Shawn Mendes Imagines

Self Destruction

  (Y/N POV)

    Shawn grunts as he falls beside me heaving heavily. I try to calm my breathing as much as can but the sinful things taking place in this room didn't allow for that.

  He rolls over further and gets up, taking out a cigarette from the box and lighting the tip of the toxic stick before placing it on his swollen lips.

  Once I'm calmed down, I stare at how his back flexed once he pulls his arms up to scratch his hair or how his jaw clenched when he puffs out the smoke.

I stare at how he has complete control over me. At any time, any day. How I know what he fucks many more girls after I leave and how he doesn't give a shit about me.

  But I love him.

I love him so much it's mind blowing even for me.

  But this needs to stop. It hurts me so much to know that I'm just a tissue he keeps on using. And one day he's just going to forget me on the ground left to be steeped on and torn.

  Just like what he's doing to my heart. Every time he calls me over I know what's going to end up happening and my mind tells me to be strong and ignore his texts. But my heart pulls when he sends text after text. And then I give in to this toxic relationship. I get pulled into this game where he's the creator and I'm his doll.

   But my heart can't take it much longer. It won't take it. Not anymore.

  I hesitate before speaking up.

"Can I take a shower?"

"Do whatever, I don't care."

He sighs before getting up and striding towards the double doors of his 900 foot apartment building before going to the kitchen.

I sigh before dragging my aching body out of bed and getting in the shower.

The clock strikes 3 when I get out and throw on his favorite shirt.

  I open the doors connected to his bedroom to see him lying with his back facing the ceiling, one arm under his pillow and the other tucked under the blanket.

His breath is even before I go to the side where I was 30 minutes prior to gather my belongings to leave.

  The whiff of perfume hits me when I lift up his shirt. I immediately take it off because other girls have been in this shirt and he hasn't bothered washing it.

  Tears sting the back of my eyes as I slip on my shirt and pants before looking at the sleeping devil that takes me to hell at least once a week.

  Holding in a cry, I quickly slip out of the door. My shoes are in his living room couch due to us previously being there before taking it to the bedroom.

I can't take this torture anymore. I can't take that his body belongs to more girls and not just me. I just want him to be mine and that sounds so selfish but I'm tired of sharing.

I need to leave my hell before my heart gets fully ripped apart.

  I don't even bother slipping them on before a voice interrupts my thoughts.