𝐘/𝐍
‧₊˚
"Shit, shit, shit!" You hiss repeatedly, pacing anxiously around your dorm room.
"Alright, potty mouth. It's not that serious." Hitch claims incuriously as she shoves one of her notorious CheeseBalls into her mouth. She was splayed out across your joint living room sofa with her legs wavering carelessly in the air.
Clearly, she wasn't aware of the faults at hand.
"Look at the dumb shit they posted about me on The Net," You groan, frustration evident in your tone as you angled your phone in way that would allow Hitch to see what you planned on showing her. "Thought we left all this in High School."
An anonymous tipper had tweeted a picture of you pinning Zayne onto the wall that night, captioning the post . .
'Y/n:1 , Zayne:0'
Yes, the tweet was trending . . . . but for all the wrong reasons.
Hitch glares at your phone in a scrutiny so daunting that you mentally reminded yourself to never get on her bad side—as corny as it sounded.
"They can cry you a fricking river." She heaves, shutting the Jar of cheesy contents and fully placing her attention on you.
Oh no, not serious Hitch—
"Don't allow them to turn your very understandable anger into a joke." She says, eyes flickering with emotion, "You have every reason to be upset, love. Show them the reason why Zayne has called in sick for the past five days."
"I love you Hitch," You sighed humourlessly, "But I've also called in sick ever since that night. . .? I'm practically just as much as a pussy as he is."
"Y/n," she breathes, staring at you with an intensity that uncannily resembled empathy, or so it seemed. "Your reason for calling in sick is dangerously different to what his is. You're healing emotionally whilst Zayne's scary ass is healing physically."
Nodding your head continuously, "You just might be on to something," you smile, allowing her words of encouragement to flow graciously into your brain.
‧₊˚
"Can we start over please?"
After days of constantly shredding yourself into minuscules pieces that even an ant could not pick or take sight upon — you couldn't believe that the reason of that matter was standing directly in front of you as if absolutely nothing had happened.
He'd approached or rather caught you as you were on your way to class in your schools english building.
"Please?" Jean asks again, this time tilting his head downwards in order to get a better look at you.
He was wearing the school's football kit as though it was practically made for him, a view you would've previously purred at. But no, not anymore.
Things were different now.
"Yeah, I'll pass . . ." you murmur, plastering on a fake smile as you tried to excuse yourself.
YOU ARE READING
𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑 ⟡﹒
RomanceConnie, a boy who fooled himself, knowing that she was heartache from the moment that he'd met her. Y/n, a girl who knew who to love, but not how.
