Chris McLean Imagines

Maybe I'm Just Not Good Enough

     The first 7 months went really well. They were happy together, very minimal arguing, and even the campers could tell Chris was happier. But, then something changed. For nearly 3 months, Chris hasn't been anywhere near has happy as before. No one still knew of Chris' new found relationship- though 'new found' is used lightly- he started to be harder on the campers than ever before. He was pushing limits that could very well get him fired. After yelling at the campers once more, he stormed back to his trailer, expecting to see his partner somewhere inside but it was empty. The lights were off and the trailer was silent. Chris started to panic. He threw open the door to their shared bedroom, hoping they were just napping. There was no one in sight. He noticed something, left on the neatly made bed and approached it slowly. He unfolded the paper, finding a letter, in their perfect handwriting.

Chris,

I don't know what happened. Something...changed. You aren't the same, and we are constantly fighting. I cannot handle the arguments, and the comments...I cant handle the hateful tone and the glares. I want to be happy. I wanted to be happy with you, but it seems as though that isn't going to happen...not anymore. It's not your fault, though. Honestly, maybe it is me. Maybe I'm just not good enough.

I'm sorry, but I had Chef take me home. I know it isn't something you have said, and maybe you didn't even feel it- but I love you. Don't blame yourself for me leaving, please. Honestly, it probably is my fault and you deserve better. Go easy on the campers, okay?

Goodbye, Chris.

(Y/N)

Chris read over the letter multiple times. He moved to sit on the bed, silently as he stared at the page, the words running through his mind repeatedly.

"(Y/N)...left?" He felt the words leave his mouth before he could even process them. His arm fell to his side, resting on the bed as he stared at the floor where the paper previously filled his vision. Tears filled his eyes as he jumped up, looking through the drawers and checking the bathroom. Anything to show this was just some cruel, sick joke. But he found nothing. He wasn't aware of the tears falling down his face until Chef mentioned something. He turned to the doorway of the room. Chef was leaning on the doorway.

"They left, Chris. They're gone." His voice was quiet. Chris froze, the words finally registering in his brain.

"(Y/N) really...left me?" Chef gave a sympathetic smile before turning to leave. "Wait....Chef...why?" Chef froze mid step, debating on answering his question.

"They were miserable...(Y/N) cried, the entire way to shore. They told me how horrible they felt...after all the arguments and the fighting. They couldn't take it anymore. You know...they really do blame themselves. They think they weren't good enough for you. But...with how you treated (Y/N)? I think it was the other way around." Chef sighed, walking out of the trailer, leaving Chris to his thoughts. He thought back to all the arguments and how he blamed them for everything. How it was (Y/N)'s fault every time- he never took the blame. He thought about how they just sat there and took it, how after a few times, they didn't argue back. He should have realized he was breaking them.

"It's my fault. All of it. I am so sorry, (Y/N)..." Chris walked out of the bedroom, slowly, noticing the dishes had been washed- the last thing he complained about. And how the trailer was spotless- another complaint.

"I never did anything to help them. They left me and STILL did everything I complained about before leaving...I really fucked up." He sighed, running his hands through his hair. "I have to get them back..." He stared at the small coffee table in front of him, remembering the way (Y/N) used to sit there and paint their nails. He remembered they would stick their tongue out in concentration and when he would get caught staring, they'd give him a big smile, light pink dusting their face. He sighed again. He just found out they left, not even a half hour ago and he already misses them, terribly. Instead of wallowing in his pity, he began to think of a plan.