Despondent | (Completed but editing)

Chapter 48.

"Lana? Lana is that you?" My mother shouts from yards away, picking up her pace and pushing the buggy faster in front of her. I stand frozen in my space, unable to move. My hands begin to shake at my sides, not knowing what is going to happen.

"Hi," I choke out of my dry throat when she gets close enough to hear me. She stops next to me and lines the pram up with the wall that lines the house on the corner we're standing on.

"Hey," she says, flicking her long blonde hair over her shoulder. I roll my eyes, her actions to prove her beauty haven't changed at all. Her short eyelashes are caked with black mascara in an effort to help them protrude from her eye sockets. Her red lipstick is smudged around her mouth and her teeth, making her look tacky.

"What are you doing in London?" She says, pouting out her lips.

"I'm visiting dad," I tell her.

"Oh yeah, all on your own?" She asks.

"No, my boyfriend is here with me," I tell her.

"Hm, I'll have to meet him, see if he's real," she says, laughing one of the most fake laughs I've heard in a while.

"Uh, why was you at Liam's?" I say, bringing my hand to my mouth and biting the skin around my thumb nail.

"I'm babysitting his daughter, look," she says and nods her head towards the buggy. I peek in and see a small, maybe only 2 month old baby asleep, a pink bow wrapped around her head.

"I didn't know he had a kid," I say, awkwardly stepping away from the pushchair.

"Could've been yours and his baby, I never understood why you broke up with him," she says, smiling down at the peaceful baby.

"That doesn't matter. I heard you're pregnant?" I half ask, her eyes widening.

"That's enough, I'm allowed to do what I want," she exclaims and my jaw drops in shock.

"What, what did I say?"

"Here you go again, New York did nothing to help your attitude I see," she says and readjusts her fur jacket and placing her hands around the handles of the buggy, clearly getting ready to go.

"I didn't even fucking say anything," I say, shaking my head.

"Goodbye, Lana, don't come round here again. You're not wanted here," my mum says and pushes the pram towards the zebra crossing, looking either way before crossing the road.

"Fuck you!" I shout and turn my head sharply and begin to pace down the street. My mother is a vile human being. I can't even have a single conversation with her anymore, it's been so long since we've had one civil talk. Fucking bitch.

-

I slide the door key into the hotel room door, pushing it open and letting out a breath. I lean against the back of the door once it's closed, preparing myself for the possible argument ahead. Even thinking about it brings me to tears. I sniff and suck up my tears, pinching the bridge of my nose to prevent them and eliminate any evidence of them. I take a few long strides into the main part of the hotel room and in front of one of the beds is Jason standing there with his beanie on, his shoes and his bag over his shoulder, ready to go somewhere. I stare at him confused and he gives me an equal look.

"Have you been crying?" He asks, tilting his head and examining my face.

"No," I deny even though it's pretty evident still. I sit on my bed with my head on my hands. Jason stands only a few feet away, shifting from one foot to the other.

"Where are you going?" I finally ask.

"Lana I've gotta go, I don't want to be here anymore," he says and I feel like my heart has been ripped out of my chest, thrown on the floor and stomped on repeatedly. Why?

"Why?" I audibly ask this time.

"I, I'm hurt, and I know you're hurting too," he says, taking a seat on the opposite bed and letting his bag fall onto the floor.

"We haven't even slept here yet," I say and he nods.

"I know, I'm sorry, please tell your dad I appreciate him paying out for the hotel for me," he says and I hum.

"Please don't go," the words slip out of my mouth as tears fall from my eyes.

"Oh Lana," Jason says, standing up and sitting next to me. He wraps his arm round my shoulder and pulls me to his chest. I lay on his shoulder sobbing, my tears falling onto his white t-shirt and turning the material see through. 

"I don't want to go," he admits.

"Then don't," I really don't want him to go. I've gotten so used to him being with me all the time, despite the hurt. I can't see him walk out.

"I have to. You know that it's best," he says, rubbing my arm soothingly.