Ed Sheeran One Shots

Taken

I yearn for you.

I crave you.

I need you.

But I can't have you.

I lost you. I lost you a long while ago. It's strange how life works. One minute you have the girl, but not the world. And then, you have the world, but not the girl. And you convince yourself that you know what you want. You tell yourself that you won't ever feel that pain because you have her and now that you have the world, you can make her truly happy. You have your dream girl and dream job. Nothing can bring you down now. What could go wrong?

But I wasn't your dream man. Not anymore anyway.

I didn't even notice I did it. I didn't realise that you'd fallen down my priority list. I didn't see how many times I'd rescheduled our dates, rescheduled you, until I physically counted them. It was only then that I realised how little I was there, how little I spoke to you, how little time I spent with you. I wasn't a good partner. I know that now... now that it's too late.

You ended it. I yelled. I didn't understand why. I was blind to your hurt. I didn't see how much it pained you to say goodbye. But you'd been in pain because of me for a while. But i was foolish and only cared about my pain. My hurt. My sorrow. But I see it now. I understand. Finally. It took me long enough.

I drank. I took drugs. I clubbed. I wrote angry, sly songs about you. I played them to no-one because I'm a coward.  I slept with a bunch of people, and would say your name instead of theirs. I would always wake to an empty bed. I still do. 

My brother came to see me when I was touring. It was somewhere in the states I think. I don't remember about 3 months of that tour. It all blurred into a big mush after we split. He said to me that he was worried. That everyone was worried. I told him I was fine. He sat me down and said to me that I need to speak to someone. 

I told him to fuck off. 

He left. 

I cried. 

It was that night that I realised. I got up to throw, or scream or punch something. Then I caught my reflection in the mirror. I looked like shit. My hair had grown long and messy. But not the good kind. My stubble was long and untidy. But not the good kind. My eyes were grey and empty. The blue was gone. The life had gone. I was gone. Ed was gone.

I rang my Mum in tears. I told her what had happened between you and I. She said she knew. That was the first time I'd told anyone about our break-up sober. And because I was sober, I told the truth about what happened. I told her how much it hurt. She said she can't begin to imagine. I said that Matt had been to try to talk to me and that I'd told him to leave. She said she knew. I told her I was sorry and she said it's not her I need to apologise to. I cried and she said that both her and Dad are here for me and that they forgive me. I told her I loved her and hung up the phone. 

I lay there for so long in silence. Laying there in my hotel room, with empty beer bottles from nights out and dirty clothes strewn everywhere. I thought about everything. I could think clearly without anything in my system. I could also feel. I could feel my pain I'd been trying to hide. It came crashing in a tidal wave, over and over and over. And I could also feel yours, stabbing me every time I replayed that moment 3 months, 11 days, 16 hours and 21 minutes ago. The time that you told me it was over. I felt your pain. I saw your pain. It was burned onto my retinas. The tears running down your face I didn't even remember being there until I thought long and hard about it. How much weight you'd lost. Your face was sunken and your eyes surrounded my dark circles. Your lips were chapped and you were picking at your nails. You weren't comfortable around me anymore. You were unhappy. You weren't in love anymore. 

I finally understood. 

The last leg of the tour just passed by. It wasn't a blur, I remember it. But I wasn't enjoying it. I just wanted to be home. 

And now, here I am. I'm jet lagged. I'm in a cab home from Gatwick airport. I'm hungry and I want to go to bed. But I have to do something first. Something I should have done a long time ago. I feel for the piece of paper in my jeans pocket. The creased edges touch my fingertips and I sigh, nerves tingling my stomach, making me feel nauseous.

We're turning the corner now. 

I see it.

"Just here. I won't be a sec."

"No problem."

I open the door and step onto the damp pavement. The night is cold. It's late. The only sound is of the cab's engine rumbling behind me. Not moving for a minute, I stand beneath a streetlamp, casting my shadow against the gate leading to the building in front of me. There's a light on. I have no excuse to back out now. 

I begin the walk up the all-to-familiar path. I'm standing on the doorstep. I'm about to knock when I hear a sound. I take a step back and peer to the left.

And there you are. 

You're curled up on the same brown leather sofa as before, in the same baby blue pyjamas, with the same woollen blanket. The only difference is the person cuddling you from behind the way I used to. The dark-haired man making you laugh and smile is not the same as before. 

He loves you.

I could have rung the doorbell anyway. I could have read my letter to you anyway like I had planned. I could have done a lot of things. But I don't. You're happy. And as much as my heart is broken, I know yours is fixed. I still care about you and I'm not prepared to ruin your happiness. Me turning up unannounced and telling you I love you after being a dick doesn't make me any less of a dick. If anything, it makes me more of one. 

I turn and walk back down the path. I pull out the letter, and rip it into pieces calmly, then let the breeze take them from my palm, watching as they float away, skipping on the pavement, taking my words with them. I go back to the car, rummage through my rucksack, find my notebook and pen and walk back to the door. I scrawl what I have never said to her. What I should have said so many times. I don't sign it from me. She'll know from the scruffiness of my handwriting. I rip the page out and push it through her letter box quietly. 

Then I go, leaving the only words behind that she will ever need to hear from me.

I'm sorry.