Hotel Ceiling

October 23, 1015

And I've been so lost, without you.

Are you lost, without me, too?

While we're young. While we're young.

This should be the time of our lives.

(Marianas Trench - While We're Young)

Warning: This chapter contains Triggers of self-harm. If you do not want to read, please skip over the part that is bolded.

It's been ten days and it doesn't seem to be getting any easier. I thought that over time, I'd start to be alright with how things have played out. That's not the case, though. Every day it hurts a little bit more. Traces of Jongin can be found in every crevice of this apartment and I've had half a mind to pack up and leave too. What hurt the most was bagging up all of his belongings and leaving them outside of the door. I thought that maybe he would knock on the door and ask to talk things out. The last attempt to salvage this love. There was no knock. There was nothing. He took his belongings without a word. I sat on the couch, that night. I waited until I heard the movement on the other side of the door. Through the peephole, I caught a glimpse of his tanned skin, as he grabbed the bags. But that wasn't what hurt. The second pair of hands that grabbed bags, that what killed me. You'd think that out of respect, wait, no. If he respected me, he would have never cheated on me. Was I just really naive thinking that Jongin would leave Baekhyun and come running back to me? I want him to hurt just as much as I am, but he seemed fine. I even saw a flash of his smile, as he swung a bag over his shoulder, as he looked to the one friend who I thought would never betray me.

How could he smile when my muscles have forgotten how to form such an expression? Why do they get to be fine, when Chanyeol and I are left to wonder what we did wrong and why they stopped caring for us? Why do we have to suffer through this heartbreak, while they get to go on with their lives? It's not fair and I know that life isn't fair, but I thought that love could change that. I haven't even heard from Baekhyun. You'd think that a best friend would, at least, try to apologize or anything. Chanyeol has been a mess. Only a shadow of himself. He's been staying with me, for the past week. His things are scattered around the apartment and his bed has become a couch much too short for his tall frame. After everything, he couldn't stay in an apartment that belonged to the man who had ripped his heart out.

I sat in our bed. The bed that we'd picked out together. The bedding that Jongin had chosen. I never liked it, but he was drawn to the pattern. I ran my hand over the cotton sheets and gripped onto them. This grip used to mean an entirely different thing. My knuckles would turn white, as my fingers held on for dear life, as Jongin made love to me. At least, that's what it was, for me. Now, I have no idea what it was, for him. Was it just a way to keep up the act? When did he stop loving me? When did he decide that I wasn't who he needed anymore? Was it a gradual change or did he wake up and realize that he needed more than what I could give him?

My eyes stung, as the tears crept back and spilled down my cheeks. I didn't even bother to wipe them away anymore. What was the use? They'd just come right back anyway. I released my grip on the sheets and climbed out of our bed. Our bed. Why was I still calling it our bed? There was no us. There was just them and me. I ripped the pillows out of the cases and stripped the bed of the hideous print and threw them all to the floor. My hands instantly grabbed the lamp that Jongin had picked out and I needed to smash it. The lamp hit the wall and the noise was loud and it was glorious. It was was the sound of acceptance. He was gone and I knew that. But so was I. I was far from the man that I've worked so hard to be. The man that Jongin helped me become. The man that had become so strong.