In 57 Days

Chapter Thirty

i have some good ideas for the next few chapters(;
who do you want sabrina to end up with? i'm curious.
comment, vote, fan x
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[ thirty ]

***Sabrina's POV***

I starred at my bedroom ceiling while laying back on my bed. It felt good to be home, honestly. I just had this constant feeling that wouldn't seem to go away.

It hurt me to leave Jack like that, it really did. I just thought it would be for the better. I mean, what would happen if I stayed there? It's not good for anyone.

Every time I was alone or unoccupied my mind would somehow find it's way back to him. The pit in my stomach only got deeper and the pain in my heart only increased. My head was clouded with thoughts of him and my body ached for him. I missed him.

But Jack played me. He used me and treated me like a game. How could I miss him? He ruined me.

I keep trying to convince myself that he ruined me. He did, though... just not badly. He ruined me in the best way possible. I couldn't figure out why I was distancing myself from him- once again- until now.

I was scared.

I was scared that I would get hurt again. I was scared to fall in love and to be happy and to love someone. I wasn't capable of loving someone. I'm a natural disaster; a bomb about to blow. I will ruin someone. I will ruin him.

I can't ruin him, though. I don't want to ruin him. So I did what I do best: push him away.

Jack can shatter my heart into a million different pieces- which he did- but I wouldn't mind. It would be a pleasure to have my heart broken my him. It was a pleasure. (A/N: tfios reference omg bye)

And as I was at war with myself over this one boy, my phone rang. I leaned over and picked it up.

"Hello?" I muttered.

"Sabrina," the familiar, deep voice I've grown to love muttered.

"What?" I snapped. It hurts to do this.

"I've been thinking," he paused. "About you." His words made my heart melt, even though I couldn't help but notice the slight slur of them.

"Are you drunk?"

"Possibly."

"Why are you calling me?"

"I may be drunk, but you're the only thing on my mind," Jack said. I wasn't sure if I should take his words as a compliment or not.

"Goodbye, Jack," I said unsure of where this was going.

"Don't hang up," he whispered. "Please."

"You're drunk."

"You're beautiful."

"You can't even see me right now."

"But babe, I wish I could." My heart fluttered at the word babe.

I wasn't sure how to respond to his flirty comments, so I just sat silent. I heard his heavy breathing from the other end, soon to be cut off by his words.

"I miss you," he slurred.

Jack may be drunk and may not have any clue what he's saying, but somehow, he managed to think of me. He's completely unstable right now, intoxicated beyond belief as far as I can tell, but he called me. I was on his mind. He missed me.

"Goodbye, Jack," I muttered into the speaker before hanging up. I dropped my phone down onto the bed frustratedly. I took in a deep breath and angrily wiped away the tears rolling down my cheeks. It broke my heart to hear him again. It breaks my heart to see him. That's why I left. I left because I was sick of heartbreak.

I got up off my bed and sat against my bedroom wall on the floor. I put my head in my hands and did another thing I did best. I cried. I cried and shook violently, letting everything out. Everything I've had bottled up for weeks was finally escaping: heartbreak, sadness, madness, and mostly, my sanity.

I never believed people when they said how much it hurts to have your heart broken until it was me, lying on the bedroom floor with mascara running down my face, gasping for air, crying.

My phone rang again. I ignored it. Again. Then again.

I finally calmed down and brought myself to answer the phone on the 7th call.

"Stop calling me," I snapped.

"I can't," he whispered, still sounding drunk. He must've sobered up within the hour, though, because he sounded a little better.

"Stop calling me, Gilinsky. Stop. I need you to stop calling me, talking to me, seeing me, everything. I need to escape you. You're killing me."

"I haven't killed anyone," he mumbled. Asshole.

"Don't you dare say you haven't killed anyone because that night," I said referring to the bet, "Tonight, and every night in between, you killed me."

Jack remained silent and I knew he was hurt by my words. I hung up quickly and turned off my phone.

Maybe I was a little harsh. Jack only called to let me know he missed me. I hope I didn't hurt him. Actually, I hope it hurt like a fucking bitch.