IMAGINES ▹ ROSS BUTLER

↳ i have questions

( CHANGE OF HEART )
by certifiedskywalker

Reggie reread the letter in his hands over and over again, as if it would change the contents in the paper. Said paper, has been carefully folded and slipped into his Physics book and only one person in the whole wide world would have cared enough to know that he always brings his Physics book at home to give his parents the illusion that he actually cares about school.

Reggie, I have questions.

And only said person would curve her 'R' just like that when writing his name because he once told her it was cute and it made him feel special. She has never changed it since.

Number one,

Reggie held his breathe unconsciously, accidentally closing his eyes to gather some strength. Big mistake: he could've sworn he heard your small sweet giggles in his room, your light footsteps running around him, playing with him, mocking him.

His eyes shot open just enough to see the next line.

Tell me who do you think you are?

He felt a trickle of sweat fall at the crevice of his neck.

Is it because you're Mr. Popular? You need to prove to everyone that you really are the heartless asshole everyone aspired to be? Did it give you satisfaction? Did it give you more votes as Prom King?

Did it make you happy?

Reggie shook his head even though he knew you wouldn't be able to see it. And even if you did it wouldn't have made any difference.

It was too late.

I couldn't understand then and I don't understand now because I thought Imade you happy. You told me I made you happy.

Am I a fool or are you a liar?

You both knew it was the latter but nobody had the courage to speak and therefore it will remain as an un-pointed fact.

Reggie huffed, seemingly satisfied.

When he dumped you, you never really did anything. You didn't scream, didn't cry, and didn't even have the common courtesy to spread nasty rumours about him. You just gave him the saddest glare of disbelief you could muster and left. That was that. You never looked at him ever again.

You have no idea just how much he would be willing to give just for you to look at him again.

You got some nerve trying to tear my faith apart.

Reggie felt the smallest thorn being removed from his heart. Because now, you sounded angry and that was good.

You need to be angry.

Reggie deserved angry.

Number two, why would you try and play me for a fool?

What could you possibly get? What could've I have had that you wanted? Was it my dignity? My pride? My virginity?

Well congratu-fucking-lations, Reggie.

You got it all.

I should've never, ever, trusted you.

Reggie wanted to scream. It wasn't just the sex. He loved you – God know he loves you. He was happy with you, the happiest, in fact. He wanted you and still wants you even until now.

But how?

How can you tell the girl you broke that you still love her? That you made a mistake? And the fact that he will never see the sliver of gold in your right eye when you used to beam up at him for the rest of his life will be the greatest punishment he will ever have to face?

How do you say that?

How do you say that you're an asshole with severe self-esteem issues and needs the approval of society to feel good about himself – to have a purpose.

How?

Number three, why weren't you, who you swore that you would be?

You told me we'd get out of this town together.

Our little piggy bank has still gone untouched.

Do you know how shitty that makes me feel? To pass by that stupid fucking pig every single day, staring at it before I sleep and every morning when I wake up knowing that that held nothing but money and lies.

Do you know that the reason I let the dust cover it is because I am still hoping you'd change your mind? That I am pathetic enough to keep praying and hoping and holding on to that smallest sliver of hope that I'd wake up once again in the middle of the night – 2:00 sharp, as always – and see your stupid fucking grinning face from my window? To keep quiet every time insomnia takes me because I was still listening for the silent tapping of your fingers or the throwing of pebbles on my window?

I am in love with you, Reggie.

But don't get it wrong I'm not in love with you – you. I'm in love with my Reggie. My Reggie who promised me the world and its stars even though he couldn't find the difference between a mitosis and meiosis with a gun aimed at his head. To the Reggie who refused to have sex with me and played a drunken rocks-paper-scissors because he didn't want me not to remember what happened. To the Reggie who drove to my house on a weekday at 4:00 in the morning because he had a nightmare that was so horrific he didn't even tell me – said he was afraid the nightmare will be passed on to me.

I'm in love with that, Reggie – the Reggie who loved me too.

But I doubt he was real.

He wasn't, was he?

Reggie never noticed how the sides of the paper where his palms once gently held it were now nearly tearing – lines and cracks appearing from the pale scented paper that smelled too much like you.

He wanted to tear it apart, forget that he even read it.

It was too painful.

To actually see the extent of the damage he's done. He can hear your voice, broken and cracking, and if he closed his eyes enough he can imagine you writing this – reading this. Crying.

And he wanted to run.

He doesn't know where but he wants to get away, somewhere safe and peaceful. Where he can let his guard down and drop down his walls and know he won't be judged for it, that he will be accepted, and he will be loved, not despite of it but because of it.

Yet all he can think of was you.

His safe haven.

The safe haven he broke with his own bare hands in hopes that it will impress people who never really cared. The safe haven who has no idea she deserves better.

These questions haunt me, Reg.

Reggie screamed, for once in his life he decided to crush the control he had on himself. He screamed and punched and destroyed every single thing that he could reach.

He imagined the vase he threw as his parents, for being the root of his issues.

The wall as any "friend" that popped out of his mind, for pushing the stupid fucking bet on him.

And his fists as himself, he wanted it bloody and broken, just the way he left you.

He wanted you back but if he really loved you half as much as he claim to do then he should leave you alone – let you heal and make you forget of the boy who did nothing but leave you with good memories and a broken heart

But I'm gonna wake up now.