I Want You All To Myself

Sixteen

Hayley's POV 

I couldn't have been lonelier. Despite my mom's attempts at making me feel better-god, she was so understanding-I couldn't stop crying for hours. Hugging the purple hoodie but not daring to put it on, I watched Francis slowly crumple down as my tears soaked him. I kept wiping my eyes with him, partly because I couldn't find any tissues and partly because it made him look sad too. 

I had seen this coming. But I hadn't done anything to stop it. And now, I had lost the two people who meant the most to me in less than a week.  

"Why!?" In a wave of anger, I ripped one of the swan's wings off and crushed it into my palm. There, you worthless piece of paper.  

I was about to start bawling again when I noticed something scribbled on the inside of Francis' neck, between his right wing and where the left one had been. I hadn't noticed it before, but now it was uncovered. I took a closer look and managed to make out a number through the messy black lines. A phone number. 

Of course. I couldn't help smiling at his clumsy ingenuity. We could've just exchanged phone numbers normally, but no, he must've felt too guilty after what had happened-just like I did-to do that. So instead of giving up, he'd quickly written his number on the one last thing he could give me. He'd left it up to fate to decide whether I found it or not.  

I picked up the phone, bubbling with excitement, and dialed his number. But before I could hear the first ring, I realised I had no idea what I would tell him. I couldn't talk to him now. I ended the call abruptly while my short moment of happiness left as quickly as it had come. 

This was stupid. We had nothing to talk about. He was probably blaming himself for everything when actually he'd done nothing wrong, and there was nothing I could say to make him change his mind. He probably never wanted to talk to me again in fear of making things worse. Then again, if I had his number, it was because a part of him DID want me to call.  

But I wouldn't, not yet. I needed a good excuse. I needed a speech. 

And I was just too tired for any of that. All I truly needed was his presence. I just wanted him by my side. We didn't have to talk about anything. Just sit on the same bed in the same room, breathing the same air, hearing the same sounds, thinking the same thoughts.  

Who knew how long it would take until we would be able to do that again? Maybe it would never happen. Maybe I would never have him. Maybe my mother was wrong and he wasn't the right one, and I would meet someone else later who would be better and who I wouldn't hurt over and with who I would live happily ever after forever and... 

That's when the sobs finally came back again, and my mind emptied out. 

Josh's POV 

"Josh? Josh!?" An annoying hand kept shaking my shoulder, pulling me out of that beautiful state of peaceful sleep. Sheesh, for once I had actually managed to get there and I couldn't even enjoy it.  

I forced my eyes to open, ready to tell whoever was there to fuck off, but I stopped when I saw my mother's worried face so close to mine, studying me. She pulled away with a sigh of relief when she realised I was awake. 

Strange. What was her fucking problem? 

And then I started to notice things. The hard floor beneath me. The sharp pain in my right palm. The strong smell of heroin still floating through the air. The expression of pure grief on my mother's face. A light bulb finally lit up above my head. 

Oh shit. 

I pushed myself up to a sitting position, noticing too late the sharp pain of numbness in my left hand-the one I'd slept on. I ignored the black spots filling my vision and took a deep breath, ready to explain everything. 

Before I could say a word though, my mom put on her poker face and asked, "Why were you sleeping on the floor? And why was there a DRESSER blocking your door!?" There goes the poker face. "Can you even imagine what it was l-like to not even be able to open the d-door!?" She was crying now. I couldn't stand to look at her. "And to find you on the floor l-like that...? And this terrible smell! It reminded me of when..." She didn't finish the sentence. 

Instead, she stared at the ground unseeingly, remembering that night engraved in both our memories. The night I had almost died after slitting my wrist open carelessly. I had thought many times of what it could have done to her, but I would never truly know.  

She looked up suddenly, biting her trembling lip while the tears still streamed down her face uncontrollably. "Don't you realise the danger of this!? You could've overdosed!" Her face turned angry then, but it didn't last long. Instead, she kept on crying while my heart was slowly being ground to pieces. 

Ah, overdosing. The one thing I could be proud of never having done. And it wasn't going to happen. Ever. "It-it was nothing!" I finally stammered. "I didn't smoke it, I threw it away! I promise!" My mom pursed her lips in thought. I knew she had trouble believing me after all the lies I'd shoved down her throat. "I promise," I repeated almost soundlessly, knowing it was useless.  

Surprisingly enough, she nodded slowly as if she had decided to accept that as the truth this time. I don't know what could've possibly convinced her, but I was so relieved I even managed to smile a little. For once, I had told the truth. And for once, she accepted it. 

Gently, she wrapped her arms around me and pulled me close. I laid my head on her chest and let my own tears flow freely while she stroked my hair, rocking me back and forth. I felt like a helpless child again, crying in his mother's arms. Maybe that was all I was after all. A helpless, confused child.  

"I'm sorry," I muttered. She most likely couldn't hear me, but that didn't matter. It just had to come out. "I'm so sorry." 

I was the worst child in the universe.