Catastrophe | Damon Salvatore [3] ✔️

f o u r t e e n

Chapter Fourteen

Sand gushes out of the boxing bag as a harsh punch hits it. The punching bag swings around before a pair of manicured fingers hold it in place. Heavy breaths pant as punch after punch blows onto the bag.

Emilia doesn't gasp for breath as she just puts all her anger on the bag. She's been at it for an hour now nonstop with no breaks taken. Her anger needed to be taken out. So instead of hurting people, she decided to torture the punching bag instead.

Stefan has checked up on her halfway through to make sure if she needed help in anything. Emilia would reject him, totally not paying attention to him while she continues punching.

It wasn't only torture for the bag, but it was also torture for Emilia. Heartbreak has three steps to every girl.

First, its crying and hurt while she sits on a couch and binge watches romance movie. A bucket of ice cream on her lap and a blanket wrapped around her as tears keep streaming down her face. The poor girl would keep asking her self "was i not enough" , "does he not love me" , "its all my fault" .

Second, its anger. Its believed to be the most dangerous stage. Especially if the girl is on her period. She'd be treating him like a jerk, throwing shade on him, and possibly become violent. The girl would be like "how dare you" , "you're a jerk" , "its your loss you son of a bitch" .

Third and last stage, is not caring. Basically the girl wouldn't give a single fuck anymore and she'd move on. She'd forget about him, delete his memories from her brain, and remove him from her life.

Emilia at the moment is between the first and the second stage. Unanswered questions run around her brain, pressuring her and angering her so she takes it all out on the punching bag.

"Son of a bitch," Emilia grits out, throwing a punch. "Kissing my sister behind my back. Thinking he could get away with it!" She sneers, kicking the top of the bag.

"I was there!" She exclaims, "I was there the whole time and he didn't even think about telling me. He had so many fucking chances."

"It's all my fucking fault!" Emilia cries, repeatedly punching the bag as blood pours out from her bruised knuckles. "It's my fucking fault for believing him. It's my fucking fault for trusting him. It's my fucking fault for being loyal to him. It's my fucking fault for loving him."

The punching bag flies from the chains attached to the ceiling and it collapses on the ground, sand pouring out of it.

Emilia's knees give away and she falls to the ground with a thud. Once a first tear broke free, the rest followed in an unbroken stream. Emilia bent forward where she sat on the floor and pressing her palms to the ground, she began to cry with the force of a person vomiting on all fours