The War on Love

Chapter 17

*Thomas's POV*

I went back to London a week after she broke up with me. Trust me, I tried to get her back. She wouldn't listen to me. I would knock on her door but, when she saw it was me, she just closed it and locked the door. I tried calling her. Every single one of them was ignored. She didn't want to talk to me and I can't blame her. I was a jerk and I didn't try hard enough to get her back.

As I sat on my porch steps, I pulled a cigarette from the carton and placed it between my teeth before lighting it. Emmalyn had made me quit. She drenched every pack I had bought with water making them unlightable. She could sniff out any carton I had in that house. I eventually quit after a few months of cold turkey but, she's not here anymore. It doesn't matter. I forgot how lovely it felt to smoke, to let the nicotine fill my systems. I release a puff of smoke.

God. She would murder me if she saw what I was doing. I can see her now, she would march right up to me and take cigarette from my mouth. She would make a big deal out of putting it out. Then, she would take the rest of the pack and walk to the kitchen. She would set it in the sink and turn the water on full blast. I would just stand there and watch. I knew she would probably smack me on the back of the head like she does and give me the mom lecture if I did anything to stop her.

I feel her dogtags getting heavier around my neck as if the thoughts of her are weighing me down. I sigh as I pull them out from under my shirt. I run my thumb over the lettering. I've memorized every word. Every number. Every letter. Why? I dunno. I contemplate taking them off. Taking the only part of her that I still hold onto off and putting them in a box, shipping them back to their rightful owner. But all at the same time, I don't want to. I want to hold on, just for some chance that maybe there is a hope that she'll forgive me for being such an ass and allow me to come back into her life. But I feel like she won't. She's stubborn. Once her mind is made up, there is very little changing it.

I choke back a sob, trying to not release the tears of longing. I want her back. No. Lies. I NEED her back. I've had so many girls in my bedroom in the past few weeks. Some will say that's a perk of being famous. I say it's a down fall. This is the first time I've ever stooped that low and I am most definitely not proud of it. Every time I kiss another girl, I imagine her. I picture the way her eyes would grow big if I kissed her unexpectedly. I imagine how she would play with the tag of my shirt as we kissed. It was a weird habit of her's but I thought it was cute. I always looked forward to it. It was quite a turn on.... I imagined how when she pecked me on the lips she would linger closely, brushing her lips on mine, knowing that it got me wanting more. But these girls never did any of that. They arrived at seven. Did what needed to be done for about an hour, they would get paid, and I would make them leave me to wallow in my self-pity.

It's depressing without her in my life. Hell. I'M depressing without her in my life. I try to put on a smile for people but it just looks fake. Well, faker than usual. I've ignored all social media, especially Twitter. Everyone is asking so many questions about my lost relationship. Why did you break up? Reasons. Aren't you going to try to get her back? She won't take me back. Do you still love her? How could I not? She's perfect.

I release a heavy sigh and put out my cigarette. I stand and walk back into my house. I turn on my stereo. It begins to play the mixed tape Emmalyn made me for our one month anniversary. She decided that since I have heard NONE of her favorite music I needed a mixed tape. Nicotine by Panic! At the Disco starts to play. I play this song quite often. It reminds me of her at times. She's actually WORSE than nicotine. She's an addiction that I just can't kick. I might not be around her but she's constantly on my mind. I'm suffering withdrawal with her so far away probably not even giving me a second thought. I couldn't blame her. I wouldn't want someone like me on my mind either.

At six fifty-five, the doorbell rings. At six fifty-six, the stereo is turned off. At six fifty-eight, I open the door for yet another girl. At seven, I begin to feel empty. At seven thrity, I start wanting to punch myself in the face for being so stupid. At eight, I regret everything.

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A/N: Not proud of him. Yes. He, sadly, does smoke =( I thought about incorporating it in this and I finally found a good way to do so. Sorry about slower than normal updates but basketball has me busy and stressed (like most sports do =/) I have a "free" week so updates might be a little quicker. Key word: might. You know what to do! Comment/vote/follow! Tell me what you think! -med_01