Joe Sugg/ThatcherJoe Imagines

Alone

Y/N POV:
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I woke up alone. He was gone. I remembered the pain as my tear stained cheeks felt tight again. Last night, thoughts kept hitting me like running into a brick wall. I let him go, yet I still loved him so much. I never listened to him I only spoke over him, I didn't give him one chance let alone a second one. What I had done was what was so bad out of all of this. I over reacted and pushed him off. So  now here I am, alone in what used to be our bed.

Un-noticeably tears began to fall from my crimson blood shot eyes. I just stared blankly as the droplets fell and spread into the duvet cover. I didn't care that I was crying, I didn't are that I was upset. All I cared about was him, how is he? Is he crying? Is he happy? Is he safe? Is he alive? Questions running a marathon in my head.

After a while a puddle of damp began to form on my duvet, and along came the headache. My mind was groggy and my body felt frail but I still had to get up, the pain was unbearable.

I carelessly swung my legs over the side of the bed and winced in pain as the cold began to nibble away at my skin. Shivers went down my spine. I wonder if he's awake? I wonder if he's nice and warm or freezing cold right now?

After being side tracked by thoughts of him, I eventually got up and headed to the kitchen.

I live in a flat. He basically lived here too. But not anymore. I began to traipse through the living room into the tiny kitchen. It was small but it was his kitchen. He basically spent most of his time here. He'd cook for me and it would be the most amazing thing in the world. I leaned against the counter and closed my eyes.

He was here. I could smell the special breakfast he'd make me for when I felt ill. I could hear the pans sizzling away, my coffee machine humming a soothing tune. And him. His morning whistles and funny dance moves. I could see him, standing there in front of the cooker in his boxers doing a little dance as he made us breakfast...