#45 in short story, carry on bc this chapter is sad, I cried while writing omg.
☼☾☆☼☾☆☼☾☆
"So there was a definite reason I moved here. A little over a month ago, my dad died." I whispered to her, letting a lone tear slide down the side of my face. "I came home and he was dead. On the bed. He shot himself." I felt my face crumple and I couldn't hold up my wall any longer.
Tell me two weeks ago that this is where I would be right now, and I would probably laugh. But now. A life without February is one I cannot imagine.
My chest shook from sobbing, and I could feel her tears pooling on my bare chest. She traces the muscles on my stomach, and mumbles a few shushes and tries her best to soothe me.
"It's all my fault. You dont understand how guilty I feel." I say, in-between the labored breaths I am breathing.
"It's not your fault." She tells me.
"No it is, I could've come home faster, not wasted time hanging around after school. He was warm when I found him February," My head is throbbing from lack of sleep and crying. I want to give up. "Some days I can be happy, and forget about this. Other days, I feel like the guilt and grief is drowning me, pulling me down deeper day by day." My voice is quiet and the tears are gone. "But I met you, and for some reason, I have been happier in the days with you then I was since he died.
She is quiet for a few moments, and then she speaks. "Pierce, I haven't known you for long. I feel like I have known you for much longer than I actually have, and I can't imagine myself not knowing you. That day in the park, I would've talked to you anyways, because you drew me into you."
"You're one of the only things I have left to hold on to." I whisper, "I don't want you to leave." And I give her hand a light squeeze, holding myself back from saying those three little words.
"I told Quinn I might not come back, she said it was alright." She whispers to me and I feel her soft lips moving against my chest.
"Good, I don't want you to leave me tonight, or anytime soon." I mumble, wrapping my arms around her tighter.
"I don't think I could ever leave you."
YOU ARE READING
3am
Short Story"It's 3am and all I want is your lips on mine. It's the same as yesterday at 7pm, or Thursday at noon. It's the same as every hour, every minute, every second since I met you." #26 in Short Story.
