STOLEN

Chapter 45

*Author's note*

One month has passed. 44 chapters has passed and here, my lovelies, is the last chapter of Stolen. I have nothing more to say for now, other than the fact that there will be an epilogue which will have a longer author's note which I encourage you to read.
Anyhow, please enjoy!

Yours truly.

-

Jason's POV:

The air seethes through my teeth with every jab I throw at the punching bag hanging from the tree in the backyard. Pearls of sweat running down my face and the rest of my body. I felt the searing pain on my knuckle as my skin tore open from another punch, but I didn't care enough to do anything about it. I didn't care about anything. Lies.

"I never wanna see your face again."

That I cared about.

What the fuck was I thinking calling Chelsea's dad and declaring her dead? I wanted them to stop looking for her. I didn't want to think of any chance of her leaving. But I hadn't counted the fact that they would hold a press conference to speak of the news. Let alone that there was a chance Chelsea would watch it. Of course she knew it was me so there was no point in lying. She wasn't dumb, but God how I wish she was. Then I could've fed her some lie, but no.

"Jason." Andrew was standing beside me again, watching over me like a hawk while I punched my hands to pulp. "Jason," he repeated, but sterner this time. A grunt was all I muttered. I didn't need his morality right now. I needed to blow off steam. "Jason goddammit!" He shouted and grabbed my hand, preventing it from once more making contact with the ragged punching bag.

"What?!" I sneered and pulled my hand back.

"Punching the living out of yourself isn't going to help or un-fuck up what you did!" He spat angrily.

"I'm not in the mood for advice, Andrew." I spat his name out like a curse. It tasted like one too. Every word that left my mouth tasted like a curse. Like dirt on the ground.

"Well, you should be." He pushed my hand back to me. "You fucked up this time Jason. Massively. And you can stand out here and beat your fists bloody until you fall on your knees because you can't breathe, but you can't fool me. I know she means something to you, otherwise, you wouldn't have declared her dead to ensure they stop looking for her. So grow some balls, man up and apologize to her, even if she'll still hate you afterwards. She'll know you regret what you did, and maybe sometime in two hundred years she'll talk to your dumb ass again." He preached and even though I didn't want to listen, we all know I did. "Swallow your pride, Jason. Whatever pride you have left after this stunt." And with that he turned around and walked back inside he house while I stood there partly dumbstruck, partly too angry with myself to care about or even slightly consider his advice.

"Whatever." Of course my stubborn, careless side was the one to win the battle between swallowing my pride and remaining the asshole. If she was going to hate me even after I apologize, then what would be the point of doing so? I shook my head dismissively and went back to throwing punches like my life depended on it, my knuckles soon almost skinless from the roughness of the punching bag and force of my punches.

I stared empty at the ceiling. Hands behind my head as I laid in my bed just staring into nothing for the millionth hour in a row attempting to force some sleep that apparently disapproved of my plan. The noise and chaos of silent thoughts spiraling through my head being what kept me awake. I began tapping my foot against the air to make time pass by. Not the most time consuming activity, in case you were wondering. Not even much of a distraction either.