Everything and More

Unstable

A/N: SO THIS NEEDS TO BE FUCKING ADDRESSED! I don't give a shit how much you hate Juliet Simms, you have no fucking right to go on her page and post mean comments. She is a human fucking being. She has feelings, and I don't care "what she's done," (a majority of it is bullshit) that doesn't give you the right to say such terrible things. They see all of that, Andy included. If you think you will have a chance if they broke up, you're wrong. I don't even know if some of you know what love is! It's kind of obvious that they deeply care about each other, so stop spreading such petty rumors, and stop sending her hate, and grow the fuck up. Seriously. Make me want to bang my head so hard against a brick wall, that I put myself into a fucking coma.

I honestly don't know when I will update the Smutletts. I have such a writers block with those, and a lot of ideas for my other stories, so here you go.

BLAIRE

(I imagine the image above is how Andy would be looking for this story)

The blood was everywhere. Cool liquid dripped down my wrists as I smiled into the mirror. I had finally done it. There were two vertical lines on each wrist, split completely open. Before I could collapse, I saw the reflection of Andy. He was crying, looking deeply into my eyes.

"No!" was the last thing he whimpered.

~~~

I woke up with a jolt, screaming. It was like I was choking on the old air in my lungs, unable to catch my breath. I could hear Andy's loud footsteps coming up the stairs. Right when I thought I was going to black out from the lack of oxygen, he burst through the door.

His long arms wrapped around my torso, trying to calm me. I coughed and heaved for air into his shoulder. "Shhh," he whispered. "Calm down. It's over. You're safe, baby."

After much shaking, crying, and gasping, I was finally able to think clearly. My arms were still tightly wrapped around Andy, hands gripping at the back of his strong neck.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asked as he rubbed my back. I shook my head. "Alright," he muttered.

Andy grabbed my hand, pulling me up and out of my bed. We walked downstairs, I taking a seat on the couch and snuggling up with a blanket. The clock on the wall read 10:32, meaning my parents had left for work and the she-devil I called a sister was at school.

After several minutes of starting off into the dark corner of my living room, questioning every decision I've ever made, Andy sat down next to me with a plate of food. Little Mickey and Minnie Mouse pancakes, covered in strawberries and whip cream. I smiled slightly, and Andy's face lit up.

When we were younger, I would always spend the night at his house. Every morning, his dad would wake up and make us these amazing pancakes in whatever shape we wanted. He was that good. I always asked for Minnie Mouse. Andy seemed to remember, which warmed my heart.

He pulled me close, wrapping the blankets around us. I turned the TV on to his favorite, Batman. We watched the morning cartoons in silence, the only sound; our forks scraping against the ceramic.

Andy sweetly popped a strawberry into my mouth, kissing the top of my head. Thankfully, he wasn't sucking on a face full of my hair. I had put it into a messy bun, lucky that an elastic would even contain the beast.

He grabbed the remote off of the armrest of the couch, lowering the volume. "Can you tell me what you were dreaming about this morning? It's killing me not knowing," he asked, wrapping his arms around me.

"You won't like it," I mumbled.

"You know you can trust me, Blaire. I would never judge you."

"You say that, but how can I really know. You'll change your mind if I tell you," I whispered, holding onto him as if it would be for the last time. I knew what he was going to think of me if I told I'm I has dreamt of killing my self. Of liking it. He would leave me, running out the door faster than a cheetah.