𝐰𝐝𝐰 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 & 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬

Fools➰Corbyn Besson

                                                        Only Fools Fall for You 

                                                        Fools by Troye Sivan 

I hated crying. Especially in front of him. In front of anybody. I don't like showing my emotions to people. Whether being sad, or mad, or even happy. 

But I couldn't take it anymore. I could hold it in. I unleashed it through crying. 

Probably one of the worst ways to do so. 

I simply hated that night. I hate him. I hate anything that had everything to do with this. 

We have been together for five years. You can't just stop loving someone like that!

Was five years enough, or too much? 

In this case, too much. 

I hated how honest he was about it. I hated how he just told me it one random day. Showed up at my house like everything was fine, watched a movie with me, and then broke the promise we kept for so long, that one night. 

And maybe it wasn't that one night. 

Maybe it had been for days, weeks, months, years. 

Was he too scared to tell me, so he kept it a secret for so long?

Who is she? 

I had so many questions that I knew could not be answered. Not anymore. I had my chance, and I kind of blew it. 

I shouldn't be blaming myself for our breakup. He simply did not love me. He loved somebody else. Somebody better. Everything was fine. 

That's how it was in his point of view. 

In mine, everything was not fine. Nothing was fine. 

Now, this is not why I dated Corbyn, but we shared an apartment together. An apartment which he owns. An apartment in which a new girl will be taking over. 

I couldn't get the image out of my mind. 

Him loving someone else. Him hugging someone else. Him cuddling, kissing, anything, but with someone else. 

I don't have a home  I can't go to the boys, I can't go to my parents, I can't go to Logan's. 

I can't go anywhere.

So who do I go to? 

The one and only, Cameron Dallas.

I've been friends with him before I met Corbyn. I know he would take my side over anyone else's.

"Cam. Pick up, pick up, pick up." I whispered to myself  

After four dial tones, I heard him say "Hello?" on the other end.

"Cam, please, I need somewhere to go. Me and Corbyn, we're done. He's  done, he ended it. Can I please go to your place?" I asked him, trying not to cry over the phone. 

"Aw, Y/N/N, of course you can. I swear, that guy I'm gonna murder him." He said, clearly upset. I could hear him get out of bed, and get his keys. "Where are you, I'm picking you up."

                                                                     ~~~~

I don't hate him, but I don't love him.

I guess I can thank him?

I now know what a fool is. Not someone who's blinded by love, but someone who is just stupid by love. They think they love them so much, but in reality, they don't at all, they just love what society wants them to.

He's just a guy that's in the past. Some person that I used to know.

Maybe he broke up with his girlfriend, found a new one. Maybe he does this repeatedly, over and over again.

But, it's not my problem.

I wrote him a letter today, knowing he was still in the band. Being distant friends with Jack, I'm able to mail the letter to Corbyn. It said:

Dear Corbyn,

I know you love someone new. Someone better. 

I'm not going to take her or that away from you. I'm not going to take anything away from you, even though you took something away from me. 

You hurt me though.

You hurt me so bad, and the worst part is that you knew you hurt me. Sure, you looked sympathetic. You looked like you cared. I know you didn't though. I know you didn't care. You just cared about someone else.

Maybe you found another girl. Maybe, in the three years that I've hated you, and despised you, you found 50 new girls.

But the truth is, I don't hate you.

I sure as hell don't love you.

I just know you. I know of you. I don't want to talk to you, so I wrote this letter. 

Three years ago, I blamed myself for what happened. I blame myself for not being the person you wanted. For not being enough.

Now, I realize, it's not my fault. But it's not yours either.

Really, it's no ones fault. We were being our young foolish selves. We didn't see that we didn't match. That we don't match.

As I am writing this, my boyfriend, yes, Cameron, is peering over my shoulder, tickling me every once and a while to make sure I'm not crying from sadness.

But would I cry from sadness?

From remembering memories with you?

Let's bet honest, when did you ever do that to me?

When did you ever tickle me, or cuddle me, or kiss me? Not that much.

The only reason you're getting this letter is because of Jack. Otherwise, I wouldn't never sent this to you. You were a terrible boyfriend. 

But remember, I don't hate you.

I was just a fool for you. I was a fool, a peasant, who got on her knees, and begged you. 

But begged for what?

Love?

Sympathy?

What did I beg for?

I don't even know.

I do not expect to get an answer from you.

I do not want an answer from you.

I only want you to know how I am.

I only wanted to tell you how I am. 

You were the greedy, selfish King, and I was the helpless, poor, lost girl.

You said you helped me, that you were helping me, and I stupidly believed it.

You didn't help me.

Now, after writing this, which took me three days to think of the right words, after watching Cameron sleep like an angel, after walking around Los Angeles, holding hands with the one I truly love, I realize, what we had, it was not love.

It wasn't anything.

We just forced it to be something.

And when you force something to be another that it's definitely not, the results come out bad.

Sincerely,

Y/F/N Y/L/N

------------------

Oh. 

My.

God.

This was 1,021 words. The longest one I've done yet. Granted, I've only done like four, but still. This took forever!😂 I hope you like it, I put a lot if effort into it.