blowjob • 5sos

33

as a heads up, this might contain sensitive or triggering material - it's a lot of overthinking and sadness building up until it's too much.

|Halyn|

I did what I thought was best for Michael, but I can't help but wonder, seeing him now, on the couch with Luke....

I protected him from me, but was it actually beneficial to him?

I'm sitting here and looking at his puffy red eyes and dark purple bags due to no sleep from across the room. His hair looks perpetually messy from running his hands through it, there's tear stains on his face. His clothes are worn and possibly stained.

I can't look at him, knowing that I'm the one that didn't catch him when he fell, knowing I'm the one that pushed him over the edge, that deprived him of sleep.

Abruptly, I stand up.

At my motion, Ashton immediately looks up at me, questioning with his eyes.

My breath hitches a bit. All I can think about is that the only impact I've had on this band - on Michael - is negative. My vision blurs.

I've been crying a lot, but I guess not enough to dry the tear ducts.

I ruined Michael. I ruined all of them.

I run to the bathroom and consequently throw up. When I'm finished, I fall ungracefully to the cold tile. Vomit stains my chin and clothes.

Liar. You can't even tell the boy you love that you reciprocate his feelings. You are a dirty liar, and deserve nothing.

Reaching up to flush the toilet, I vaguely comprehend that my hands are shaking. It ends up taking a lot of effort for me to press the lever.

"Halyn, why'd - oh, baby..."

I try to shrug off Ashton's hands, his nervous energy, his concern. It don't know if it works.

My face is covered in tears and sweat and vomit and lies and guilt. I don't deserve Ashton's kindness. I don't deserve anyone's kindness.

"Ash, I -" I start. My voice is hesitant and scratchy, red and sore from getting sick. I don't bother to wipe off my face as I stare down at the cold tired beneath me. I'm unable to speak, and then I close my eyes and I'm unable to stop.

"I love him. I love him and I lied and I told him to go away and I ruined everything. I thought I was doing him a favor but I wasn't. I know i'm not good enough for Michael, I know he deserves better than a fucked up girl covered in vomit.

Why is it so hard? I don't want to love him this much, it's not fair! He needs someone else, someone that can dry his tears rather than cause them. He needs someone that doesn't have a backstory of anxiety and depression and prescription drugs. He deserves better, I know. I know I shouldn't have him.

Why does it hurt so much to love him? Why do I hurt him so much if he loves me?" I cry, my hands raking through my hair, grabbing and pulling mercilessly.

I feel hands, a warm washcloth, wiping away the mess on my face, gentle. The love shown to me burns in its wake.

I don't deserve this.

I claw at my face, pushing the hands away and opening my eyes to search Ashton's face for a response.

The only trouble with that? Ashton's in the doorway. He's not on the floor with me listening and drying my tears and helping me up.

Ashton isn't the one that takes off his jumper, Ashton isn't the one turning me to face the other direction so my modesty can be maintained while he strips off my stained shirt and replaces it with his clothes.

Ashton isn't the one that turns me back around, and looks into my eyes just so and pulls me into a gentle, wordless hug.

Ashton isn't the one.

Michael is.