Ever Since We Met

“I hate you and I love you; it’s like I want to throw you off a cliff, and then run and catch you at the bottom.”

Laura’s P.O.V.

I looked down at my phone, reading the text message.

I’m sorry, come back.

It wasn’t right that I was crying over this, and that now as I threw my phone back into my purse I was fishing out my key to Patrick’s apartment. It wasn’t right that I couldn’t breathe properly and that I was shaking from my anger and disappointment.

When I managed to the open the door I walked in, crying out, “Patrick?” I was ashamed that my own voice cracked and that it was uneven, though it was barely a whisper.

When I rounded the corner into the living room my chest felt tighter. My lungs clenched together and I couldn’t breathe. I was blinking in hopes that it would stop the tears but they kept falling to my cheeks.

“Laura?” Patrick looked up, his face red and confused.

The girl he was straddling looked at me in annoyance. She rolled her eyes and stared up at Patrick. “Who is this?”

“Laura,” Patrick stated, standing up off the couch, his t-shirt falling to cover the top half of his boxers, but I stopped him before he came closer.

“No, I’ll leave. Don’t worry,” I stuttered.

He looked at me, pushing the hair out of his eyes. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” I mumbled, turning around and walking back out of his apartment.

I heard him calling after me, but when I turned around he wasn’t there. So when I left the complex and was standing on the sidewalk I stared up to his window. The shade was drawn but the light peered through the fabric, and I could see the shadows of them walking across the room.

“I hate you!” I screamed, closing my eyes and shaking my head. I didn’t hate him. I knew I didn’t hate Patrick, but I really wanted too. “I hate you Patrick, and I hate the girl you’re fucking, and I hate you too Martin!”

A group of kids across the street looked at me and laughed. “You okay?”

I stared at them and wiped my eyes. “Fan-fucking-tastic.”

They walked away, still laughing and thinking I was insane. The worst part was that they were probably right. It wasn’t Patrick’s fault that he had someone over his house tonight, and I should have been happy for him. I was just so upset that I knew I could take it out and blame it on him easier than I could take it out on Martin.

Taking out my phone I whispered, “I hate you.”

I texted Isabella and told her I was heading over her house, but she never replied. So I wasn’t surprised when I walked in that I heard her and a man from her room making noises, which could have made me throw up if I wasn’t so upset.

I curled up on the couch and pulled the throw blanket over myself, sniffling and silently crying. This would have to do, because going home and risking the chance of seeing Martin was too high of a chance.

By the time Isabella and her man stopped making noises I was almost asleep, and by the time my phone was buzzing fifteen minutes later I was passed out, luckily having an excuse to ignore it.