Vault

Sixty-Three

It's been a week; an entire seven days since. Guilt was eating away at me for ignoring my family, the people who didn't do anything to hurt me. I just couldn't talk about it. I couldn't talk about anything to be honest.

I sat in my old bedroom on the dusty floor of my apartment and heard my phone ding multiple times. Again. Sighing heavily, I looked at the group of messages coming in, all just wanting to know if I'm okay.

I'm not okay. I couldn't be further from it.

Jim-Jam: Please talk to me.

Jim-Jam: Just one text to tell me you're okay.

Jim-Jam: I know you're not okay, but at least tell me you're alive and conscious or something

Chris: You need to answer someone

Chris: You're going to have to say something eventually

Chris: Don't let him be a reason to shut all of us out, we love you and we're worried about you

Chris: Can you at least tell me where you are? Did you go back to Wilmington or are you staying with someone? Are you sleeping in your car? Are you alive?

Chan: Answer your fucking phone or else we're putting out a missing person's report

Chan: Ava, it's been a week. You need to talk to us

Bailey: I know everyone is texting you telling you what you need to do, but is there anything I can do for you? Anything I can help with?

Bailey: I'm here Ava for if and when you need me.

Katie: We love you. Tucker is waiting for you to hold him when you get back, but take your time.

Maddie: We're here.

The constant ringing of my phone, with hundreds of text messages from Jimmy and Chandler and Chris and whoever the hell else... it was driving me crazy. I know I need to answer them, and I told Jimmy I would eventually, but I can't right now. I just can't.

With my head buried under my arms with my knees pressed to my chest, I felt like I was going insane. Suffocating. Just leave me alone, please. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to recount how the only man I have ever loved made me feel like I'm dying with how much pain he caused. I don't want to hear about how there's other guys or how he messed up or any other bullshit nonsense that they thought would help. I don't want to hear about how he made a mistake or it wasn't what it looked like because I know what I saw. Because nothing was going to help. They can't do anything about it. What did they think? That they could walk around like a gang of older brothers and beat the crap out of him or something? Like they could scare him into somehow erasing the past? It doesn't fucking work that way. Still, in the abyss of messages from people trying to check on me and find out what happened... he hadn't even tried. Hadn't tried to contact me at all. It's been seven days.

I'm sick of this. I'm so fucking sick of sitting at home in my isolated apartment and crying alone. I'm not doing this anymore. I can't do this anymore.

Alone, still silencing everyone, I drove out to the store. Even since my birthday, I have yet to actually buy my own alcohol. Well that's about to fucking change.

I looked through the shelves of liquor in the store, grabbing three bottles of tequila. It was all I needed. I was alone after all and I don't intend to share, not that I had anyone to share with. Or anyone that I wanted to anymore.

I paid for the tequila, and went back home. It was the first time I had left my apartment since I got here from the party. I had talked to Ashton that night and he was giving me time, surprisingly without hovering. He listened to me monologue about my pathetic eyeliner that night and how I couldn't breathe until I fell asleep and when I woke up in the morning, there was a note from him just saying he was there if I needed him but that he'd give me all the space I needed. He wasn't a helicopter friend, which I appreciated. I had called Jimmy that night, when I woke up screaming and I couldn't breathe, but it was the last time we spoke. I just stopped answering. I couldn't do it.