Sorry | Murphamy AU | vol.1

8. An affair with the huntsman

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Song: Sahara Desert

Artist: Foals

Forget the horror here, leave it all down here, it's future rust and it's future dust

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Murphy P.o.v.

I ignore Bellamy's text, the one asking me whether or not I want him to bring my homework home. I just toss my phone away, curling back up into a ball, trying to go back to sleep. I got "sick" on Monday, and decided to take the week off. But the problem with being "sick" is that after a few days, I started believing that I was actually ill.

I stare at the shirt that hangs lazily off the desk chair. It's the one Bellamy wore yesterday, after going to his parents house with the hopes of talking to them- with the idea that maybe they could have a reconciliation. Easy to say, they slammed the door in his face. When we got home, we didn't speak and it was quiet, well, it was quiet, with the sound of my mom and God knows who in the bedroom. I think he's still here.

We're winging it now- our lives. We take it one day at a time, just waiting until reality catches up with us. The fact that Bellamy's phone still works is a miracle. Maybe his parents don't want to cut him off completely. How does my mom pay mine? She barely pays off her own.

Three weeks ago, when I first took a liking to Bellamy, he had made me forget about everything wrong in my life. Unfortunately, I'm now feeling the heavyweight of despair more than I ever have, knowing that it's only a matter of time before he gets tired of my shenanigans and leaves for real.

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SATURDAY MORNING (4 A.M.)

I wake up in a sweaty, panicky mess. I'm still at my desk, the sketch that I was sleeping on has been smudged. I fucking hate nightmares. Especially the ones where I intentionally kill the guy I kinda love. The following events happen in chronological order.

I run to the bathroom, emptying my stomach- well, whatever bile is left from breakfast (I didn't have much to eat yesterday). My body collapses beside the ceramic bowl, every so often gagging. I can no longer throw up and I feel as though I'm going to puke-up my guts- the gagging is this violent. I can't calm down. I'm trying to, I really am, but I can't. It causes my throat to close and my vision to blur. Why can't I just breath? It's the simplest thing and I can't even do that.

I'm crazy, I'm delusional and I'm dangerous.

The sobs that leave my lips are dry and hoarse, they sound the way sandpaper looks. I pray they aren't loud enough to wake Bellamy, but as per usual, God or whoever, denies my request and I hear gentle knocks on the old wooden door.

"Go away." I mutter, wanting to be as I will end up; alone. Alone with my grief, my sorrow, my tears and my pain. I hate myself even more for being so cynical. I don't want pity, I want to be alone. I want to be by myself. I need to not talk to anyone.

"Open the door, Murphy." the voice outside speaks dully.

"No." I state through teeth. Why is he being so thick? Doesn't he understand? I know he's not dumb, I want to be alone! I'm angry now. I'm angry because Bellamy wants to help me. He wants to protect me and he wants to care for me the way I cared for him on the first night that he came over, but he can't do that because I hate protection. I hate needing to be guarded by someone other than myself, because that means that I'm weak, and I'll kill myself before ever admitting that I'm weak.

I hear the doorknob jiggle. "It's locked, dumbass.!" is what I'd like to yell. I stare at the metal on the door, hoping he gets the hint. He soon realizes that it's locked and the sound of fading footsteps fill my ears. I guess he went back to my room.