these darkened stars {andy biersack}

chapter nine

andy's mind was running reckless, wild in a mix of thoughts and confused emotions that he couldn't fully comprehend. it had been running nonstop since the night before, and now that dawn had already broken, there was no chance of even trying to get sleep. so instead, he laid among the ruffed up sheets that conveyed his abandoned struggle and breathed deeply, as if that would ease the storm threatening to unleash inside of him.

the curtains kept the majority of the morning light at bay, for which he was thankful. the light meant that the day was here, and he knew that he wasn't up for dealing with it today. what he really wanted to do was lay there with the tv on, unmoving for the entire day. and if sleep, if peace found him, he would welcome it happily.

the room was so still that andy wasn't sure alex was still in the room until he looked over to the bed next to his. sure enough, there she was, still passed out with her head sunken into a pillow.

how haven't i left her yet, he wondered with a deep frown adding to his cranky, exhausted expression. i should've left her the day after i picked her up—the day after we met, like i always do.

he was almost angry with himself. he was andy biersack, the boy with nobody, the lone wolf. there hadn't been anybody this permanent—not that he was saying this was permanent, because it definitely wasn't—since...

well, since juliet.

the thought had him throwing the duvet off his body and springing to his feet with a sudden angry energy. no, he hissed to himself, don't even think that. why in the world would he ever think such a thing?

he didn't mention her. he never mentioned her, and now...

if he wasn't angry about her not leaving before, oh, now he certainly was. she had ignited a red flame that set fire to his blood until it was red-hot with anger. it had him throwing on his clothes and stuffing the rest of his things in his bag, storming out of the room but making sure the door shut quietly, anyways, because he didn't want alex following him out to his truck and convincing him to let her stay.

and he knew she would end up convincing him, because he had been in this situation before, and that was the way it turned out last time, and it would still be the same. even the terrible events that unfolded afterwards had led him to the still-sleeping girl in the hotel room.

a few years ago, he had met a girl who loved to travel. she lived in los angeles near his neighborhood and they had become acquainted through mutual friends at a party he had snuck out to after his grandparents strictly forbade him to go. the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in all of his seventeen years of living, he had thought when he first laid eyes on her.

her hair was dyed a rich blonde that fell down her neck in soft curls, begging to be combed through by his fingers. she was pale, as was he, and wore similar black clothing that piqued his interest even further. but her eyes—those were the most captivating of all.

he never asked her what color they were, but he never figured it out, either. some days they seemed to be a shade equivalent to his, a bright blue that darkened as it spread from the pupil; some days they were a vibrant blue-green that told of the sea she called her backyard. some days, they even looked as if they had darkened into a brown. whatever color they had been, they were beautiful. she was beautiful. and then—

and then he didn't allow himself to think about her anymore. to remember. when he came to, he realized he was already in the driver's seat, staring down at the steering wheel like he was waiting for the truck to start itself. he went to turn the key in the ignition but stopped himself before he could do so.