mr. hemmings // l.h.

35 • madeline

(( this chapter is kinda short but very important ))
(((( violence trigger warning ))))

After I hung up the phone, I stared in the mirror for a long while.

Who are you? I thought.
I certainly wasn't myself.

I needed to find Celia, I decided. Or Trisha, or Cameron.
I needed to be with my friends.

I stumbled out of the bathroom. It felt like the whole house was spinning. I steadied myself, walking slowly down the hallway. I dragged my hands on the walls trying to gain my balance.

"Fuck." I whispered, stumbling.

"Jesus," a familiar voice from behind called, "what the hell did you drink?"
The sound of his voice hit a nerve.
I turned around to see Travis.

"You look like hell." He said, blankly.

"Thanks." I huffed.

He grabbed the sleeve of my denim jacket and pulled me into an empty bedroom.

"Stay here." He demanded, sitting me on the bed. "I'll get you some water."

I nodded, too drunk to even argue.
He shut the door behind him.

I felt like I was going to pass out. I was really not good at holding my liquor, and I'd drank way too much at that point.

Travis came back in with a water bottle, after a while. "Here. Try to sober up."

I took the bottle, and opened it with shaky hands. I took a long sip.

"Why are you acting like this?" He asked.

I cringed. He was giving me a headache already.
"What?"

"Like a trashy little party girl." He spat. "You don't ever act like this."

I felt my face drop with anger. "Don't c-call me trashy."

"Don't act trashy." He said. "You're slurring your words, you can barely walk. You're wasted. And you're dressing like a slut."

I rolled my eyes, "I can't even entertain this. I don't have the fucking energy."
I stood up, almost tripping over my own feet.

He moved in front of the door so I couldn't leave.
"What would your new man say if he saw you right now?"

"I don't have a man." I growled. "Now move."

"Ah," he laughed, "that explains it. He broke your heart just like I knew he would. I tried to tell you, no one else is going to put up with you like me."

"Even if that's true," I chuckled, "I don't give a fuck. Not anymore. Not about anything. Even if you're the only one who'd put up with me I still wouldn't give in and go back to you."

"Bullshit."

"No, really," I grinned maliciously,
"I don't give a fuck, Travis. I don't think you understand. Nothing that you say or do can hurt me."

He pushed me backwards, into the wall. I laughed at him.
"Push me again, Travis. By all means! Do it!"

His face reddened with anger.
"You drunk little whore."

"Fuck you!"

He grabbed me by the collar of my jacket and slapped me in the face. I was too shocked to even move.

"You'll learn one day to keep your mouth shut." He growled.

I turned my face slowly, to look at him.

"Now what do you have to say?" He asked.

I didn't say a word, instead, I spit in his face.

"You little bitch!" He shouted, wiping his face.
Without missing a beat, he drew his hand back into a fist and hit me in the mouth.
I screamed in pain, and hunched down. He hit me twice more, once in the jaw and once in the nose. He was yelling insults at me, but I couldn't hear them. My head and my heart were pounding and I completely lost focus. He hit me one more time in the eye.

He pushed me backwards, and I fell to the floor.

"You know better than to disrespect me! Now shut the fuck up, for once." He mumbled under his breath. "Bitch."
He spun around and marched out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

I laid on the floor for a while. The carpet was a light cream color, however a fair amount of my own blood had stained a crimson colored puddle into it. I pulled myself up, sitting against the wall.
I felt the blood dripping from my nose and mouth. I stared at the water bottle on the bed.

He had never been that bad before.

It happened so fast, it took me a while to actually process it. I prayed to God that no one would walk in while I sat there. We had yelled at each other, but the party's music was too loud for anyone to even notice, so I didn't expect anyone to come to my rescue.
I didn't want to be rescued.

I realized my friends were somewhere in that house, and had no idea what happened, but I knew that I just couldn't face them. I couldn't face anyone. I didn't want anyone to see me like that. I had to get out.

I pulled myself to my feet. I was hardly able to walk, but I clumsily pried the only window in the room open anyway. The house was only one story, so I had no problem sneaking out the window besides being absolutely hammered. I pushed through a bush and I stumbled onto the grass, I realized then that my legs were scratched up from thorns. I looked like a mess. And I didn't even know what my face looked like.

I knew I couldn't go home.

I walked in silence through the darkness of the evening, careful to avoid streetlights and passing cars. I didn't want to bring any attention to myself. Blood was still gushing from my face, but I couldn't have cared less.

I don't know how I managed to find the little brown townhouse in my drunken state, but I felt relieved when I did. I'm not even sure how long it took for me to get there. I dragged my boots against the paved driveway and trudged up the steps to the front door. I almost lost my balance, so I leaned against the wooden door for support. I pounded on the door slowly.

After a few minutes, the door finally budged. I backed up, careful not to lose balance.

The door opened. There stood Ashton. His hair was a mess, he was dressed in gray sweatpants, and he looked as if I had woken him up. His face completely dropped when he saw me, as if he'd seen a ghost.

When we made eye contact, I felt my eyes burn with tears.
"I'm s-sorry." I cried. "I-I didn't know where else to go."

"Oh my god." Ashton gasped. He grabbed me by the waist, "Get inside."

I collapsed into his arms, losing my consciousness slowly.