"You left like I was never a reason to stay."
Willa
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The clock on my phone glows 10:00PM, and I can already feel the weight of exhaustion sinking into my shoulders. Ballet had drained me. My muscles ached in ways they hadn't before, the effort of perfecting every turn and jump taking its toll.
And dinner with my family wasn't any better-Remi jabbering on about whatever random thing she'd found to be obsessed with that day, mum asking me questions about college, as if I actually had answers. I was 16 for godsake! Let me at least lose my freaking virgnity before I go to college!
If I had to hear one more thing about my future what all I wanted was some peace, I might just explode.
Now here I am, sitting at my desk, textbooks open, half empty coffee cup beside me, trying to force myself to focus. My brain feels foggy, like the words on the page aren't even real. I flip through the pages, scanning, reading, trying to make it all stick. It doesn't. Not tonight.
My phone buzzes with a text from Alex.
Alex: Hope you're ready to kick some ass tomorrow.
I groan, what the the hell could be happening now.
Me: Some context would be nice.
Alex: What the hell do you mean 'some context would be nice?' There is a sale in basically every store tomorrow!
I drop my phone onto my desk, ignoring the continous texts from Alex as I sit and stare at my wall contemplating my life choices.
How did I even get here? My foot hurts so freaking bad? What even is life? Jesus, something wrong with me.
Then I notice somethingâa small, crucial detail that should've been the first thing on my mind when I sat down to do my project. The glue. The goddamn glue. I was supposed to have it ready by now, but it's nowhere in sight. I check all over my desk, flipping through drawers, but it's gone. No glue.
Frustration bubbles inside me, but it's more than thatâit's the sinking feeling of yet another thing I've forgotten. I should've checked earlier, should've bought a new bottle earlier in the week, should've been more organized. But I wasn't.
I run a hand through my blonde hair, my fingers trembling slightly as the anxiety sets in. I glance around my room, looking for somethingâanythingâthat could substitute for the glue. But it's hopeless. Nothing else will work, and I know it. I can't finish this project without it.
I know exactly where I can find glue, though. Dom's house.
Our families have been close for yearsâhis mom and mine swapping recipes, playing together when we were younger. Something between us has always been unspoken, undefined.
And even though we're neighbors, I haven't been to his house in a while. But I need that glue, and I can't imagine anyone else has it.
So, I stand up, grab my jacket off the back of my chair, and shove my phone into my pocket. There's no point in waiting around. It's late, but I know Dom will be up. His dad's always away for workânever home, traveling for work. It's just him and his mom most of the time.
I head out the back door of my house, the cold air hitting me immediately. My breath escapes in little clouds, and I pull my jacket tighter around me. The sound of my footsteps crunching on the gravel feels louder than it should as I make my way across the yard toward his house.
My heart beats a little faster than usual. It's not like I haven't been over there beforeâit's just... different tonight. I don't know why, but something feels off. Like the air is charged with static, ready to crackle with something unpredictable.
I glance over at the trashed treehouse that we used to play in all the time, whispering secrets, playing kissing games. Sometimes the 5 of us still go up there, though now it's mostly just for the boys to smoke freely without the nagging of parents.
When I reach the door, I hesitate for just a moment, my hand on the handle. My stomach tightens, and I wonder if I'm really doing this. It's just glue, I tell myself. Just glue. And yet... I can't shake the nervousness building up inside me. Dom is basically my best friend, I talk to him everyday, I'm even close with his mum.
I push the door open, stepping quietly into the foyer. The house is dimly lit, and the quiet seems almost unnatural. No music playing like usual, no laughter. Just... silence. I hear a faint sound from the kitchen, but that's it.
"Dom?" I call softly, my voice cutting
through the quiet.
There's no response. He's probably upstairs.
I take a slow breath, pushing through the familiar hallway, past the living room, until I reach the foot of the stairs. I pause for a moment, wondering if I should knock, but then decide it's silly. Dom's used to me barging in by now.
I climb the stairs carefully, my footsteps echoing through the house. As I reach the top, I can hear faint noises coming from behind his doorâmusic, muffled voices, or maybe it's just his television.
I push the door open without knocking.
The room is just as I remember itâcluttered, chaotic, a reflection of Dom's mind, a place where nothing ever quite stays in place.
Clothes are strewn around the room, his bed unmade, his motorcycle helmet resting carelessly on his desk. And in the midst of it all, there it isâthe glue. Right on top of his desk, looking so innocently placed.
I move toward it, already feeling a sense of relief flood through me. I reach for the glue, but before I can grab it, the bathroom door creaks open.
The sudden noise makes my heart skip a beat. I freeze. I recognize the sound of his footsteps almost immediately.
And then he appearsâDom. Shirtless, a towel hanging low on his hips, still dripping wet from his shower. His brown eyes immediately find mine, a flicker of recognition crossing his face. But then, a frown. A slight narrowing of his eyes.
