First Love, Worst Love

Chapter 12 - Texts And Tattoos

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Hey everyone! Hope you're doing good. It's been a bit of a crazy, upsetting week with everything going on in Orlando and I want all my LGBT readers to know I stand by and support them forever and always. Keep safe and keep loving one another. We will always combat hate with love and love will always win.

I've not got much else to say today other than there is a new side-character introduced this chapter called Chloe, named after my real life friend Chloe who was my inspiration! Hope you like her!

Big hugs to you all,

Becky xx

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Chapter 12

Texts And Tattoos

I stand frozen in the doorway for a good thirty seconds, just staring at Jaxon's text. The sinking feeling in my stomach is getting deeper and deeper. So deep I'm surprised I haven't fallen straight through the floorboards.

He doesn't remember me. The kiss meant nothing to him. I was probably just one more girl in a long line of random girls he kisses at the club every week.

I am stupid, pathetic fool.

"ASHLEIGH. This is more than five minutes!"

My Dad is sounding really annoyed now. I stuff my phone in my back pocket, hiding Jaxon's cruel words far out of my sight, then make my way downstairs and back to the bar. Every step down is a massive effort. It's like my limbs have turned into lead.

How could he have forgotten about me already? I thought there was a real connection between us. The way he spoke to me and that unbelievable kiss... It was something special. But maybe I'm just delusional. Maybe this is just Kieran all over again despite me swearing to everyone that I'll never be that stupid again.

It's taken me less than 24 hours to fall in love and have my heart broken all over again. That must be some kind of new record. Ashleigh Apple, the hopeless, lovesick idiot who never, ever learns.

My Dad raises his eyebrows as I shuffle dejectedly through the door. "Everything alright love?"

"Yeah, fine," I lie, unconvincingly. There's no way I'm talking to my Dad about boys. It's bad enough that everyone else around here knows my business, it would be nice to have at least one family member remain blissfully unaware of the situation.

"Are you sure poppet?" he asks. "You've got Bambi eyes."

Bambi eyes is the term my Dad uses whenever I've either just been crying or I'm about to burst into tears. Which, let's face it, is a pretty regular occurrence.

Just as I'm steeling myself to reply in a way that won't reveal my true emotions, I feel my phone buzz with an incoming text message. It catches me completely off-guard. Could it be who I think it is? Who I hope it is?

"I'm fine Dad," I say, rubbing my eyes. "I'm just a bit tired from last night."

I'm hoping he'll believe my excuse and finally leave so I can check my phone. The pub is still really empty so the coast is clear to get texting. I'm just hoping that my textee is who I want it to be.

Dad laughs and ruffles my hair. "I don't know how you youngsters go out so late then get straight up for work. I wish I still had your energy." He finally ambles over to the door which leads back upstairs. "I've got a few things to get on with. Might see if I can catch those last five laps too. Benji's in the kitchen, but just shout if there're any problems."

"Sure thing," I reply absent-mindedly. My hand is already in my pocket and as soon as Dad's out of sight, I whip my phone out and open my new message folder.