All of my 5sos work

The Accident: V

Waking up I reached my arm out only to be greeted by the plump cold pillow instead of his messy hair that I always tangled my fingers in just as I woke up. It was almost a reassurance thing, not that I needed that now. Retracting my arm I hold myself as I attempt to sit upright, unaware of the time or how long I managed to sleep for. My feet reach out to the cold floorboards and immediately goose bumps circle my arms and legs as I shiver before reaching towards the curtains drawing them back to see how clear the sky could be. 

Adjusting my eyes I rest my hands against the chipped white ledge as I admire the fresh morning over our patch of grass that has crisped up with the chill of the night. Turning around I pick up my phone, still checking it when I can to see if, just if there might be something, anything. 

Sighing as my screen comes up blank I place it back down before proceeding to change out of my creased clothes that now haunt me from yesterday's events. Quickly changing I head downstairs and hear the familiar conversations of the morning, much like the ones back home except part of me wishes the only conversation would be Ashton singing along with the radio whilst he made breakfast. Smiling to myself at the distant memory of him in boxers parading around the kitchen to an invisible audience whilst I watched him behind the doorway contrasts to the sight I am greeted with instead. His awful dancing disperses from my vision as my parents stand with mugs of tea and my brother sits at the breakfast bar, a plate of food half demolished and that bruise throbbing even from here. 

It feels odd, almost as I'm being intrusive on their lives even though I am the one who lives here, who has made life long memories here even if they are a mixture of good and bad; someone once told me you have to endure the bad to appreciate the good. Now I find myself waiting for the good to return, for him to walk through that doorway and just be him again. The Ashton that would just laugh at the worst of my jokes or hold me close and refuse to let go when I cried during the lowest points of my life. 

I miss the giggles, the connection between us, I miss the specks of green in those hazel eyes or the deep dimples when he smiled to me, I miss the pure excitement he brought into my life. "How are you sweetie?" My Mum places her hand on my shoulder bringing me back to staring at her, all became silent as my answer was pending in my mind whilst all eyes remained on me. 

Letting out a small sigh I just shrugged my shoulders, her hand falling off as I did. "I, I'm not sure." A watery laugh followed and suddenly I found myself in complete hysterics, the concoction of tears and laughter consumed my form as I pointed to my brothers eye, then myself followed by a photo of me and Ashton in the kitchen on the fridge. 

Before I knew it I was on the floor, holding my legs to my chest. My whole face felt numb, the burning of the hot tears eased and my lower lip still quivered in silence. All eyes focused on me as my family had no idea what to do, they exchanged looks of panic and kept their distance from me as if I were the one to be feared. 

*

We stayed like that for a while, in that uneasy quiet that built up around us. I didn't talk much for a few days, instead I just kept to myself in my room. At different points in the days each of them came in to check on me, replaced my water, opened or closed my curtains, made sure I ate something, it was as if I were ill, bedridden much like I had been as a child. 

The curtains were reopened for the eighth time and I opened my eyes willingly rather than waiting to be aroused from a light sleep. I squinted at the bright beams that shone through the blinds, breaking in for me today. Lifting my legs up I stood up away from my bed for the first time in too long on my own terms. Today will be better, today you can do something, okay? Mentally I told myself these words with each step I took as I hovered at the top of the stairs, looking down and hiding the painful memories that liked to twist the knife a little bit deeper into my heart with each passing day.