somebody that i used to know (l.r.h)

0.2

        "So what made you decide to come back to all the people you abandoned?" he asked me while leaning on the car. I still hadn't looked at him the whole time I was here. I'm not sure I wanted to. I hated change so much.

        "I didn't come back for you if that's what you're thinking."

        "Well I wasn't thinking that, but-"

        "I didn't come back for you, so could you please leave. Just go back to your girlfriend," I told him while still staring at the car and not looking up.

        "I don't even have a girlfriend." Wow, has he become some sort of man-whore or something.

        "Well then just go away!" I snapped at him while opening the trunk of the car.

        "Okay! But I am going to catch up with you at some point." I was about to open my mouth to say something, but then he just left. I'm such a bitch honestly, but he deserved it. He hurt me before I left. And like I said, fucked up my whole entire life.

<<<

        After unpacking everything, I had discovered that my dad had left on a buisness trip for the next two weeks. Well I felt loved. I had seriously not seen him in five fucking years. I hadn't even talked to him!

        I ran upstairs to my old room, crying for some apparent reason. I shouldn't have been crying. I guess it just felt like I had nobody. My mom had sent me back to Oregon, because she thought that my dad had been lonely, and she wanted some time alone. I found that completely ridiculous. And I didn't have any friends back here except for him... and I made only two friends while in New York, and they didn't know any of my secrets. The only one who did was him.

        And then again there were all of the people that he told them to. God, I hated him so fucking much.

<<<

        I looked around my room, it seemed as if nothing had changed. There were still old posters of bands that he had hung up all over, because his parents didn't let him put posters up in his room. My bed was pushed against the window, so we could see each other through the windows. There were still the Christmas lights I had put up when I was nine, but they were probably broken by now. And in the corner there was a huge bean bag that I had found him crying on so many times. I wonder if he had cried since then, that last night I had talked to him before I left.

        I had so many questions about him, but I didn't want to talk to him. Not after what he did.

        Maybe I could write a note?

        I walked over to my desk, and looked down at the floor. Even the garbage can hadn't been emptied since I left. There were still photographs of the two of us, and I had crossed out his face. Looked like I was an angry thirteen year old.

        I turned around to look out my window, his room was right across from mine. We used to throw rocks that had notes attatched. Why was my childhood so cliche? Ugh. I should probably stop complaining. I probably have no friends because I'm such a whiny ass bitch.

        The sound of rocks hitting the window began to echo in my head, and I began to think it was just my imagination. But no.

        I looked back outside the window and saw that shock of blonde hair. Of course.