Catfish and the Bottlemen Imagines

Broken (Van McCann) Part 1

AN: If you've read my older fics on Tumblr you may have already read this one (I wrote it ages ago). I finally decided to update it.
Nearly finished Part 2 so I'll update it soon - will prob be 3 parts 💕

Warnings: references to a physically abusive relationship but it's not too heavy...

It started off with the odd derogatory comment. Your skirt was too short, or you were flirting with the guy behind the bar. You laughed it off. He was just being protective. He cared about you. If he didn't care he wouldn't be bothered about those things... right?

Your friends saw it different. As the snide comments turned into full blown arguments they would dry your tears, hold you tight, take you out for drinks that would drown out your worries just for one night. That was until the dawn came on a new day and you were forced to replay the harsh words, the steely glint in his eye, the way that these days the bad times seemed to overshadow the good.

"What happened this time?"

You turn up at your best friend Lizzie's house at 11pm one evening, trying your best to hold it together, plastering on a fake smile.

"What are you talking about? I was just on the way home from the pub and thought I'd call in to say hello." Your tone's automatically defensive, your smile faltering.

Lizzie's expression tells you she doesn't believe you and to be honest you're a terrible liar, but you aren't ready to let it all out yet. There isn't much holding your carefully constructed veneer of calm in place though, and the cracks are already appearing.

Lizzie sighs, beckoning you into the kitchen and flicking the kettle on. You settle yourself on to a stool at the breakfast bar, under the watchful eye of your friend, scrolling through your phone as a distraction.

"Come on Y/N, don't act like everything's okay, you can't hide stuff from me. I know you too well. It's James isn't it?"

You pause, looking up, placing your phone down on the counter and then practically jumping out of your seat when it bleeps with a text notification. It's him. You know without looking.

"We just had a little row that's all, me and James are good."

"If it was so good you wouldn't be miserable all the time..."

She stops as the harsh sound of your phone's ringtone cuts through the air, although the sound isn't what makes her hesitate. It's the look on your face. You're sure of it and you can't hide it. You've just left your boyfriend outside the pub in a rage and for the first time you actually felt scared. His eyes had been as cold as ice as he'd spat his fury in your face, his grip claw-like around your throat as he'd pinned you roughly against the wall.

You look down, picking up your phone with shaking hands, answering the call with a meek "hello?"

"You bitch! Where did you go? I wasn't finished talking to you. Where the fuck are you?"

His words make you flinch, like bullets piercing your skin, and you stutter and sob, the sounds you make not even proper words. Suddenly Lizzie darts her hand across the counter, snatching the phone from you and abruptly ending the call. You grasp for it but she holds it out of your reach.

"You've got to sort this out. I know it's him. Don't try to deny it. That bastard's making your life hell."

Panic's rising in you as you can picture James's reaction at being cut off. "Lizzie, give me the phone!"

"No way! Just look at yourself!"

You don't need a mirror to know how you look. This sorrowful, mascara-streaked, sobbing version of yourself is all too familiar recently.