broken // luke

o n e

// este

It happened again.

I opened my eyes, unpleased by the amount of sunlight in the room. My blurred vision soon came into focus, and I realized I was in my room. That was a good sign.

I slowly got out of bed, trying to ignore my aching muscles and the pounding in my head. I walked up to my full-length mirror and dared myself to look.

I saw a girl. An utterly messed up, and completely confused girl. Her hair was a mess, and her mascara was smudged down her face. She wore a tiny, tight black dress and I cringed at the sight. Mostly because it was hard to think that this girl was me.

But, I should be used to it by now.

I ran my fingers through my hair, and took a deep breath. I tried to remember memories from last night. Where did I go? What happened? How did I get back to my room? But, I failed. No memories, like always. I just have to live the blind life that I have come to know.

"Morning, mate."

The hell?! I whipped my head around towards my bed, where I saw a muscular, half naked guy pulling down the covers.

"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!" I managed to say, despite my racing heartbeat, and I grabbed the nearest item to defend myself - it happened to be a tube of mascara. Oh well, good enough.

The guy stared at me for a second, a bit taken away by my reaction. But then, he started laughing. At me. How fucking rude.

"GET THE HELL OUT OF MY APARTMENT!" I yelled, trying to make him stop laughing at me. Plus, I really just wanted him to leave.

The guy finally stopped laughing, and he ran his fingers through his blonde, bed-head hair. "Chill, babe. I'm not a burglar or anything." He said, his voice just a bit raspy. And very Australian.

I stood across my room, staring at him in shock. I slowly lowered the mascara, and squinted my eyes at him. "Then why are you in my apartment?" I said through gritted teeth. It took every inch of my body not to walk right up to him and smack him.

"That's kind of a long story. I'm sure the last thing you remember was the bar...I'm just a bit offended that you don't remember me at all." He said, chewing a bit on his lip ring. His voice made it seem like he was kidding, but the look on his face suggested otherwise.

"The bar? What bar?" I said, my voice getting smaller.
The guy looked at me. I couldn't tell what he was thinking. He looked curious, but not in a sympathetic way. He seemed to be a bit shocked, except not enough to show it. And he also seemed sad, in a way.

"I'm sorry." I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "You can just leave. I have things to do." I looked down at the floor, and fought back tears.

The guy walked up to me. It seemed like he was going to say something, or maybe comfort me. Instead, he continued walking past me until he reached the front door. He put his hand on the doorknob, and turned around to face me.

"You must've been really drunk. You were really acting like it," he said. At first, he sounded almost concerned. But then, his face shifted to the look of a horny teenage boy. "You sure acted like it in bed last night," he said with a wink.

I immediately threw my mascara at him, and screamed, "GET. OUT. NOW." He rubbed his shoulder where the mascara hit him, and left.

I rubbed my temples and closed my eyes as I sat down on my bed. "What the hell just happened? Did I really sleep with that asshole?" A million thoughts ran through my mind, until one came that made my eyes shoot open.

Ashton.

I jumped out of bed and grabbed my phone, clicking on Ashton's contact. It was the first in my favorites, so it was easy to call quickly. I held the phone up to my ear, silently saying come on's to myself as the ringing went on and on. I had to call him a couple times before he actually answered.

As soon as he spoke though, I immediately regretted calling him. I immediately regretted everything.

I heard breathing on the other side of the line, but no one was speaking. So, I spoke first.

"Ash--"

"I don't want to talk to you, Estelle. I told you, I never want to talk to you again," Ashton spat.

Estelle? He hasn't called me that since the day we first met. I wanted to drop the phone right then, but I stupidly kept talking.

"Ash? What are you talking about?" I managed to say before tears started forming in the corners of my eyes.

"Shut up, you slut. You know exactly what I'm talking about. You need to learn how to get your shit together. I never want to see you again." The line went dead, and I knew that Ashton hung up on me.

I finally let the phone slip out of my weakening grasp, and I brought my shaking hands to my face.

I felt it in my throat first, then my nose. That horrible burning sensation right before you start crying. My eyes became blurry from the tears, and I just wanted to scream. I held my breath and grabbed my stomach and tried to get myself to breathe. Or, at least, to think.

But all I could think about was Ashton.

I love Ashton. He should love me. He loved me yesterday, and he should love me now. I don't know what I did wrong, but whatever I did made me lose the person who means the most to me.

I tried to gather up enough strength to slap myself, but instead I stayed curled up in ball on my tear-stained sheets.

This is all my fault. Why am I such a fuck up? Why did I think he would stay? He never knew about my real problems. He didn't know why I was so broken. I should've told him. I should've told him everything. But then I would've lost him. And I don't know if losing him like that would've felt any less painful than this.

I thought about how I could've told him, and how he would've left.

"Ash! Good morning. By the way, I am a completely flawed girl. I black out sometimes, and I usually wake up the next morning somewhere I don't recognize. Cool, right?"

Or maybe, it could've gone like this:

"Guess what? I might black out tonight! I don't know what I'll do, or what will happen when I do, but all I know is that I'll probably wake up somewhere dark and scary and lonely. Woohoo! Awesome! Now let's go on a date!"

See? Not exactly the thing I necessarily like to bring up. Most people think that I black out because of the alcohol, but I know my limit, and I know how hard it is to get me that drunk. Coming from a girl who drank bottles of alcohol every night when she was a kid, it's near impossible to get me passed out from alcohol.

Maybe if I had told him about my family sooner, this wouldn't have happened. But I don't tell anyone here about my family. I came here for a new life, not so that people would take pity on me for my old one. Maybe I just shouldn't have tried to be with him.

After all, a girl as broken as me can't find love. No matter how much I try to run away from my flaws, and my old life, they always seem to catch up with me. They catch up with me, and they hurt everyone around me. I am sick of hurting others, because they always end up hurting me in the end.

I am sick of being hurt. I am done trying to be fixed. I am broken, and nothing can change that.