Hamilton Oneshots (DISCONTINUED)

Never Look Back

John Laurens' POV

I stared down at my phone, tears welling up in my eyes and falling almost as quickly as they had appeared. Without thinking I scroll to the top of the post once more and reread it, some part of my brain still clinging onto hope that this wasn't true, that I had just misread the post. But no, it was true. I reread the post over and over again, trying to find something wrong with the confession that I knew held no faults.

I sigh and finally set my phone down beside me on the warm comforter, wanting to distance myself from what I had just seen, as if not looking at it would make it disappear. Hah, if only... I wish it could be that simple. I moved my quivering hands to my lap and watched as burning droplets of salt water splashed against the fabric of my pants and my hands indifferently.

Normally I would hate to cry, but I couldn't find it in myself to stop the torrent of tears that were running down my face. I hated that that stupid post had me in tears. I hate that that post existed, yet I still couldn't bring myself to hate the man that wrote that. He was the one behind all of these pointless tears, and I want to hate him. I feel like I'm supposed to hate him for what he did to me, but I still love him. It's tearing me apart trying to convince myself to hate him though I know that I cannot.

He was my first love, as cheesy as it sounds. He was the first person who I ever found a true connection with. Why should one mistake of his cause me to hate him? Why should I forfeit my love for him over some stupid mistake? A mistake that carried on for almost half a year...

I know that even if I don't hate him, I can't stay with him any longer. Just thinking about him is turning me into an emotional mess. I can't stay like this; just sitting on the bed and crying while I wait for him to come home. I needed to leave now. I knew that if I waited for him to come home, I would stay. I wouldn't be able to say no to his face. He would convince me to stay.

Gathering all of the remaining energy I had, I stood up and wiped at my tears. I began walking through his room, gathering the things I wanted the most. Some stuffed animal he won for me on our first date caught my eye. I can't help but think back to that day. How happy we were, how happy he made me feel. I grab it, not wanting to leave him this memory of me. All of my many turtle themed clothes joined the stuffed animal in my suitcase, along with normal clothes and whatever formal clothes I had in our closet. As I searched our closet for clothes to take with me, a dress caught my eye. It had a rose gold skirt with a lace bodice and no sleeves. I smiled at the dress, fondly remembering where the dress had come from. It was from my friends', Lafayette and Hercules' wedding. I was the flower girl at that wedding, and that was my dress. Without a second thought I grabbed the dress.

I try not to remember the wedding. I try not to remember after, at the hotel, where me and him talked about our own marriage. He promised me that when he had enough money, he would buy me a ring and propose to me. He whispered sweet nothings into my ear late into the night, all empty promises that he broke. After that night it seemed that he had forgotten the promises he made. The thought of that night and how blinded I was by his words leave a bitter taste in my mouth.

I shake the lingering thoughts of that night of lies from my thoughts and resume my search for anything else to take with me. I look around the room and feel the tears starting to come back as I stare at the wall covered in photos of us. I walk over to it and tear down a picture of us from when we first met. I stared at it, not noticing the tears dripping onto it, leaving dark spots. After a few seconds more of staring at it I come to the conclusion that he doesn't deserve this. He doesn't get to keep this happy memory. He doesn't get to keep any of the happy memories that are on this wall. I reach up and begin tearing down picture after picture from the wall until it is bare. I stuff the photos I had grabbed into my suitcase.

I quickly checked what time it was on the alarm clock on the bedside table and wince. There were only thirty minutes until he would get home. I've grabbed enough I suppose. There's not much else I can take. I can't take my china set in a suitcase or the countless glass turtles and figurines with me. None of my many posters of musicals or shows that I like. None of the many drawings I had drawn, no matter how nostalgic or amazing they were.

The pictures ranged from watercolors to charcoals, and from turtles to him. There were so many of them, all framed and lining the walls of our house. I want to destroy them, so he can't have them either, but I can't. I put so much time and consideration into these pictures, I can't just destroy them so he won't have them. I don't even have enough time to destroy half of my precious art pieces. Some of these were from all the way back in eighth grade.

No, I need to ignore those and leave them, I'll send Peggy to collect them later. I close my suitcase and leave the bedroom. I walk through the cluttered halls, ignoring everything I walk past. I stop at the front door and turn back to look at his house for the last time. Surprisingly, no tears come as I stare at the almost unchanged house that I had lived in for five years. Without turning back, I open the door and step out. I turned around again and closed the door before walking away, never looking back.

//1082 words

I'm really bad at naming chapters oof