axel

::sixteen::

Point of View: north  

[Now I'm heels over head,

I'm hangin' upside down

Thinking how you left me for dead

California bound

And when you hit the coast

I hope you think of me

 And how I'm stuck here with the ghost of what we used to be] {Heels Over Head; Boys Like Girls} 

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I put the car in reverse and back out of her driveway, trying to decide whether to feel bad or not. It's not my fault, is what I reason with myself. I didn't know she was going to react that way or I never would have offerd. 

I had no clue she was going to freak out like she did, The thought had crossed my mind that this was a bad neighborhood and she probably shouldn't be living here, I won't lie. But what's wrong with that? It's just the truth.

I almost rolled down my window and apologized, just because I didn't want to leave it like that, and I didn't want to leave her like that more importantly. But then she turned around and in the light of the doorframe, her hair looked almost brown and her eyes flashed with something I couldn't specify, and in that moment she looked so much like her that all I could do was stare.

In the car she reminded me of her too, the way I could tell she was angry, the way she was digging her hands into the seat to keep herself calm. That was something she did too. Noah reminded me of her in the car, in her mannerisms, but it wasn't until she looked like her that I semi panicked. 

I drive home sort of in a daze. 

I'm still not sure I'm over her. Everyone else keeps telling me to move on, but I just don't know that I can. My mom, Sam, everyone keeps telling me I just need to date someone else and take my mind off of her. But the more I thought about that, the worse of an idea that seemed.

That would just be putting someone else through all my baggage and crap, and I don't really want to do that to a random person.

It's bad enough that it's mine.

Sam has told me that my problem is that I've ever only dated one girl, and so I'm still trying to get over my first break up, and first one's are the hardest. But I think he's wrong.

I think it was hard because if was her. 

I can still remember what she smelled like, for heaven's sake. It was this weird mix of lemon and jasmine, and at first it made me want to throw up but after a while I became addicted to it.

Or I became addicted to her, I don't know which came first. 

I pull into the driveway of my house and park in the first garage. I shut off my car and go inside, yawning the entire way. My dad won't be up, but my mom might be. She's probably still planning for the party.

My mom is whacked.

Sure enough, I walk into the kitchen to get to the side stairs, and she's sitting at the table sorting through invitations.

She raises an eyebrow when I walk in, "You've been out late."

I shrug and grab a water bottle from the fridge, "Movie project stuff."

She just mumbles, "Mmm," and resumes sticking the invites in envelopes. 

I leave her to her pointless work and mount the stairs, climbing up to the third floor where my room is. My parents sleep on the fifth floor, and all my brothers and sisters are on the fourth. So, essentially, I have a floor to myself.