Our Love Is Torture

Chapter 35 - You're Mine

Hello my angels! 😇 You guys don't even freaking know how excited I am for y'all to read this! I'm glad I updated this chapter early. You all deserve it for all the love I got for my last chapter!

It's everything you wanted to happen, and it's great. I hope you all love it. It's a bit sad that we only have so little left for this book 💔 but let's not be THAT sad. We still have 2 more chapters remaining, so it's fine.

This chapter is Rohan's POV, yay! I know how much you all love his Pov's.

So make sure you smash that VOTE and leave a COMMENT! ❤

Enjoy.

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Rohan's POV

It's my third day in India.

The time was meant to go fast but it's not.

My breath is slow, my heart's not racing, everything is just too... boring.

The other day I was in Italy and now I'm in India. Italy... fucking Italy...

Here's a thing about addiction: when you're out of it, you can't feel anything. My addiction crawled in, because I could no longer purge it out. I have no reason to behave, because she wasn’t here, and everything felt hopeless, and wrong, and final.

So. Fucking. Final.

I wanted to go. To escape. Fucking end this; you don't realise how much you'll miss a person before, but after when you get away from them, you do. It's a brutal truth.

India's the last one. It marks the end of my crazy tour. But not everything is right. Hell, nothing is right...with me.

Last night was pretty ruining. Broken.
My show was awful and the day before that, I was on a flight--and as soon as I landed in India, I saw it. All the shit exploding over the media.

None of it was true. That room wasn't mine, my friend owns an hotel, he was having a party, I just went to the balcony for a smoke. Alexis was there, and she fucking followed me. She was drunk and way over it, so then she kissed me, but I didn't.
Of course the camera stopped as soon as I pushed her away and walked off. Of course they didn't broadcast that.

But I wasn't pissed at that. I was pissed at the fact that Aisha was buying this. She wouldn't pick my calls, she wouldn't reply to my texts when I sent her dozens... when I say dozens, I mean dozens!

You fucking know what? I'm not pissed. I'm MAD!

How could she?

Last night after my gig, I went to the bar by the street, girls lined up, with packets of drugs stacked in their bras. I didn't touch them, I did get one or two packets. And a bottle of whiskey, which I snuck into my hotel room and drank all night. Furious. Mad. Exhausted.

I’d had my chances all along. I’d simply chosen not to use them for, I don’t know, whatever reason. Actually, the reason was crystal clear to me now. Her. Aisha. She kept me high on something much stronger than alcohol.

I had my gaps between lines and bottles of alcohol, so I tried to convince myself I was still relatively sober, and when I was relatively sober, I called her. All the time. Every minute since I landed in India last night. She just never picked up.

But then because she wouldn't pick up, I started to send her messages. Stupid messages. Creepy messages. Messages that if somebody found out, could have landed me in a lot of trouble.