𝙄𝙢𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙋𝙧𝙚𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙨 | Why Dont We [✔️]

Hold ON || C.B

Credit goes to whydontwe-fanfics

You didn't remember why everything crashed and fell that day. One second you were dancing in Corbyn's arms in your living room and the next, you both are screaming and yelling at one another at the top of your lungs. All you can clearly remember is him walking out and slamming the door, not returning or calling back for an entire two weeks.

You sat on your living room floor with your back against your couch, a bottle of liquor in your lap and your phone on the carpet beside you. The screen is bright, Corbyn's number ready to be clicked.

It's been a crappy few days. Everything seemed to be crumbling beneath your feet and there wasn't anything to do about it. None of the guys would answer their phones and you knew it was because of Corbyn.

All of your friends had ditched you because they were Corbyn's originally and your parents had passed away years ago. You felt truly alone in the world, and it hurt tremendously.

Not only did you have nobody to consult to, but your life besides that matter was also going to shit. Your college classes were finally getting the best of you. With stress, so much stress, and heartbreak on your back, you felt too weak to carry on.

Oh, and one more thing. Today's the anniversary of your parents' death from two years ago.

So here you sat, drinking alone while crying to yourself on a Friday night.

"Idiot," you drunkenly chuckle.

This was your fourth bottle of liquor and not your last. The thought of alcohol poisoning didn't cross your mind. You really couldn't care less at this point. Would it even matter if something did happen to you? It's not like there was anybody out there who cared.

—

C O R B Y N

"It's been a few days since you've last spoken to her," Jack mentioned as he and Corbyn sat on the beach chairs in the backyard of the house.

"I know," Corbyn sighed, running a hand down his face.

"Has she tried calling?"

"Yeah... I haven't picked up, though," Corbyn murmured as Jack shook his head.

"What was the fight about, again?" Jack asked.

Corbyn took a second to answer. "I found out she's been drinking again."

—

"Y/N?" you heard Corbyn's wary voice as you walk into the living room, putting your hair into a ponytail.

"Hmm?" you hum, finally looking up at him. He watched as the color drained from your face when your eyes landed on the nearly empty bottle of bourbon that you've had under your couch for a bit.

"What the hell is this?" he asked, eyebrows furrowed and the left corner tilting downwards.

"It's bourbon," you fake a chuckle, going to take it from his hands, but he pulls it back.

"What the fuck, Y/N?" he scoffed. "You're kidding me, right?"

You don't respond, your arms crossing as you glanced towards the ground shamefully.

"Do you remember what happened the last time you were drinking?" he questioned, his voice growing high.

"This isn't like last time," you say. "I don't drink all of the time, anymore. I've just been having small shots every once in a while."

"You're supposed to be recovering," he scoffed. "You've got to be shitting me."

"It's not a big deal," you huff halfheartedly.