⊹˚₊‧》Simple Story Drabbles《‧₊˚⊹

The Last Time

(started 6/13/24 1:16 thu - finished 6/14/24 )

Key: H/n - his name

(Inspired by The Last Time by ts and Gary Lightbody of Snow Patrol)

It's all his fault.

He's the reason it's so hard for me to trust anyone.

I know he didn't mean any harm but he could've at least apologized.

But is there even anything to apologize for?

Maybe there isn't and I'm just letting my hurt feelings fuel the anger stewing inside me . . .

No, there definitely is.

Each time I thought we were finally getting somewhere in our friendship, it felt like I barely had time to breath before he was walking out the door again.

And every single time, my heart would break in the very blink of an eye.

It happened over, and over, and over, and over again.

But that's not even the worst part.

The worst part is...we weren't even anything. We were just friends. Maybe even close friends.

At least we were...before he grew distant and borderline dry.

As I watch him from across the large room bustling with party guests, I ponder whether it was my fault or his for the way things ended between us.

I purposefully wore a simple colored dress so I could easily blend into the background.

So I could people-watch. So I could watch him.

If I had the chance to ask him one question, I'd ask him, "Why?"

Why did you lead me on for so long?

Why did you tell me you didn't want to date anyone for a while and then got a girlfriend a couple months later?

Why did you not seem to care enough to notice how badly my heart was breaking when I first found out?

Or how many times it broke when I realized how distant we'd become?

Or how you were the one to break it every time with your absence?

Why did I send you that text? The text that started it all, three years ago.

Has it really been that long?

Do you even remember our last conversation before everything went silent on your end?

No, I suppose not.

Because why would you?

Why would you care about how much it hurt to know you'd moved on already and didn't really seem to care that I hadn't?

I don't realize my eyes have blurred with tears until I blink and they trickle down my face, staining my cheeks.

Quickly wiping them away before I attract any unwanted attention, I look up to glance across the room at him again . . .

. . . and immediately meet his gaze. He was already looking at me.

A cold, hurt resentment fills my chest as I leave my expression blank, trying to subtly wipe away the remaining traces of tears from my face.

His expression . . . I can't tell if his brows are drawn in confusion or worry. Perhaps both.

Then he's suddenly excusing himself out of whatever conversation he'd previously been engaged in and starts advancing towards me, slipping by men and woman alike, their loud chattering filling any empty space left in the large room already suffocated with people.