uploading until this is over (it's not gonna be too long.) Alrighty! Okok peaceskies \(^.^)/