The Stargazer

Chapter Eight

A/N: WARNING, Mature language. This chapter is one of the harder ones to tell, as this strikes up some of the worst fucking memories you can imagine. So I'm sorry if I took the longest time to update, (though I have written a few parts of the next few chapters as well) but I hope what I did was worth it to you all. Track on the side is "Hold Onto Me", by Mayday Parade. 

He didn't look me in the eye. And I guess it was just as well. In a sense, I didn't want him to. I was tearing up as the words spilled like blood from his mouth, and I bit back tears, hoping the wounds from his mouth, blow after blow, would just clot up and stop. And then we could be around like we always stuck around. We could keep on keeping on. We could be invincible. It'd be us against the world. That was how it had always been. 

I didn't have to take it for granted. It was, for granted.

Because if there was one thing I knew, is that the whole world could be a lie, but we, weren't. I understood that you were supposed to let go of things, that all things will leave at one time or another, but it was always just an idea. It was always an idea, but nothing more than an idea. I understood that you always hope for the best, and you're supposed to prepare for the worst, but you never really do expect the worst to come out on top.

I spent my entire life fantasizing about how we would always prove the world wrong, we would always be the heroes of our own lives, and we never needed anybody or anything. Us against the world, and we won like that. We went into our lives as warriors, and came out as heroes. We always came out unscathed. We were more than bulletproof. We were fucking shockproof. If we ever broke, we mended. We never bled, and we were never hurt.

This is not okay. It was not okay. I am not, okay with it. This was never supposed to happen this way. This was never supposed to happen at all.

"Three months." 

He nodded. 

"Fuck." He didn't even flinch.

I clamped my hands over my ears. "Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuck."

He heaved, trying to reach out to me. "Amber don't do this to-"

I slapped his hand away. "You're fucking with me." 

 His face went stoic, rigid. "I'm sorr-"

"Don't. Don't you. No. DON'T TELL ME YOU'RE SORRY."

My eyes were crazy, overridden with rage and emotion, yet dry and tearless. My lips were stinging and bleeding from forcing the F-bomb so many times over and over again. My face contorted in mpossible manners, overcome with impossible emotions. I looked up, dead into his eyes. I hoped he would be fazed, or at least somewhat fazed.

Maybe, somewhere inside, I even hoped he would start crying, or at least leak some kind of emotion to tell me he didn't mean it. He'd crack his crooked smile and shove me over. He'd laugh his crooked laugh and make some unfunny joke. Anything.

He'd even say, that this was a prank, that this was a fucking, demented prank. That he didn't mean anything he said, and this will all go back to the way it was before. Anything, but-

"I'm sorry."

And that was it. 

Dead air.

Curtains fell.

Game over.

The end.

Line went flat.

Knockout.

I fell forward, pillar-less.

On my knees and hands, I clung onto the cold hard December concrete. I've dropped more F-bombs this night then I'd ever dropped in my whole, perfectly innocent life. I've found out that this flipping insane dude who was supposed to be my best friend had other friends. I realized that unlike me, he had a life in the time I slaved away, friendless, at school.