The Fate Of Broken Hearts

Chapter 25

My eyes opened, groggily meeting the bright lights that made my current headache even worse, to look at where I had been placed. For a while I struggled to see recognize certain things around the room since everything around me seemed to be spinning. But by the few things I did recognize, like my phone and my bed sheets, I managed to work out that I was in my room.

Once I figured that out, I felt comfortable enough to sit up slowly, and lean back against my headboard for support. That was when the voices from before became clearer to me, echoing through the hallway in some kind of argument.

"If you hadn't been such an arrogant dick, maybe this wouldn't have happened, Aiden!" A girl's voice, familiar and slurred, whispered loudly.

"This was not my fault!" A boy whispered back, also a familiar voice.

"Look at her! She's never been drunk before and one hour with you and she's already passing out and throwing up!"

"Just go home with Lars, I'll take care of this,"

"If I weren't so drunk, I would cut off your balls for what you said to her back at the party!"

"Myra, let it go... we shouldn't have forced her to come in the first place. It's our fault too." Another voice joins in. "But, if something happens to her and you're responsible, I swear, Aiden..." The sentence trailed off.

"She'll be fine." The words came out sharp. "I don't want to be here anymore than I have to."

The next things I heard were a series of footsteps, soft voices and then the loud slam of the front door.

I noticed a pair of footsteps that were gradually thumping closer to my room, walk down the small hallway of the apartment. I pulled up my legs towards my chest and cowered back as far as I could into the headboard, staring intently at the door being pushed open.

One quick look from Aiden was enough to show his distaste. He scoffed and without saying a word, went into my closet, pulling that door open and rummaging through it without care.

"W-what are you doing?" I croaked out.

"You need to change." He said, dryly. "You can't stay in those clothes after you've thrown up on yourself."

I look down at what once was a beautiful dress and sure enough, he was right.

When I looked to see what he was doing again, I saw that in both his hands were a dark blue sweater and in the other were a pair of grey sweatpants. He walked over to my bed and threw them at my feet. "Put those on and throw out the dress." He ordered.

"Why are you here? Why have I got vomit all over myself? What happened?"

"Maybe you should stop asking questions and change." A bitter tone accompanied his words. It was more than clear he wasn't happy to be here.

"If you don't want to be here, then leave. It's not like I need your help. And even if I did, you would be the last person I would ask."

He stared at me and hovered over the edge of the bed. "Hate me all you want, but I'm the only one here so I wouldn't be picky if I were you." I didn't move an inch, and that angered him more. "I won't watch you continuously throw up and hurt yourself because you were too stubborn to actually listen for once. So get changed."

I sighed and flung my legs over the bed, gathering the clothes he had thrown, into my arms. But as soon as I stand on my own two feet, I felt as if the floors were caving underneath me. Every little feature of my room twisted into a black abyss and I stumbled backward, feeling a strong hand grab on to my wrist and keep me from falling.