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ANE GETS HOME and she's wrecked. She's never felt this bad before, save for the time her favorite pet died in the third grade. She didn't even feel this awful when she caught Matthew cheating on her after a seemingly healthy relationship.
And she had no idea how to deal with it.
Talking to Naomi only made her face truths that she wasn't ready to tackle. Naomi told her all the things she already knew herself, things she wasn't ready to confront, and because of it, she ran from her best friend's house without so much as a goodbye.
"I'm such a jerk..." She muttered. She threw herself onto her bed, lying face down in her freshly washed sheets.
She felt stuck in some endless cycle. She and Fuckshit would fight, make up, and then fight again. Over and over without any real closure. She just wanted to communicate. She tried to communicate, and look where it got her.
She loved him. She knew that for a fact. Why else would she be so ready to put up with everything? The bad is bad, awful, even. But the good? The good makes everything worth it. It makes him worth it.
But in his eyes, she was nothing but a fucked-up cheater. And he wouldn't even listen to her! He wasn't distraught like she was, eyes puffy and heart broken. Knowing him, he was probably smoking, drinking, or avoiding his feelings.
Or all three at once.
She didn't feel bad for what she said, though. She meant it. He was insecure. He was jumping to conclusions. He wasn't communicating. She did nothing wrong.
So why didn't she feel this way? Why was she so tempted to grab him by the back of the neck, smash his lips into hers, and tell him that he's so stupid and that she loves him?
"I did tell him I loved him and he left me on heard..." She thought out loud, rolling over to stare emptily at her ceiling.
She didn't want to call Ray. She was tired of involving him in their problems over and over. She couldn't face Naomi after the way she just stormed out, and she definitely couldn't tell her parents anything at all.
They couldn't know that she was dating Fuckshit. She imagines them asking for his name and, upon hearing it, losing their minds. She'd probably be banned from ever seeing him again—no, from ever leaving the house again.
Calling Fuckshit was out of the question. No way.
She needed to clear her head and get away for a bit. She needed to go on a walk.
She forgot how far she ended up walking, but she ends up at the most recognizable courthouse in LA. Graffiti covered the walls of the courthouse and the occasional sleeping bum could be seen. Cigarette butts and trash were all over the place, but she didn't care.
