𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞 (𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴)

❛❛chapter thirteen: panic❜❜

"Fuck're ya doin'?" His eyebrows knit together.

Panic filled my veins; I should have listened to my common sense, the little bit of it I had. I looked up at John. His chest was rising and falling heavily. He was angry, I could tell that much.

"Wait, John-"

He grabbed by my wrist and dragged me through the crowd of people till we reached the front door. I was honestly scared. I had only seen him this angry when I caught him yelling at his mother on his birthday in 1957. His grip on my wrist didn't falter as he pulled me outside. My legs trembled a bit as he tried to calm himself down. I leaned against the railing that was on the front stoop that led down the stairs. I felt like any moment, I would collapse. My head spun as I tried to comprehend what the hell just happened.

"I'm sorry, John." Were the first words out of my mouth.

"I'm sure you ruddy are! Wanna explain yerself?!" He took another sip from his beer.

I pressed my hands on my forehead, "I dunno what happened! I wasn't thinkin' straight."

What was I thinking? Stuart would fall in love with me like in a book? What kinda logic was that? I'm so stupid! John will never forgive me.

"What is wrong with you? That's me best mate!" He took a step closer to me.

My hands dragged down my face, stretching my skin down as I groaned at myself.

"Don't get like this with me!" I assume he was talking about me groaning.

I tried to focus on him, but the streetlights burned into my eyes, making my vision blurry. It stung my eyes quite like the cut on my thumb. My skull started pounding like a drum.

"Me head hurts." I shut my eyes.

His voice wavered, "Stop makin' bloody excuses! Explain yerself."

I didn't know what to say. Do I tell him exactly what I was thinking? That would only hurt him. I think I just don't say anything, and it's for the best. He already looks angry and hurt, I don't want to escalate it.

"Go on." He put his hands on my shoulders like he was an interrogator trying to get information out of a criminal.

My lips were sealed, my eyes were shut, and my heart was pounding. I wished for this to be over. It was getting tiring. My head kept throbbing, and my legs got weaker.

"Just fuckin' say somethin'!" He sounded pained.

"I'm really sorry! Hell! Alright? I'm bloody drunk and knackered!" I pushed him back a bit.

He moved right back where he was, "You're so daft!"

I huffed, "John, back off a bit, wont'ya."

"You're a proper slag-"

Right once the words rolled off his tongue, I slapped him. I was too ruddy tired, drunk, upset, and confused for this. He was taken aback by my more violent choice, which only made him more of a mess.

I glared at him, "I didn't even kiss Stua-"

His hand connected with my face. He fucking slapped me back. I pressed my hand to the spot he hit me in.

"Wait." He then looked very alarmed after realizing what he did.

"John, get yer sorry arse off me property. I don't wanna see yer fuckin' face again." I hissed.

He looked on the verge of an emotional breakdown. He was clearly still mad at me but mournful of what he did.

"Sod off you fuckin' plonker!" I turned to go for the door.