track and trace // calum hood

2 | Elizabeth

Thanks for all the shocked reactions and thanks for coming back. ily.
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It was a funny thing, being friends with my ex. I felt like I could tell him anything, really, but there was always an unspoken boundary to never bring up our past relationship. We talked about old times—like when I toilet papered Luke's house because he dared me to, or when he rear-ended someone because he was looking over at me instead of the road—but we would never talk about how much we loved each other. For us, being friends meant we could never speak about what happened between us.

But a few weeks ago, I let the curiosity get the best of me. I sat down on his couch beside him, and I asked a question that had been eating at me for months. "The scrapbook that I gave you for your birthday," I said. "What happened to it after...everything?"

He looked up from his computer and froze.

I knew, then. "You threw it out."

Instead of acknowledging, he asked me, "What about my green Empathy sweater? You gave back everything else, but you kept that one. What did you do with it?"

I wanted to lie. I wanted to say I gave it away or that it was donated to Goodwill, but I wasn't a liar and I wasn't going to start today. "I still have it. It was a token, I guess. A physical reminder that we did exist, and we were important. Because sometimes, with the way we act around each other, it's easy to forget."

It was quiet for a bit, but eventually, we went back to pretending. It was a funny thing, being friends with my ex. Even as friends, he's the only one who's still able to hurt me so deeply.

Our break up was a shock for everyone, no one saw it coming. Everyone thought we were fine, only Ashton knew shit was falling apart. Truth is, we both didn't even notice that we were slipping until it was already too late.

Too many arguments, too many fights, too much drama. It was like our love was over, the spark between us was gone before we even reached our second year anniversary, but both of us caring too much and being too stubborn to put an end to it until a big fall out.

We both were to blame for our relationship ending. I was too busy with my study and Calum was too busy with the album. We barely saw each other and when we both were in his mansion we would have an argument about stupid things that would turn into big fights where he ended up leaving and staying the night at Ashton's while I slept alone in our kingsize bed.

We turned into lightning and thunder; our timing was always slightly off.

When Calum showed up after our last big fight and told me we had to talk, I knew that that would be the end. We did love each other, we did. But this wasn't healthy for us.

My mind wandered back to that night.

When someone is stabbed, you're told not to remove the knife. Once it's removed, everything begins to fall apart. In less than ten minutes, someone could bleed out. I'm still not sure which of us stuck the blade in my stomach, but I refused to pull it out. Instead, I embrace it.

"Do you still love me?" I asked, still not facing him. It's silent, and I don't know how to read this situation. If I turned around, I know the emotion would be clear on his face because he has always been an open book. For me, he will always be an open book.

I don't turn around, though, and I realize that I don't want to see his face—see the destruction that I caused.

He said my name then, and his voice is level; it twists the knife. "We can't keep having the same argument..."

And he said, "I love you—god knows that I love everything about you—but we're falling apart. You're tearing us apart."

Finally, I turned around, and I'm not sure what I expected, but it surely was not this. He looked broken.