Desire ☆ Timothée Chalamet

| 67 | better now

It's all my fault. It's all my fault. It's all my fault. It's all my fault. It's all my fault. It's all my fault. It's all my fault. It's all my fault. It's all my fault. It's all my fault.

The pencil shook in Timothée's hand as he reread the words he had written over and over again under his breath. Four words. One meaning. So many mistakes. Sometimes he couldn't think or breathe or function because of how much the guilt consumed him.

Even after months of being lectured and advised by half of his family and friends Timothée still couldn't stop feeling guilty. His mom told him it was gods plan that him and Daisy broke up because there was someone else, someone better out there waiting for him.

His sister Pauline told him that one day Daisy would realize she has made a big mistake and she will want him back.

His father is convinced that Timothée just needs to stay single for a while because he was too young to be in a serious relationship in the first place.

But none of their opinions mattered to Timothée because he knew they were all wrong. There was no girl out there waiting to fall in love with him because he would never fall in love with anyone again, there was no possibility of Daisy ever getting back together with him because he just fucked up too badly. Maybe his dad was right. Maybe he did need to stay single for the rest of his life.

Because there was no hope for him.

Every movie he watched had Daisy in it, every billboard he drove by had a picture of Daisy on it, every girl he would see who remotely resembled Daisy he would stare at for a long time until the girl eventually left the store or the restaurant out of discomfort.

It was a huge problem. And he didn't know how the fuck he was going to fix it.

His constant longing for her never left. He couldn't sleep well. He was so used to having her beside him. He was so used to her scent and her warm body heat beside him on the bed.  Now he was forgetting how she felt, how she smelt and how she laughed.

Little things about her that used to mean the world to him were fading and he was slowly forgetting the most important things about her. Like how she would ruffle his curls when he felt sad, how she would squeeze his hand when she urged him to tell her something, how her eyes would light up when she would listen to him speak about the things he loved.

She was becoming a distant memory and it pained him that he could forget someone so special to him, so easily. Seeing her on billboards wasn't enough, seeing her in interviews wasn't the same. He wanted one day with her, one day to memorize the features of her face and remember the little things she would do that made him happy. Then he would leave her alone again, then he would go on his separate path again because at least that way the memory of her would still be fresh in his mind. 

'You good man? What are you writing?' Asks Julian. A long time friend of Timothée's who has been putting up with his shit and his horrible mood swings for the past few months of torment.

Timothée nods silently. 'What are you thinking about?' Julian says curiously patting Timothée on the back.

Timmy chuckles. 'Deep shit that you don't want to know about.' He says. And it was true. Julien was the type of friend that made you feel better when you felt bad. He wasn't the type that listened to you talk about your feelings.

'You're right. I don't. But you can drink your heart out at this party we're going to and tell some drunk girl. I'm sure she would love to hear about your issues.' Julian jokes and points towards the beach where a crowd of people were gathered around. It was a big party that one of Julian and Timothée's mutual friends was holding.