𝙑𝙪𝙡𝙣𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚 (𝙀𝙡𝙞𝙤 𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙢𝙖𝙣)

16

There were no more calls made. It hurt too much to hear his voice.

Instead, I sat alone, searching for any scent left in his shirt, even though it had been almost a year and I'm pretty sure my mom has washed it.

Every time I closed my eyes it was just memories.

That was when I knew, you could get homesick over people too. Because he was my home. He was what home felt like.

Every day I could feel every single mile between us.

I told myself and everyone that I was over it. He was nothing.

But it was all lies.

He hurt me. He really did. I wanted to just forget about it and act like it never happened. But I can't.

No words can explain the pain I'm in.

I don't even cry anymore. I was just numb.

I had no motivation to do anything. It felt like a task just to even get out of bed in the morning.

His face and voice constantly ran through my head. It was just Elio.

Elio Elio Elio Elio Elio Elio Elio Elio Elio Elio

He made me vulnerable.

I felt exposed. I felt like if one person looked at me, they would know how broken I am.

I hated it.

I hated all of it.

I want it all to stop.

Elio's POV:

I'm not okay.

I know that.

My parents are trying to make me happy. They want me to feel better.

I want to feel better.

But I can't. I don't talk to anyone.

The only person I want to talk to is Stella, but she stopped calling.

She probably fell in love with that Eddie boy and forgot about my existence. I've never been good enough.

For the first week or so she was gone, Marzia came over and tried to comfort me.

It didn't help. I wanted her gone. I didn't want anyone around.

I only wanted her.

Oliver had left. I actually felt better when he was gone. He was a reminder that I was only scared to get hurt and ruined everything.

__

I sit in my room, staring at the side of the bed she normally took up.

I hoped that maybe her pillow smelt like her. Maybe I could just get a faint sent of her shampoo.

But it had been almost a year, and Malfalda had washed my sheets many times.

Sometimes, it feels as if it was only a dream. The only proof I have of her actually being here is her dress and my sadness.

No one speaks of her, I get no calls, no letters, no pictures.

Nothing.

Could I just be insane?

Could the summer only been my imagination?

No. It couldn't.

No one could ever just dream, or imagine the feeling I had for her. They were so overwhelming and beautiful.