I should’ve told her how I felt a long time ago.
I should’ve been the guy who helped her when she fell, stood up for her when some other ass-hat made fun of her, made her laugh when she cried.
Round and round in circles my mind we go.
Could’ves, should’ves, would’ves pile up. And soon, I’m creating a mental list I can’t keep track of.
I’m an idiot for making her believe I disliked her. That I wanted to hurt her. For leading her to believe I liked someone else.
Even though I knew that the superficial hellion mistreated my girl, I hungout with her.
And now, my love thought all we had was a fucking joke.
My feelings weren’t a lie. But why would she believe me after all I’ve put her through?
I’ve spent my whole relationship with my love lying to her.
As I watch my love scatter down the hall, my heart sinks to new depths. My fists clench at my sides in frustration.
I want to run after her again- try again to make her believe me.
I feel the hellion before I see her, as her sharp nails latch onto the back of my neck. Shrugging my shoulders, I try to escape her unwanted hold.
There’s only one girl I want touching me.
And I might’ve fucked it up before we’ve even begun.
“You’re too good for her,” she snaps- a hint of jealousy there I hadn’t noticed before.
I turn to face her, and a laugh I can’t hold back erupts.
“I doubt I’m good enough for her.”
Her face scrunches in an unappealing way- giving me the slightest satisfaction.
“Leave her and me the hell alone,” I spit in a tone so serious and malicious I don’t even register it as mine. The last thing I recall saying all day.
The bell rings.
I drudge on to class.
But I don’t remember getting there, sitting in my seat, my teacher talking. The rest of my day continues in the same manner.
I don’t recall the rest of my day or my walk home or getting into bed. But I do.
All that’s on my mind is her and how I can get her to believe me. How I can get her to love me.
Now that I’ve had a taste of what it could really be like with her, I won’t stop at anything to get her back.
As I lay in bed- eyes open and most likely bloodshot, the dark room becomes light once more- an idea strikes.
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Read part one here.
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