EVERYTHING I WANTED | 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝟗𝟎𝐬 pt 3

000 | ellie.

ONE, TWO, BREATHE. ONE, TWO, BREATHE.

My throat is swelling up, my hands are sweating, my eyebrows are furrowed, my chest is rising and falling and my breathing is becoming faster. The heat was almost unbearable, and I remember how this was the hottest summer of the year. I remember going out skating every day with Fuckshit, always falling on my ass and cutting up my legs and knees. I remember Ray watching us with those intense eyes, silently judging. I remembered each word he'd said to me that summer.

"Dont do Fuckshit."

It's 1996 again, and the sun is unbearable. This is unbearable.

Fuckshit's beside me and we're sitting under the shade of the oak tree on the school campus. We were here once. I glance up at the roof of the building just a ways away from us. I remember falling from it, Stevie hot on my heels, and being carried back to the car by Fuckshit, bloody and scraped up. Though, It feels different this time. It feels...empty.

Cigarette smoke blows from Fuckshit's mouth as I glance down at him. He's sitting on his skateboard, red, white and blue windbreaker and black beanie resting against his tan skin. His curls are shorter and taken care of better. He looks happier.

"Why are you staring at me?" He asks, cocking his head as he rests his forearms against his knees.

I want to lean in and give him a thousand kisses and an hour-long hug, but instead I'm sitting staring into his perfect brown eyes, my own sad eyes dropping as he speaks. His head cocks and he's moving closer to me on his board, scooting up with his feet until he's sitting in front of me, hands now resting on my knees.

"What's wrong, baby? Hm?"

"You're so different now, ya know?"

His head is cocking even more, eyebrows raising, "I'm different? You're talkin crazy, I'm never gonna change." He's promising that to me, and I wish I could explain just how much of a lie that was going to be. I wish I could explain that in just a few years, he'd be exactly what he hated most.

"You don't talk to me...not anymore."

His head is pulling inwards, a face of confusion clouding his face, "me? Not talk to you? Now you're really talking crazy–"

"No, really. Haven't heard from you in a few weeks, actually."

It's like he's breaking the fourth wall, now looking up into my eyes with a long sigh. His hands are dropping my knees and he's inhaling another puff of the cigarette. He glances down at his shoes for a moment, finding the right words, I presume, and then he's looking back up at me with a sad smile.

"Maybe there's a reason."

"Is there?"

He lifts his shoulders gently, "I don't know. What do you think?"

I have no idea, truthfully.

I don't, is the simple answer. I don't think about it. I make excuses.

He's working. He's busy. He's busy with his family.

"You knew this was gon happen, babygirl," he sucks in a breath, sitting up straight, "I mean...ya know, I don't do relationships. Shit's just corny."

A burn goes through my head, my heart and my fists all at once, but I gulp back the anger and pain. I clench my jaw in an attempt to regather myself. I did know this was going to happen. I did know Fuckshit would fall back into his antics again and I'd be left crying in the rain again. I knew I'd fight and fight for him, and before I knew it, he'd be giving up. He would give up this time.

I knew it.

"What's stopping you from–" I begin.

"Loving?"

I say nothing and he's letting out a chuckle to himself, "could be a lot of things, baby. Insecurity, jealousy, anger issues," he paused for a moment, then shook his head, "self-hatred."

"What's stopping you from letting me go?" He questions.

I freeze. The question I'm dreading, the question I'll forever dread. The answer wasn't something that sat on top of my head every day, but the question was. I searched my brain for the answer for as long as I could remember, and each time I found myself at a dead end.

I gulped.

"Let me go. For good." He finally breathes out, now nothing but emptiness in his eyes.

For good.

And with that, my eyes are opening. Soft pants are escaping my mouth, my chest nearly heaving and begging for air to push through my lungs. The ceiling fan spins above my head, and I wonder if I'm really as dizzy as I feel.

I blink back the obnoxious pain spreading through my heart and sit up. The room is cold and lonely, but I'm in my room. I'm not sitting in the heat with Fuckshit as he tells me he's no good. I'm not staring deep within his eyes, grabbing what little bit of love is still there. I'm just sitting in my bed, the comforter covering my legs and my eyes staring at nothing but a plain wall.

I normally had dreams about Fuckshit, but nightmares about him? They were rare.

I can feel tears slipping from the corners of my eyes, but I don't respond to them. I seem to be falling into a trance as I recall Fuckshit's words.

For good.

The idea of letting him go, never touching or hugging him again, never getting to hear his stupid pet names and praise. It was like a knight had crawled into my body and was stabbing at my heart with his sword. It was the calm before the storm, or perhaps the storm before the calm. Perhaps it was the gates reopening after having walked through hell. Perhaps it was peace.

And maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was my own personal drug, designed to kill me slowly, cutting up the tiniest pieces of my heart until there was none left.

Perhaps, it was the end.

YOOOOOO shes so dramtic writing her is so fun. ANYWAY

how is everyone? IVE BEEN DOING ALRIGHT, THANK GOD.

STARTING THIS STORY AGAIN and im excited totally cant wait to write in fights lolz xoxoxoxoxoxx

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