You Don't Have To Go(JOEY): ©Skiller0Dani

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PART 1. 

It's like Russian Roulette. If you chose right, you survive with a life of solitude and happiness. Forever running with that one person, and never looking back. But that's only if you just happen to make all the right decisions. But if you don't, if you make one bad choice, then you lose. Game over. For while at least, you might find someone else, but deep inside you know, you know.  That this person, this person, is not them. And you wont ever forget that simple fact. Ever. It burns, like a smoldering fire in your heart, that never seems to be put out. 

I pretend to ignore him from across the room. Why did I agree to come to this stupid party anyway? I turn my back as I hear his laughter bubble up from the other side of the room.  I try so hard to stop myself from hearing it, I go as far as placing my hands over my ears. It only gets worse when she says his name over and over again. Joey. Joey. Joey. Each syllable burning holes in my heart and mind. It doesn't help that its been only a few months. I wasn't ready to see him this early. I clutch my heart as tears prick my eyes and I turn to head out. I can't be here. 

I shove through the mass of sweaty bodies and the door is in sight. I grip the handle and jerk it open and stumble out without noticing someone else already occupying the balcony. Its Joey.  Since when was he this tall? I turn, awkwardly leaning against the railing when I hear a gasp. 

"Y-Y/N?" His voice is smooth, and even, much unlike the state of his eyes. Red, puffy, and tears spilling down over his cheeks. I don't turn, because I'm doing this for his own good. If I don't then he'll be in much more pain than he is now. I turn to face him, keeping it together as best as I can. I try to just walk past him, he grips my wrist. 

"Y/N. P-please. I-" He cuts himself off, as if he never had anything planned to say. I try to ignore the urge to cry as I do my best to wriggle out of his grip. He pulls me to his chest, and tears now come to the surface. 

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