21 Questions {Awsten Knight}

N I N E T E E N

**this chapter may be triggering to some readers (includes memories of sexual assault/trauma)**

Charlotte's P.O.V.

If I'm being honest, I felt like kind of a dick for yelling at Awsten so much. But if your ex who hurt your feelings ended up climbing to your second story bedroom, wouldn't you be at least a little pissed?

The doctor made me leave his hospital room and I decided to go home. Otto and Geoff had arrived and they told me they would take it from there. Lucy picked me up in the parking lot and we stopped at the nearest drive thru for a late and unhealthy dinner of chicken nuggets and french fries.

I wanted to talk to Awsten and just pretend like nothing ever happened. But I couldn't. Because I had already learned my lesson about doing that with my last boyfriend. And things never really ended well for me. At least not with relationships, which was why I needed to shut Awsten out. I never should have let him in in the first place.

Max was curled up in my lap (well, part of him was because how could he fit in my lap) while I ate my depressing dinner and flipped through channels on the TV. Lucy was lying on the floor, scrolling through Instagram and laughing at memes every once in a while.

I have to admit, I felt lonelier than ever, even with my best friend in the room. It just all felt so empty and lifeless. Whenever I was with Awsten, he lit up the room and made everyone laugh. He made even the most boring things seem fun (like the DMV).

But I needed to get him out of my head, so I pulled out my phone and continued with my lyrics, humming a few melody ideas as I did so. I was getting pretty far with the lyrics I had shown Lucy, and I had come up with a melody for it all. I just needed to write the chorus and then I was done.

Several minutes passed and I was getting tired, so I told Lucy goodnight and went into the room we shared, shrugging off my clothes and glancing at my reflection in the mirror. I hated looking at my body, and I wondered how anyone could ever want me. How could Awsten ever want me?

I stared into my own eyes for a long time, thinking of all that had ever happened to me.

What happened with my last boyfriend.

His name was Justin. I met him through Hope, who had hooked up with him a couple months before. Kind of weird, I know, but something drew me to him. He was kind and different than every other guy that I ran into and could barely stand being alone with for more than five minutes.

When I talked, he listened, which was something I rarely ever got. Most people just wanted to fuck and then never talk again.

We went on several dates in the span of two months; going to movies, coffee shops, book stores, restaurants. Basically everywhere that a traditional couple goes. And he was perfectly normal, probably more compassionate than anyone else I had ever met. I've never really talked to anyone about this before, except Hope and Lucy. Not even Awsten knew, but it had been bothering me for so long.

He was gentle with me, which I appreciated, and I had never fallen for someone so easily. Mostly it consisted of me being a stubborn bitch and then never talking to whoever it was ever again, but he was different. He always showed up, always called, always texted, always knew what to say.

I sat down on the bedroom floor that Lucy and I shared, not bothering to put on any clothes or cover myself up. I just continued to stare at myself in the mirror until I became a blur, remembering one of the worst times in my life.

I was in love with Justin. He made me happy, and he made me feel safe. I remember looking into his hazel eyes and just feeling at home, because he understood me and I understood him. And then one day, it all seemed to change, like those last six months never even existed. Like we never existed, and we were just strangers, but not the good kind.

I remember it way too well, and I wish I could forget every second of it. How he touched me, how he talked down to me like I was nothing, like I was an object for him to use and use and use.

I was in bed, playing my guitar as he sat at the edge, listening intently like he always did. "Babe, you should write songs about us," he said, smiling at me. I smiled back, gazing at his hazel eyes that made me melt, and his brown hair that I ran my hands through late at night while he held me, helping me sleep.

I put my guitar down on the floor, scooting closer to him on the bed, wrapping my arms around his waist, leaning my head on his chest. I looked up at him and kissed him, like always.

And then things changed from calm to violent.

He hurt me. He hurt my mind, my body, my insides.

His hands weren't gentle anymore, and his voice wasn't soothing. It was torturing, and it was terrifying. My home wasn't my home anymore, because it was as if he lit himself on fire and left me out in the cold, capturing the breath from my lungs that depended on him to function.

"It's okay, we're just having fun."

He was. He was having fun, and I was screaming. 

He killed me. He killed every part of me that wanted to believe the world was a good place, and that there were people out there like him who made everything okay, who made everything beautiful. But he was tearing me down as he tore my safety away from me and took my soul from me.

And when he was done, he left me crying on the floor, my clothes strewn across the room, my stomach sick with guilt. 

And ever since then, I've never picked up my guitar.