You sat on the bed, trying to process everything that had just happened. Why hadn't he told you to leave yet? You had been expecting it all week and now he had every reason to make you go. You are so dumb, you thought, you ruined everything. How could you say that to him? You didn't hate Ashton, you never could. You loved him. You loved everything about him, all of his perfections and imperfections. Your thoughts were interrupted by the click of the front door. He left. All of the tears that had seemed to stop once your thoughts started picked up again as your thoughts had faded with Ashton. You laid down on the messy unmade bed, the sun was dimming outside. Everything outside the window was unclear through the lens your tears created. There was no saying where Ashton went, he never usually left when you two fought. The two of you would always go to your separate rooms of the house and wait it out until you decided it was time to apologize. Everything would be okay, your hearts were still in connected distance of each other even if the strings were stretched. Now his was somewhere out there, closed in doors and ran over by cars. The strings frayed, if not already broken. Your thoughts grew distant as you eyelids became heavy and the world went silent.
A loud crash caused you to sit up, it was dark outside the window. "Ashton?" you called. The response was loud footsteps up the stairs and down the hall. You saw a figure stumble past the doorway before it returned moments later. Ashton walked in, his face tear stained and his eyes bloodshot. He held onto the bedside table as he removed his shoes before sitting on the bed, his back towards you. "What - Why are you still here?" he inquired, alcohol effecting his voice and thought process. "Well," you thought to yourself, "I don't know. I was waiting for you to come back". He inhaled through his clogged nose before laying to face you. "Do you really hate me?" He asked, his eyes searching your face and his hands reaching out hesitantly for the ends of your hair. "No, no, Ashton" you said, extending your hand to caress his face but he only flinched backwards, afraid you were going to strike him. You gently placed your hand on his cheek, "I don't hate you. I didn't mean that. I love you, and I'm sorry". He breathed out, almost as if it was a sigh of relief, his breath stale with alcohol. He rolled over and you instinctively wrapped your arms around him, his hands overlapping yours. He came back, everything will be okay. You promised yourself.
