The Irony of Your Perfection (An Asking Alexandria Fan Fiction)

Chapter Eighteen

Hola.

Enjoy your second-last chapter, bitchachos c:

Best wishes,

Your fangirly, dirty-mouthed Canadian internet friend. <3

(no seriously whenever I swear I'm like 'oh shit wait I'm Canadian' and then I laugh bc 'oh shit' )

***

We have to cancel a few gigs and stay here until Danny gets better.

That’s the text I find from Sam when I wake up the next day, along with Danny’s room number. I throw my phone at the ground; the screen cracks in several places, barely doing justice to the turmoil that’s going on inside of me. I don’t want to know about Danny, I don’t want to see Danny and I don’t want to think about Danny. They’ll leave without me in a few days and I won’t care, because by then I will have forgotten about Danny and his beautiful eyes and the feeling of his arms around me…

Fucking hell.

I had him, and I lost him, all because I was caught up in a relationship that was never meant to be. Just thinking about it makes me want to break down.

But I can’t do that, because I have to be strong today. Not for myself, but for Elias.

I pull on a pair of dark jeans and a sweatshirt and leave the hotel room. Even by foot, it doesn’t take me long to get to where I’m going.

I ring the doorbell, feeling almost suffocated by the cool bulk of a switchblade in my pocket; I took it from James when I left, for this purpose alone. The metal presses uncomfortably against my upper thigh; I will myself to believe that I won’t have to use it. There’s no real way to tell, though, since I’m not sure what state Elias’ father will be in. I’m painfully aware that is addictions make him unpredictable, at best.

I wait on the front step for a while, haunted by the whisper of the trees surrounding the house. The slightest sound sends shivers down my spine; every time I hear a rustle I find myself checking around the corner, expecting to see Elias’ shy smile peeking at me from behind the gate.

I shake my head slightly, commanding my eyes not to succumb to the tears that threaten to spill over, and then I ring the doorbell again. After waiting for a while longer with no answer, I resort to the only possible option: breaking in.

Elias told me once that whenever he needed to get out of the house, he would sneak into the kitchen and slide out through the window. Little did he know that he would not be the only one to use this escape route.

I’ve never been inside of Elias’ house, so I’m not sure which window leads into the kitchen. I hop off of the front steps and unlatch the side gate, staying low to the ground in case I cross the path of any wandering eyes.

Silently I assess the house; through a back window I can see the living room. I glance around the other side of the house and find that there’s only one other window, and that means I must’ve found the kitchen.

I take a shaky breath and slide my hand up to a small knob at the base of the window; probably the latch. My suspicions are confirmed when, sure enough, the latch moves without a sound. Quietly I push the window up and haul myself onto the windowsill, praying that nobody hears me. I tuck my legs through the window and land softly in the kitchen, the soft rubber soles of my Vans muffling any kind of noise.

As soon as my feet hit the tiled floor I’m plagued by doubt. If Elias’ dad finds me before I find him, he’ll call the cops.

Then again, if he does, I can just direct them to the cocaine stash. Even with that, it’s still a scary thought.