It Would've Been You

Prologue

"𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎. . 𝐒𝐈𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄?"

I look at the grey-eyed boy sitting next to me and shrug. To be fair, I was planning on staying out here the entire night. It was only two a.m., and I didn't want to interact with my drunk father at home, not after what happened tonight.

Here was the only place where I felt like I wasn't a burden to society. But this week, I couldn't smoke away the feeling of the world on my shoulders. I haven't slept for longer than three hours in four days.

My brain has been working on overdrive, and being at home is far from helping.

Almost like he was inside my head, reading my thoughts, he added, "Did you sleep yesterday?" I chew on my lip before answering. "I got an hour of sleep. Is that good enough?"

I grin. I always joked about this kind of stuff. No one seemed to care about it, so neither did I.

"You're insane. You know that, right?" He replies, raising his eyebrows.

I take a cigarette from the pack of Marlboro in my pocket and place it between my lips. He flicks his lighter before handing it to me. I take a drag, exhaling as the smoke flows into the air, mixing with the New York wind.

"Yeah? How about you?"

He groans at my question. "Two hours today, five yesterday, three the day before that. I mean, it's fine, though. I can run on caffeine." I roll my eyes at him, watching his dark hair blow slightly as the breeze picks up.

"If I told you to sleep more, I'd be a hypocrite." I shift in my position on the ledge, leaning on his shoulder. "Eyebags are a good look on you, though. It makes you look kind of hot and mysterious." I tease, putting the cigarette in my mouth again.

He furrows his eyebrows, moving the hair in his face before looking at me. "You're too sleep-deprived to know what's attractive anymore."

I blow the smoke out of my mouth. "Or maybe you're just my type." I lie.

"You don't have a type." He smirks, wrapping his arm around my shoulder as we sit under the moon. "And, you have terrible taste."

—

I met Cameron Grey a couple of months ago, around the same time my mom packed her stuff and left me and my sister to live with our alcoholic father. Things were going great before she left. Our dad was finally in Rehab, and our family wasn't arguing every night. However, he fell into the cycle again. He continued drinking, blaming us for our mother's choices. His anger grew worse.

I was practically raising my sister on my own. He was never sober enough to take care of either of us and when he was, he'd be too angry to do it.

I'd be lying if I said Cameron wasn't the reason I'm still sitting here now. There were countless nights when I called him crying, wishing I could just disappear. His patience is what kept me alive.

—

He sat there, judging my one ex, trying to prove his point. I grind my cigarette on the wall next to me before flicking it off of the ledge. "Can we stop hating on my taste like you haven't been with every girl in the school?"

Cameron chuckles, running his hand through his hair. It immediately falls into his face again. "Those were hook-ups." He then leans closer to my ear to whisper, "It's not my fault I'm irresistible."

"You're an asshole." I correct him.

"I promise I'm not as big of an ass when seriously dating someone." He replies.

I watch a car slowly drive past the street below us, reaching for my cigarettes again, but he places his hand over mine. "You've had enough for the night." He says, looking down at his hand. "Let's get you home."

I was dreading those words.

I knew I'd have to go back home at some point. I mean, I couldn't sleep out here, right?

He pushes himself off the ledge, holding a hand out and waiting for me to do the same. I wasn't going to argue with him. He was going to get me down, one way or another.