ƈσʅԃ ιɳ LA < dσɾႦყɳ

3

i can't help the wave of disappointment that flows through me when i wake up to a cold, empty bed, the sheets crinkled and the cover thrown carelessly to the side. i sigh loudly, almost annoyed, and i slowly sit up, looking around the room carefully for any signs of the blonde boy, even though the more logical part of me knows he's almost definitely not here anymore. it takes me a few minutes to compose myself enough to actually leave my bed, and when i do, i immediately go to my dresser, looking for some sort of note or explantation.

i frown when i notice there isn't a note on my dresser; that's usually where he leaves one. it's not like corbyn to leave without telling me anything, knowing i'd get worried. i look around the floor, just in case it slipped off of it, but there's nothing.

as i walk downstairs, my eyebrows still furrowed and my heart sort of heavy, i look around the empty house, almost as though i'm expecting the blonde boy to pop out from somewhere or for him to just be sat at on the sofa or at the table. but he's nowhere to be seen. i let out a mixture of what could either be considered a sigh or a groan, entering the kitchen and immediately beginning to prepare myself a cup of coffee; i'm going to need it.

i prop myself against the counter, looking blankly out the window. i think back to the fact that corbyn wouldn't tell me anything yesterday, not how he was feeling, if he was mad or sad, he wouldn't even say goodnight to me. it's almost as though he reached the point of no return, he's just going to fall downhill from here. he's probably angry at me for insisting and prying so much into his personal situation last night, but can he really expect anything else from me? i'm his best friend, i have been for years, i'm supposed to be there for him through thick and thin. my hand grips the mug tighter as i think about the blonde boy, who's probably already returned to adam. son-of-a-bitch.

should i care so much about this?

of course i should. i'm in love with the blonde boy, after all. not much else is expected from this sort of situation.

but he's taken. albeit he's a taken by a horrible, almost macabre human... but he's still taken. and as much as i'm against their relationship, corbyn is a grown adult who is free to make his own decisions and choices. i just wish he could see what i see. maybe then, he wouldn't be in so much pain.

i almost let out a sob, tossing my mug carelessly into the sink, not even caring to check for any ruptures, trying to stop my body from shaking. this is so unfair. i could treat him so much better, but of course, he can't see that.

oh corbyn, i wish you could see yourself through my eyes. i wouldn't ever dream of letting you down. but unfortunately we can never happen.

yeah, you're beautiful but something in the way.