HISTORY

Look at the way he's stacking up the wood, like he's some type of macho man. Obviously trying to impress me. He's completely clueless that he's overrated in my mind. And his jeans are way too tight. You know, he's not as hot as he thinks he is with sweat dripping down his forehead. And his neck. And his chest. And- Stop it.

... News flash, Owen. We're history.

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5. Five

Owen hasn't shown up at school in two weeks. I can't even count how many panic attacks I've had since the last time I saw him. After that day, thoughts of him always managed to clutter my mind, and before I know it my hands are shaky and my lungs feel clogged. 

Here's the thing about Owen. I promised myself that I would never allow myself to become involved with him ever again. I hated him, despised him. I ripped up all of our pictures and burned his love notes. I made the mistake of pouring my heart out to my brother, I told him everything. How pathetic would I sound if I told him that things were getting serious again? He'd be so disappointed, because it would be a stupid thing to do. Stupid is an understatement. The idea of giving Owen a second chance is totally way beyond ultra foolish.

People always ask what he did wrong. One day we were together and the next day we weren't. And after everything, he was the one to dump me. Like I did something wrong. Thinking about it over and over again is gut wrenching. There wasn't just one thing that he did wrong. Owen managed to ruin our relationship in a matter of 25 minutes.

We were going to a party. He told me to wear that tight royal blue dress he loved. And when he picked me up, he greeted me with familiar words, "My princess." With a kiss to my lips. That was our thing. Although I never called him my prince, he was my knight in shining armor in my eyes. I was in love, sickly and dangerously in love.

At Kassandra Luis' party, I lost my boyfriend after having a talk with one of the girls in my French class. I gave up looking after ten minutes, and found him outta nowhere in the upstairs hallway. He was sitting around a circular table in an open area with wooden floors, about 5 other guys with him. I wasn't looking at them, only Owen. I could smell the drugs from the pipe they were passing around. I couldn't help my mouth from falling just a bit as the smelly teenage boys cheered with enthusiasm when I approached them. I rested my arm on my guy's shoulder giving him a "what the fuck are you doing" look. But I had a small smile. Once I saw his eyes glazed over, I panicked. Of course it made me upset, so I frowned at him. My frown deepened when he mumbled the words. He almost breathed them, but he was loud and clear for the others to hear. Almost like a groan. "Yeah, this is my bitch. Right baby? The only thing is, she won't put out." He squeezed my backside, but I was too hurt to swat him away. He starts to hum. His expression didn't contort like it usually did when he did something wrong. His face wasn't guilty or sad or regretful. He just smiled, his eyes remained glossy and hooded. He was hypnotized into this hazy nightmare.

Although my body was stiff, I managed to pull my hand off of him and turn away from them. I found my way downstairs, trying to forget what my boyfriend had just done. I was embarrassed and shaky, and I began to argue with myself about whether I should forgive him or not. I'd never been in a situation like this, when your boyfriend -whom you love uncontrollably- totally crashes down your self esteem because he's under the influence. He didn't mean it Presley, it wasn't really him. It didn't come from the heart, he's stoned. My heart hated him and loved him at the same time. I told myself to only drink to a certain point, because I didn't want to lose my sense of control like most of the people in this place. I listened to myself, and I was aware of my surroundings, just a little loose and tipsy. But I felt good, warm. As good as you could possibly feel after your boyfriend humiliates you.

I went to the bathroom to let out the pee that I'd been holding since we'd got there. It was locked, so I went upstairs. I prayed that I wouldn't see him because I really wasn't in the mood for his shit. I didn't care at the moment if he wanted to apologize or cry or beg. I found a restroom, almost throwing up at the sight in front of my eyes.

A scrawny blonde with purple lipstick was draped over my passed out boyfriend on the closed toilet seat. She was kissing his neck and giggling as if he could hear her. She didn't even look up at me. I did what my heart ached to do. I used the faucet to fill my red cup with freezing water and shoved it at them. The cup hit her in the face, but the water perfectly splashed the asshole. He awoke quickly, screaming "What the hell!" As loud as his groggy voice would let him. The voice was scared, like he didn't have a clue of what was going on. Then his eyes focused on me, and he pushed the girl off of him. She fumbled to the tile with a gasp. I was breathing heavily when I got the guilty look I was waiting for. "Pres..." He didn't stand, just stared. We stared at each other for a long moment until I couldn't take it anymore. His eyes were still lightly glazed, and they'd transformed into a deeper shade of blue since we showed up here. I didn't know they could get any darker. I clenched my fist as well as my teeth and I let my tear fall down my face. I didn't wipe it until I fled for the stairs. I heard the blonde chick laughing a drunk laugh as I made my escape.

I walked home that night. And on Monday he broke it off.

I waited for his side of the story, waited for the begging, waited for the trembling hands to hold mine and ask for forgiveness. He normally did this whenever he did something wrong, but I knew this time would be much more dramatic, hence the situation. I expected tears and maybe even the action of him on his knees.

"I'm pretty sure this is over." He whispered, his head hung low. He held only my fingertips, and we were standing in the cafeteria. I pulled my hand back and crossed my arms. My love for him was at about 10%, the rest was hatred. "What I did was wrong.." He drifted off, like he forgot was he was going to say. "Presley I don't even remember what did." He admitted with a huff. He only called me by my full name when we were mad at each other. "I just woke up and you were standing there, that girl was on top of me." He was looking dead at me now. "I just know that I'm sorry."

"So you..." I begun in a low whisper, just loud enough for him to hear. I still spoke with an angry tone, strong with a pulse. "You're breaking up with me? After you're the one who fucked up."

"Presley I love you." he mumbled.

"Yeah, right." I can't believe I actually managed to push my tears back. Believe it or not, I smiled at him. I was hurt, and he saw it on the curve of my mouth. So then I left. I tiptoed to the bathroom, and stayed there for the rest of the day. I waited until my brother showed up, and busted the second I shut the car door. He took me out for ice cream and watched me cry. James promised that he'd kick Owen's ass if he ever laid eyes on him. And I was completely okay with that.

This was the perfect way to start out my summer. That last week of school was dreadful. 

Why do I feel this way? After all he did, and I can't help myself from missing the taste of his lips that I once loved. I missed his ocean eyes and his strong chest. His hugs, his chuckle, his charming nature that was once only saved for me. 

My heart ached.

It's not just about that night. We constantly fought. Bickering and yelling took up almost 70% percent of our relationship. We were experts at insulting each other. We knew how to hit one another where it hurt the most. Fight, apology. Fight, apology. Over and over again every week. He's the reason why I cried myself to sleep for weeks. He's the reason why I'm crying now.

Which brings me back to my first point: I promised myself that I would never allow myself to become involved with him ever again. I promised. 

 

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