"What are you doing in here?" His voice is low, a little hoarse, as if he's not entirely awake. His gaze moves from me to the glue bottle in my hand.
"I just... needed some glue," I say quickly, my voice a little shaky as I look back at the desk. I can feel the heat creeping up my neck, and I try to ignore the way my stomach flutters. It's ridiculous. It's Dom. Why should it feel like this?
He leans against the doorframe, his arms crossing over his chest, eyes still on me. He doesn't look angry, but there's something else thereâsomething I can't quite place.
"You couldn't just ask for it?" His tone is sharp, and there's an edge to it that makes my breath catch. "Why did you sneak in here?"
"I wasn't sneaking," I protest, my voice more defensive than I mean it to be. "I didn't want to wake your mom."
"Right." He doesn't look convinced. "You could've just asked."
"I didn't want to make it a big deal," I mutter, my words suddenly feeling too quiet. I feel like I'm rambling, but I can't seem to stop. "I didn't want anyone to know how much I've procrastinated. It's embarrassing."
Dom watches me for a moment, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. It's the kind of smile that makes my chest tighten, because I can never quite tell if it's teasing or something else entirely.
"It's not like I haven't seen you shirtless before. So you don't need to be worried about modesty, or anything like that." I mumble.
His eyes soften slightly, and for a moment, the tension between us seems to dissipate. But then, just as quickly, it's back againâthick and heavy, weighing us down.
He steps toward me, slow and deliberate, closing the space between us. His scentâfresh from the showerâinvades my senses, and I'm suddenly aware of just how close he is. The heat radiates off his body, his bare skin almost too much for me to handle. I should step back, I know I should, but I can't move. It's like I'm rooted to the spot.
He's standing right in front of me now, and I can feel the energy between us shifting. Something about him is different tonight, or maybe it's just me. But the way he looks at meâit's like he sees right through me.
"You know, you really shouldn't be sneaking around in my room at 10 PM like this, Butterfly," Dom says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Butterfly. He always calls me that, and it's a nickname that always messes with my head. Half of me hates it, and the other half... well, the other half likes it more than I care to admit.
"I didn't think it would be such a big deal," I say, my voice barely audible, my words coming out in a rush. "It's just glue, Dom. Just glue. No big deal."
He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he steps closer, so close I can feel the warmth of his body against mine.
And then, before I can stop myself, the words tumble out of me.
"I think I'm in love with you, Dom."
Holy fucking strawberry.
I slap a hand over my mouth, begging the words to go back in.
Kill me. Kill me now.
I offer myself up as a sacrifice to whatever devil wants to gut me-hell, I'll even kiss them for the trouble. Cherry flavoured lip balm and all.
Oh fuck!
Dom doesn't speak. He doesn't even blink.
I feel the air leave my lungs, and my heartbeat thunders in my ears. My hands are shaking, and I can't seem to pull my gaze away from his face.
Finally, Dom exhales, his breath brushing against my skin. He reaches up and tucks a loose strand of my hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering there a little longer than necessary. His touch is soft, almost too soft.
"You shouldn't say things like that, Willa," he murmurs, his voice low and thick with something I can't quite place. "It's not good for you."
But I don't care. Not anymore. The words are out. The truth is out.
"I don't care," I whisper, stepping closer.
"I can't keep pretending like it's nothing."
And then his lips are on mine, hard and urgent, as if everything inside him is unraveling just like me.
I take it back-the devil can't have me, I already belong to this one.
We fall onto his bed, our bodies colliding in a flurry of clothes and tangled sheets. There's nothing gentle about it, nothing restrained. It's raw and desperate, and it's everything I've been hiding for far too long.
"You won't leave me."
"Never." He promises as his lips come crashing down on mine once more
"Please be gentle with me." I whisper against his lips, as he places himself against my opening.
"Always, butterfly."
The world outside his room fades away completely. It's just him and me, two people who have been dancing around each other for years, finally colliding in the only way that makes sense.
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A dull ache spreads throughout my body as I start to wake up, my limbs tangled in the white sheets of the bed. My head is heavy, my muscles sore, my skin still buzzing with the remnants of last night. The room is dimly lit, the soft glow of the morning sun filtering through the half-closed blinds, casting warm streaks across the floor.
And the scent in the airâcologne, nicotine, something undeniably familiarâwraps around my skin like a whisper.
Something inside me flutters, and thenâ
It hits me.
Dom's room.
Dom's bed.
Dom.
My eyes fly open. My heart slams against my ribs so hard I think it might break through. The memories flood in all at onceâhis touch, his lips, the way his name fell from my mouth like a prayer.
Oh my god. I barely have time to process what happened last night as I rush to untangle myself, I miscalculate the edge of the bed, and the next thing I know-
Thud.
I hit the floor with a graceless, unceremonious crash, the blankets coming with me as I groan, my shoulder stinging from the impact.
