63rd St.

Chapter 1

Trust. A beautiful thing.

The one thing I can't do anymore.

It's actually kind of funny when you think about it... trust is something instilled in us from a young age. You trust your teachers to educate you, your parents to guide you. As you get older you trust your partner to love you, and your job to support you.

And I can't do any of those.

It seems I can do everything else; I can successfully cover every purple bruise each morning, put on a painfully fake smile so my peers don't worry. I can pretend my relationship is going amazing, and pretend I can keep a job.

But I can't do something as simple as trust.

I'm not some crazy conspiracy theorists who believes everyone is out to get them, I just have an extremely hard time believing anyone is capable of being truly honest or genuine.

Maybe it's because of him, my boyfriend Andrew that is. My mind fights itself every day about whether his love for me was ever genuine.

He was great in the beginning.

He became my safety blanket, my rock, the person in life I felt I could trust the most. We never spent a second apart, and grew to know each other like the back of our hands. I dedicated my body and soul to him, for every drop of energy he could give me in return. I knew I'd spend the rest of my life with him.

But he got manipulative. The gaslighting and lying became part of his daily routine, it still is. At first I thought it was just a fork in the road, something that all relationships go through, but can ultimately be fixed.

Until he hit me for the first time. He went on an entire apologetic rant, and promised me he'd never place a finger on me again.

But that was just one of many lies to come. 

The apologies became nonexistent as the abuse continued. I now know that it's something that cannot, in fact be fixed, it's just who he is now.

I try to push the thought out of my brain, the little voice that keeps telling me it was never real, and he never loved me, that it was all just some sick game he plays for control. But I can't help it, all the signs are there.

It's safe to say I loved him. I still do. I don't think I'll ever be able to stop loving him.

I don't trust him anymore though. I trusted the kind, loving, considerate boy I grew to love. Not the man he is now.

I know for a fact that his jurassic change in personality is the reason my trust issues are so bad, i don't trust the words coming from my own mother's mouth.

He's exposed a side of life to me, that I can never unsee. A side where manipulative people lie their way into your life, only to completely crush you, yet keep you so dependent on them.

The only effective way to stop it is to distance yourself, don't give anyone the chance to get close to you in the first place. So that's what I did.

I stopped answering phone calls and texts, stopped hanging out after school, I stopped everything.

I didn't realize that in the process of trying to protect myself, I isolated myself from everyone I knew before Andrew.

I may be stuck with him now that he's all I have, but I sure as hell won't let myself get sucked into another heartbreaking situation.

Which is why I have walls up. Unbreakable walls that keep me safe from the pain I've already endured once.

So now here I am, sitting alone on the roof of the abandoned house on 63rd St. at 3 am.

I'm used to this now though, it's been my nightly routine since the insomnia kicked in, for almost a year.

I haven't slept in about 10 days, I don't know anymore I've lost count.

I think it's because I value my time at night, when it's just me, and I have peace and quiet. It's the only time I really have control over my life.

The only time I don't feel pressured to make a good impression, or pretend to be someone i'm not.

So I come here to this rooftop to smoke or cry or think, and simply enjoy my only breaths of fresh air in this suffocating life.

I reach into the front pocket of my backpack and pull out the dingy pack of Marlboros. I haven't been able to pick up any new cigarettes so I dipped under my bed into my emergency stash before I left my house.

I notice there are only three sticks left and sigh. I shake one out and light it, using my hand to shield the flame from the wind.

Inhaling the toxins, I take a hit then exhale a smoke cloud into the cool summer air.

I prop myself up so I'm laying on my backpack and continue smoking my cigarette, deciding I just want to watch the stars for the rest of night night.

Sorry first chapter's short but keep reading I promise they'll get longer

Thoughts?

(Word count: 880)