Summer's on Its Deathbed
One
For once the internet was right. A fan tweeted me, telling me that she was cheating; she told me that she’d seen her with another guy. I dismissed it; I wasn’t willing to believe jealous fans online. I loved her, I was engaged to her. There was no way she’d be with someone else; we were close to getting married, and spending the rest of our lives together.
Oh how fucking wrong I was.
Walking into that room and seeing her there, with him, in our bed was the single most painful thing I’d ever felt. I remembered a time when the band had just started and we were on tour, we were playing a festival somewhere in Europe and I got excited and began climbing the stage scaffolding. It was going well, until I slipped and fell a good eight feet to the floor, my back hitting the ground, knocking all of the air out of my lungs. I had to lay there gasping for air, trying to breathe. That was how I felt when I saw them, I couldn’t breathe. It felt like all of the air in the room was purposely moving away from me so that I couldn't respire properly.
“Brendon,” she said, covering her modesty with a sheet.
I heard the guy mutter, “Who the hell is that?”
There was still a dire lack of air in my lungs; my mouth was unable to form the words. I wanted to scream, to tell him exactly who I was. I wanted to throw him out of my apartment and make sure he never dared to set foot in it again. She muttered quietly, her voice thick with shame. “My boyfriend.”
The guy covered himself too, and nudged her. “You have a boyfriend?”
All of sudden the air rushed back into my lungs. “Yes she has a fucking boyfriend. Actually, more precisely, I'm her fiance.” I walked around the bed and picked up his jeans and threw them fiercely at him. “Put on your clothes and get the fuck out of my apartment. Now.” I growled. He did as I demanded and ran out holding his shoes in his hand.
“You too.” I said, my voice was quieter this time, and I wanted the ferocity of my statement to be just as apparent. However, my voice betrayed me, and it come out just above a whisper, more of a plea to the woman who I, only a few minutes before, was willing to spend the rest of my life with.
She looked at me, her eyes wide as if to say, ‘Who, me?’ When she gathered that I was indeed talking to her, she slowly she rose from the bed and shimmied into her dress.
“Get out, and don’t come back. Please.” I handed her phone and her keys and pushed her softly towards the door.
Turning towards me, she tried to kiss me. “Brendon, please, we can work this out.” I pushed her closer to the door; her eyes quickly became glassy with tears.
I put out my hand, stopping her from walking away. “How long?”
Her eyes seemed confused before she understood what I was getting at. “9 months.”
We’d only been together for 18 months. I was so sure that she was the one, I felt such a fool. I took her hand softly, and began to slip the thing white gold band off her finger. She tried to stop me, but I took it off and threw it over my shoulder onto the bed.
“Just leave. Go.” Defeated, she turned around, and walked out of my life.
Oh how fucking wrong I was.
Walking into that room and seeing her there, with him, in our bed was the single most painful thing I’d ever felt. I remembered a time when the band had just started and we were on tour, we were playing a festival somewhere in Europe and I got excited and began climbing the stage scaffolding. It was going well, until I slipped and fell a good eight feet to the floor, my back hitting the ground, knocking all of the air out of my lungs. I had to lay there gasping for air, trying to breathe. That was how I felt when I saw them, I couldn’t breathe. It felt like all of the air in the room was purposely moving away from me so that I couldn't respire properly.
“Brendon,” she said, covering her modesty with a sheet.
I heard the guy mutter, “Who the hell is that?”
There was still a dire lack of air in my lungs; my mouth was unable to form the words. I wanted to scream, to tell him exactly who I was. I wanted to throw him out of my apartment and make sure he never dared to set foot in it again. She muttered quietly, her voice thick with shame. “My boyfriend.”
The guy covered himself too, and nudged her. “You have a boyfriend?”
All of sudden the air rushed back into my lungs. “Yes she has a fucking boyfriend. Actually, more precisely, I'm her fiance.” I walked around the bed and picked up his jeans and threw them fiercely at him. “Put on your clothes and get the fuck out of my apartment. Now.” I growled. He did as I demanded and ran out holding his shoes in his hand.
“You too.” I said, my voice was quieter this time, and I wanted the ferocity of my statement to be just as apparent. However, my voice betrayed me, and it come out just above a whisper, more of a plea to the woman who I, only a few minutes before, was willing to spend the rest of my life with.
She looked at me, her eyes wide as if to say, ‘Who, me?’ When she gathered that I was indeed talking to her, she slowly she rose from the bed and shimmied into her dress.
“Get out, and don’t come back. Please.” I handed her phone and her keys and pushed her softly towards the door.
Turning towards me, she tried to kiss me. “Brendon, please, we can work this out.” I pushed her closer to the door; her eyes quickly became glassy with tears.
I put out my hand, stopping her from walking away. “How long?”
Her eyes seemed confused before she understood what I was getting at. “9 months.”
We’d only been together for 18 months. I was so sure that she was the one, I felt such a fool. I took her hand softly, and began to slip the thing white gold band off her finger. She tried to stop me, but I took it off and threw it over my shoulder onto the bed.
“Just leave. Go.” Defeated, she turned around, and walked out of my life.
♠ ♠ ♠
First chapter. I haven't decided who this girl is yet who cheated on Brendon. It might be Sarah (although I have nothing against her, it might add to the verisimilitude of the story).Buuut, apart from that, did you guys like it?
Lola, x