"Fuck" I hiss, my voice hoarse from sleep.
I give myself two seconds of pure, unfiltered misery before I force myself to move. My cheeks burn as I push myself up onto my elbows, already dreading the smug look Dom is definitely giving me from his spot in bed.
Exceptâ
There is no Dom.
My breath stills as I glance up. The bed is empty.
The sheets are messy, the pillows indented where his head should be, but he's gone.
Weird.
Dom never wakes up early. If anything, I'm usually the one banging on his window, yelling at him to haul his ass out of bed before we're late for school. And it's a Saturdayâeven more of a reason for him to still be curled up under the covers, grumbling at me for waking him.
I slowly push myself to my feet, rubbing my sore shoulder as my gaze flickers around his room. It's... empty. Bare, almost. I notice little things that weren't there last night. The open drawers, the half-packed shelves, the missing posters on the wall. The suitcase that had been in the corner when I walked in? Gone.
A strange feeling prickles at the base of my spine.
I shake it off. He probably cleaned up after I went to sleep. I tell myself. Maybe he ran out to grab breakfast. Maybeâ
I glance down at myself, and heat rushes to my cheeks.
Shit.
I'm still completely naked, tangled up in his sheets like some lovesick idiot. Anyone could walk in right now and see me like this. Scrambling, I rush to his wardrobe, yanking open the door and grabbing the first thing I seeâan old, worn-out T-shirt. It's huge, the fabric hanging low over my knees, but his scent clings to it. Warm. Familiar. Him.
I force down the stupid smile threatening to tug at my lips. Now's not the time to be giddy, Willa.
I pull on my pantiesâdiscarded somewhere in the corner of his roomâbefore tiptoeing toward the door. We need to talk. We need to figure out us. We need toâ
I need to know where the hell he is.
No texts from Dom.
Just one from Alex.
I swallow the lump in my throat, shaking it off as I make my way downstairs. I don't know what we're going to tell our parents about us, but we have to talk first. The nerves bubbling under my skin quickly morph into something darker. Something angry.
I gave him everything last night.
And he didn't even leave a note?
Not a text?
Not a single fucking word?
I push open the kitchen door, ready to rip him apart the second I see himâ
But I don't see him.
Instead, I see her.
Gracie.
Dom's mom is standing by the sink, a mug clutched between her hands. When she hears me enter, she turns. Her eyes widen slightly before softening, a sad, knowing smile tugging at her lips.
Panic grips my throat.
She knows.
Her gaze flickers to Dom's shirt draped over my frame.
She definitely knows.
I open my mouth, scrambling for somethingâanythingâto say.
"UhâI was just looking for Dom," I manage, my voice softer than I intended. "Do you know where he is?"
Something shifts in her expression.
"Oh, honey."
My stomach clenches.
That tone.
That freaking tone.
A lone tear slips down her cheek.
And suddenly, I really, really don't want to hear what she's about to say.
"He's gone."
The world tilts.
I blink. The words don't make sense. They don't register.
I must have misheard her.
"...What?" My voice comes out small. Hollow.
Gracie swallows, her throat bobbing as she whispers, "He left."
Something inside me snaps.
"No," I say, shaking my head. "No, that'sâthat's not possible. He wouldn't justâhe wouldn't just leave."
But the look in her eyes says otherwise.
"He went to London," she tells me, voice thick. "To stay with your aunt. We thought it was best, considering his addictionâ"
I stop listening.
It's like my body stops functioning.
London.
He went to London.
No.
No.
My legs threaten to give out beneath me. My lungs burn. My chest is caving in.
"He told me," I whisper. "He promised he wouldn't leave."
"We don't have plans for him to come back," she says hoarsely.
And this time, I crumble.
I hit the ground before I even realize I'm falling, my arms wrapping around myself, my body curling in.
Because he's gone.
He's gone. And he's not coming back.
I gave him everything.
I told him I loved him.
And it wasn't enough.
I wasn't enough.
I can't breathe. I can't breathe.
Gracie's hands reach for me, but I flinch away, pressing my back against the wall as silent, shattering sobs rack through me.
Somewhere in the distance, I hear her calling someone.
My dad's voice. My mom's. But I can't focus. I can't do anything but break
The door flies open, I barely register my dad cradling my face forcing me to look into his eyes. His voice clouded with worry, pulling me into his arms I sob harder.
"He promised." I whisper into my dad's shirt.
I don't hear my mums worried shouts, I don't feel when she helps me shower, I don't feel when Remi climbs into bed next to me.
He's gone.
He left me.
I hate him.
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She's on her revenge arc guys trustð¤ð¤
Also guys best believe I'm not going to be writing this much in each chapterð i had to make an exception for this chapter onlyð
Sometimes I can't believe I write this stuff and then write such informal stuff in the like notes thing cause like what.