MiniSeries About Timothee Chalamet

What Have I Done P2

Warnings - mentions of cheating, sadness, therapy, bad self esteem, drinking

It'd been weeks since Timothée had caught me. I was a mess. Every time I slept I dreamed of his crushed face, or of the wedding we would've had. The amount of men who had hit me up was disturbing. I hadn't even really realized how much I was cheating. I'd started therapy, but it didn't fill the Timothée sized hole in my heart.

I was in a rut I couldn't climb out of. I needed to see him. As unhealthy as it probably was, I wanted to know how he was. I wanted to see how happy he probably was now. I wanted to see the light in his eyes, so I knew I'd done the right thing by making him get rid of me. My therapist said not to think that way, but I couldn't help it. It'd been my justification for so long.

I drove to his house. I hyped myself up to knock.

"Who is it," he shouted. His voice was hoarse. I banged again instead of answering. He pulled opened the door, and didn't look at me, he just took a swig from a bottle.

"Y/n," he said in shock, dropping the bottle. The glass was so thick it didn't break. He picked it up quickly.

"Timothée," I sighed. He looked awful. There was no light in his eyes, in fact he had dark purple circles underneath them. He was unshaven and his hair was greasy. He looked skinnier somehow, and paler.

"You look terrible," I said.

"I feel terrible," he said dismally.

"Aren't you happier without me," I pleaded.

"Not at all. I feel like my heart was ripped from my chest and smashed. Are you happier with out me?"

"No, I'm miserable," I scoffed.

"You're just saying that," he snarled. "Because you know I was good for you, you don't actually have feelings."

"Tears come from the heart, not the brain, Leonardo DiVinnci," I said as a tear slipped down my face.

"Don't give me quotes," he said grabbing me. "The only ideas and opinions I care about are yours. I want to know how YOU feel."

"I miss you like hell," I sobbed. "You were so good. I thought sabotaging things was the smartest idea for both of us. But I'm working with a therapist, and I'm starting to realize why I am like I am. It's nice, but it doesn't replace you," I said through my weeping.

"Angel," his voice was soft, and I was almost sure the word was involuntary.

"Is there anyway at all that we could try again?" I asked.

"I think so, I think we could make it," he whispered. "You just need to believe it when I say I want to be with you. I feel lucky to be yours."

"I'll try," I said, running a finger over his bottom lip.

"Kiss me," he begged. I pressed my lips to his and our salty tears merged. He pulled me into the house with him.

"I love you," I said. "I really do."

"I love you too," he beamed, and his smile outshined everything.