Remember Last Knight
this was not me
&elle
My heart is heavy when I wake, and so is the knock on my door. I’m laying face down, arms wrapped around the pillow. My face is sticky. I want to bury myself in these blankets, in the ground, hide away.
I let this get to me. I let this get to me. I let the walls fall and I let them bring me down with them.
I wiped at my face and hurried to sit up, making enough noise to welcome in whoever is knocking for me. The door slips open, and he slips in.
“Good morning,” he mumbles, looking at me, looking at the floor, then at me again.
I brush my hair behind my ear, flattening it, looking at my lap. I’m embarrassed, you could say. Too many emotions were shown last night in one moment; surprise and heartbreak were always two things that never looked good on me. “Hey.”
“Um, about last night…” My head snaps up, no thought, and I can feel the heat draining my face. “I’m sorry I didn’t take you home. I know you wanted to go there, but I honestly didn’t know…” Relief. So much. The breath I released following his words could blow down a house.
“I-It’s fine, h-honestly.” My voice cracked, but I was relieved. For now.
“They’re making breakfast,” Knight said, looking at me. I continued to look down. “They want to know if you’ll stay and eat with us, or if you want me to take you home.”
“I, um, I think I need to go…”
“They really want you to stay,” Knight whispered, barely. It was meant as something for him, not for me, like maybe I wouldn’t want to stay, or maybe I would…
Allison. Julie. So sweet. So precious. So absolutely kind to me.
“I’ll stay.”
Then, surprisingly, he smiled. It was Allison’s smile, wide and charming and… handsome. I looked down again, biting my lip. “Just come down when you’re ready,” he said, slipping out just as he had entered.
Then, it all hit me. I wasn’t in this room at Knight’s, instead, I was at Louis’, sitting on his bed. He had just left his window, where he had been smoking a blunt, to come sit with me. He smiled as he started closer to me, a shy, sweet smile that melted my insides. We had been dating for about 6 months now, and the hitting hadn’t started yet.
He scooted around me, holding me. He continued to smile down at me, running his fingers across my hair and down my neck. He was always sweet when he was high, not that Louis wasn’t sweet to me to begin with. Alone, he was mine, but in public, with others, I was one of the last things on his mind. It didn’t help that in public, when he smoked, he drank, and then he wasn’t my sweet boy anymore.
We sat there, him holding me, running his fingers through my hair and placing separate, soft kisses on my neck.
My neck was sticky. My face was sticky. My lap was wet with tears and my hands were clenched around the blankets. It took me a moment to realize that the horrible guttural noises I was hearing were coming from my throat. My fists, still clutching the blankets, hushed my sobs.
This was not the place. This was not the time. This was not me.
Elle Rogers. I’m a bitch. I’m a fighter. I’m a trouble maker, a runner, a boxer, a freak, a dumbass… I’m a lot of things, but I’m not disorganized, and I am definitely not someone to lose control. I told myself a long time ago that I could not let things run away from me, ever again. I couldn’t control my mother, or my father, and not even my brother, no matter how hard I tried, I could only control myself.
Could I even do that anymore?
The next knock on the door might or might not have sent me into cardiac arrest.
My heart is heavy when I wake, and so is the knock on my door. I’m laying face down, arms wrapped around the pillow. My face is sticky. I want to bury myself in these blankets, in the ground, hide away.
I let this get to me. I let this get to me. I let the walls fall and I let them bring me down with them.
I wiped at my face and hurried to sit up, making enough noise to welcome in whoever is knocking for me. The door slips open, and he slips in.
“Good morning,” he mumbles, looking at me, looking at the floor, then at me again.
I brush my hair behind my ear, flattening it, looking at my lap. I’m embarrassed, you could say. Too many emotions were shown last night in one moment; surprise and heartbreak were always two things that never looked good on me. “Hey.”
“Um, about last night…” My head snaps up, no thought, and I can feel the heat draining my face. “I’m sorry I didn’t take you home. I know you wanted to go there, but I honestly didn’t know…” Relief. So much. The breath I released following his words could blow down a house.
“I-It’s fine, h-honestly.” My voice cracked, but I was relieved. For now.
“They’re making breakfast,” Knight said, looking at me. I continued to look down. “They want to know if you’ll stay and eat with us, or if you want me to take you home.”
“I, um, I think I need to go…”
“They really want you to stay,” Knight whispered, barely. It was meant as something for him, not for me, like maybe I wouldn’t want to stay, or maybe I would…
Allison. Julie. So sweet. So precious. So absolutely kind to me.
“I’ll stay.”
Then, surprisingly, he smiled. It was Allison’s smile, wide and charming and… handsome. I looked down again, biting my lip. “Just come down when you’re ready,” he said, slipping out just as he had entered.
Then, it all hit me. I wasn’t in this room at Knight’s, instead, I was at Louis’, sitting on his bed. He had just left his window, where he had been smoking a blunt, to come sit with me. He smiled as he started closer to me, a shy, sweet smile that melted my insides. We had been dating for about 6 months now, and the hitting hadn’t started yet.
He scooted around me, holding me. He continued to smile down at me, running his fingers across my hair and down my neck. He was always sweet when he was high, not that Louis wasn’t sweet to me to begin with. Alone, he was mine, but in public, with others, I was one of the last things on his mind. It didn’t help that in public, when he smoked, he drank, and then he wasn’t my sweet boy anymore.
We sat there, him holding me, running his fingers through my hair and placing separate, soft kisses on my neck.
My neck was sticky. My face was sticky. My lap was wet with tears and my hands were clenched around the blankets. It took me a moment to realize that the horrible guttural noises I was hearing were coming from my throat. My fists, still clutching the blankets, hushed my sobs.
This was not the place. This was not the time. This was not me.
Elle Rogers. I’m a bitch. I’m a fighter. I’m a trouble maker, a runner, a boxer, a freak, a dumbass… I’m a lot of things, but I’m not disorganized, and I am definitely not someone to lose control. I told myself a long time ago that I could not let things run away from me, ever again. I couldn’t control my mother, or my father, and not even my brother, no matter how hard I tried, I could only control myself.
Could I even do that anymore?
The next knock on the door might or might not have sent me into cardiac arrest.