That Summer || Nate Ruess

all i know is a simple name

Nate's POV

I knocked on the bathroom door and waited.

Ellie was absolutely charming. I was shocked too, I sort of expected her to be a wild crazy Rory-esque girl. But she was actually quite nice.

Shocking I know.

I made her hot chocolate (I'm so smooth) and then had gotten up to go to the bathroom.

Which had found me here.

I knocked again.

I heard a sniffle and then the door opened.

Rory came out, smiling wanly at me. Her eyes looked strangely red, but I shrugged it off.

And maybe I knew then. Knew what she had been doing. Knew what she was thinking.

But I didn't realize, I didn't comprehend. I didn't act on it.

"Nate?" Ellie called.

I nodded at Rory and turned and left her, standing in the hallway.

**

Rory's POV

"Where are you going?"

Ellie barely spared me a glance. "Me and Nate are going out."

Nate and I, I corrected in my head.

Ellie had been here for three days and her and Nate had been practically inseparable.

It irritated me. And it hurt me a little too.

It's just, Ellie was my best friend. I wanted to see her when she came to visit me, not Nate. And well, maybe it had something to do with my crush on Nate.

But I've never had someone who understood, who had been through what I was going through. Who got me like Nate did.

It was a beautiful, foreign feeling, to have someone understand you. I hadn't been used to it, and I wasn't now, mostly 'cause he wasn't ever around to understand.

To be frank, I kind of loved Nate.

I had loved him before, when I didn't know him personally and he was Nate Ruess, from Fun., the guy who saved my life and made me smile everyday. I loved him more than I had ever loved anybody.

And I don't know if I ever stopped.

Because I sort of loved our arguements and the way he insulted me. Maybe it was stupid and foolish but I did.

And then he left me for Ellie.

Because I was fucking stupid. I was fat and ugly and fucked up and I had issues, why would Nate want me? I was too young and Ellie was her usual perfect golden haired self. She outshone me anyday.

It hurt, but I was used to it.

But this was different. This was Nate, the guy who had saved my life, who had helped me through some of the toughest times in my life. This was Nate.

Yes, I had said I hated him. But didn't she notice how real my smile was with him? Wasn't she my best friend? Shouldn't she see through my acting?

She always told me she could tell when I was sad, so why didn't she know when I slashed my own skin and cried myself to sleep? Why didn't she?

My own thoughts were coming faster and faster. I felt the flicker of itchiness at my wrists and I knew what would come.

The truth is, no one knew anything. And sometimes that terrified me, coming home and bursting into tears when I realized no one knew how I felt.

But at the same time I didn't want the world to know, because I wasn't sure that they'd understand.

The tears started, streaming down my face before I could stop them, making dark spots against my white long sleeved shirt.

I stared into the mirror. A girl with too pale skin and red rimmmed green eyes stared back. She was haunting, and ugly and fat and disgusting and horrifying and a fucked up mess and different.

The first cut was thin, but as I continued, drawing the razor over my skin again and again, they got thicker and deeper. Blood oozed down my arms and fell onto the white tiled floor, the crimson making a startling contrast.

I sighed as I made another cut, smiling to myself. Maybe it was disgusting and wrong but it made me feel better. So many people didn't understand that, that you cut for a reason, and that you want to.

There was a darkness in me, a corner of my mind that always whispered "You aren't good enough. You aren't good enough. You aren't good enough."

And it hurt, because it brought back memories of school, of the whispers of 'Freak', 'Fat,' 'outcast', 'go kill yourself.'

It got so bad that I tried. To kill myself, I mean.

My parents found me before I could. I was hopsitalized for two weeks.

That's what they meant when they said issues. They worried about me, but truthfully they had no fucking idea what I was going through.

The whispers got louder, and cutting wasn't helping, it wasn't fucking helping, oh god.

"Attention whore."

"Bitch."

"Freak."

"Nobody likes you."

"Ugly."

"Disgusting."

"Go die already."

I whimpered, making another cut on my arm, gasping at the sting of it.

I wasn't expecting the door to fly open.

a/n

OMG WHO IS IT WHO IS IT AHAHA

Lols I know who it is ;)

Wonder if you guys can guess...

Comment :)

Love,

Kate xxx