Underestimate. (COMPLETED✔)

3

It was dark. A sharp pain hits my abdomen. It's cold. Cold and sharp. But not sharp enough to completely melt into the flesh of my stomach. No, only sharp enough to break skin.

It's so cold.

I swear I feel shivers concave from my head to my toes.

Why is it so cold?

Wait..

Now it's hot.

Almost too hot. Almost like I'm putting my hand on a stove. It spreads from my fingers to my neck. I feel a sense of urgency as the heat rises.

I can't breathe.

It's so hot.

Why is it so hot?

Why can't I move?

It's hot.. so hot.. but in a way I still feel cold.

"Eli..", my mouth opens to croak, "I'm.. sorry".

I shoot up from my bed, desperately looking around my room. The only source of light pouring from the crack left from my blinds. I look down at my shakey hands before closing them into fist and holding them to my head, squeezing my eyes shut.

"Come on, Esmé, get it together", I breathe, sniffling away the tears that threatened to fall, "This is pathetic and you know it".

I didn't like feeling this way. I don't want to feel this way.

I throw the covers off my body and quickly rush out the room to the kitchen where I fill up a cup with some tap water. Slowly drinking the water, I take some deep breaths to relax my beating heart.

Sometimes, the dreams never came.

Sometimes it was only glimpse and glances.

I tried to push them down as much as I could.

I wasn't sure what time it was but guessing to the sounds of birds chirping awake, it was some time in the morning.

Well I'm already awake.. might as well get something done. With my glass half full, I place it on the counter before fixing my bonnet and grabbing a broom.

Whenever I needed to clear my mind I would clean. Not because it was expected of me or anything. It was simply a way that I could engage. Something I can do with my hands.

My eyes sting, drained from the few tears that fell and now dry with exhaustion. However, I let the thirty minutes pass me by without a second glance. Too preoccupied with sweeping, mopping, and washing.

When I had finished the sun had already set in its place in the sky. I took a step back and admired the now spotless kitchen and living room, smiling at my work. But it was short lived as I hear what sounds like a crash upstairs before the lights flickered on and two bodies come tumbling downstairs.

"I told you I'm using it first!", that was definitely Melanie, screeching in all her glory.

"You had it all last week! It's my turn", and that was most definitely Justin.

I felt my eyes close in frustration. All my hard work will be gone in a second.

Just as the pair come downstairs, arguing over the television— Really?! That was what they were arguing about?— Angelica strolls in. Her hair already perfectly styled in a bun while she wore an off tan pajama set along with a fluffy robe.

"Oh Esmé! You're awake", she softly exclaims, "And you cleaned! Aww thank you sweetheart—".

"Don't call me that", I state, turning my back from her and walking to the front door.

"Wh-where are you going?", she asks as I slide on my house shoes and open the front door.

"Out", I reply, grabbing Justin's keys from the hook and walking out the door.

He was preoccupied with Melanie and the tv anyways he wouldn't notice.

I sat in the car and turned the ignition. And then I sat there. I didn't know where to go. Minnesota has been my home since I was born and yet I had no idea where to go.

Somehow I step on the gas and I find myself driving down the road, watching the children play on the side of the road, the old couples embracing by holding hands and giving cheek kisses. I drove until I ended up at a random park.

There was bench along the side of the park gate which I took a seat at. Children and their parents were playing with each other on the park equipment. Mom catching their kids at the end of the slides and fathers pushing their own on the swings.

I couldn't help but smile. I always wanted to be a parent. I'm pretty sure it was one of the first prayers I prayed when I was a little girl.

"Ow".

Suddenly I feel a sharp, heated pain on my arm. Looking down I see a piece of ash fall off my arm. I raise my head up to see Tristan, smoking a cigarette.

He was leaning against the bench acting as if he didn't see me. And when I promptly smack his arm, he looks down at me, immediately scowling in annoyance.

"What?".

"You flicked your ash on me".

He shrugs, "Okay?".

I roll my eyes. He's always been mean. But it was always playfully. Innocent. Now I see how deep his cantankerous attitude could be.

"So you don't care?", I ask. Tristan chuckling but not with amusement.

"Why would I? It can't hurt that bad", he responds before taking one more puff from then bud then throwing it on the ground, stomping it out.

"What is wrong with you?".

He sighs, "Too much, but I thought you would've know that by now"

"Yeah I should've.. I guess I was just holding onto a false hope that you would forgive me", I laugh, resting my head on my hand, "Or at least still have love in your heart for me".

"Love? After you put me in a mental hospital—".

"It was a rehabilitation center—".

Tristan shakes his head, before his eyes meet mine, the blue one looking excessively brighter than usual, "How could I love someone who took away my best friend? My only friend?".

"How could I love someone who still blames me after fully knowing that it wasn't entirely my fault", I spit back, entirely over Tristan and this conversation, "I foolishly thought rehab would— I don't know.. fix you? But I guess I was wrong. As usual".

"Yeah.. yeah you were", the boy states before turning around, leaving me alone with the conversation we had replaying in my mind.

Tristan was right. I did take away his best friend. But I was right as well. He was still the same old Tristan.

Whether that was a good or bad thing? I'm not sure.

a/n: ik this chapter is a little confusing but it's for a good reason i swear! and guess what? we're getting tristan's pov next!!  make sure to comment, vote, and share pretty pretty plsssssss 🫶🏽