My Angel | lrh ✔️

•15 Years Old•

When Jenny was fifteen, she had her first heartbreak.

I was sat on the roof, waiting for her to come home from school like I always did. She was a blur of black and red, her attire being skinny jeans and a plaid flannel that I loved seeing her wear so much, as she came home a crying mess.

She stormed through the front door in tears, her converse-clad feet stomping against the floor in both anger and sadness.

I kept my gaze on her as she slammed the door to her bedroom shut and flopped down on her soft comforter.

She cried into her pillow as I sat gingerly at the foot of her bed, rubbing her back and whispering words that she probably couldn't hear but would take into consideration anyway.

It took a while. It always took time for her to stop, but I didn't care. All I wanted was my little girl to be happy.

She finally sat up, mascara dripping down her cheeks and her lipstick smudged and a faint silouhette of make-up on her pillow, yet I couldn't care less.

I still pulled her in close, and I still kissed the top of her head, and I still told her that no matter what happened, she'd always have me. Because she did.

I stayed with her that afternoon. And I found myself simultaneously mending two broken hearts in the process; hers, and mine.