Your Voice Is My Alarm Clock (A Jon Cozart And Thomas Sanders Fanfic)

Chapter Thirty

Jon Cozart's POV

He's gone.

I feel my lungs start to burn.

He's really truly gone.

My head spins.

And he didn't look back.

Hot tears spill down my cheeks.

He hates me. He fucking hates me and it's all my fault.

I slam my door shut, rattling the things on my shelf.

How could I have been so stupid? Why couldn't I just be happy for him?

I slam my hand on the wall, and kick things out of my way.

Why wasn't I content with being friends? How he hates me.

"I lost him," I choke out, "I lost him, and he hates me and it's all my fault."

I can't breathe, my lungs feel like they're collapsing. Gravity pulls me under. Something inside me is broken.

I feel empty. I feel alone. I feel useless.

I throw myself into my chair.

How could I have been so stupid?

I rest my head in my palms, I feel tears wetting my hands.

I sit there for a few minutes, then slump back into my chair. I try to suppress my tears, but my chest continues it's convulsions.

Thomas hates me.

I turn and face my screen. I'm midway through talking. Confessing. Telling Thomas my feelings.

Grabbing the mouse, I press play.

"...I love you." On screen, I smile and shy away from the camera. A blush rises up my neck. I pause, giggle, and look straight into the camera.

"If I have to be completely honest, I've like you for a while. Ever since I first met you. You're just so kind to everyone! You welcome hugs from anyone willing to give one."

Virtual me pauses, and stares right at the camera.

I remember making this video, doing a few retakes, knowing it had to be perfect. It takes a lot of guts to pour your heart out to someone.

Too bad it was turned down.

Tears spill down my face as I slam the pause button. I don't want to hear it.

Neither did Thomas.

I slam my fist on the desk.

"What's the fucking point?" I yell, "What was the point of making that stupid, shitty video."

Fuck Thomas. Fuck him and his stupid fuckboy.

I grit my teeth and stand. I open the door, and bang it shut behind me. Seeing the water boiling in the kitchen, I sulk over and turn the burner off. I can't even think about eating right now.

I grab the pan off the burner, and turn to dump it out. A sharp pain seared through my hand, and I realize I'm touching it barehanded. I shout and drop the pan in the sink, water sloshing everywhere.

You have to be fricking kidding me.

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I mop up the the water. Throwing the soaking wet towels in the basket, I kick it back into the closet.

I stomp back to the sink and yank the cold water on. The water stings, but eventually the burning dies down. After a few minutes, I pull my hand out, and examine it. Four of my fingers and deep red, but otherwise I'm unharmed. Without the cold water though, my hand starts to burn again.

Goddamn it.

I rinse my fingers one more time, then go to the freezer for an ice pack. I'm wrapping my hand when I first hear it.

At first, I think i'm just hearing things . That my mind is playing tricks on me, just like fate has.

But then I hear it again. Someone is knocking at my door.

My heart jumps, and my mind immediately thinking at Thomas.

Would he really come back?

I rush over to the door.

"Jon, I know you're in there!"

That is not Thomas.

Frowning, I look through the little hole in the door. I see a tall, curly haired boy standing there, arms crossed.

Who the hell is that?

I open the door, and say, "Excuse me?"

The guy smiles at me, then growls, "Stay away from my Thomas you bitch."

A fist collides with me and I stumble backwards, the mystery boy starts to shuts the door.